Jessica E. Posted January 10, 2016 Report Share Posted January 10, 2016 Hippie Heaven by Jessica A. EatonIt was on a New Year’s Eve many moons agoI was driving to a party when I got stuck in the snowthe temperature was dipping and I was chilled to the very boneI didn’t have any food or drink and no bars on my Obama phoneTurned the heat up in my car to keep my butt from freezingfound fermented grape juice ’neath my seat, dated from last seasonso I grabbed that homemade vino and gave the bottle a gentle tugit only took three little sips before I felt like a Kafka bugThe aroma was vintage locker room and the taste was tart at firstbut it made me feel quite relaxed and it magically quenched my thirstWatching the winter wonderland slowly descending down upon the streetI suddenly began to feel dizzy from my noggin down to my feetWhile admiring the falling flakes I saw a reflection in the window of the doortwas a big ass twisted cigarette laying near the gas peddle down on the floorI picked it up and noticed that it wasn’t a Newport or a Marlboro Redand I sensed before the night was over I would be chilling with the deadWell I lit up that humongous doobie and took a couple of very healthy dragsand in the moonlight sky the clouds looked like a bunch of fluffy Doritos bagsSoon that wacky weed worked its magic – had me Jonesing for a snackbut there was nothing in the glove compartment, so I turned and looked in the backThere upon my grandson’s Batman booster seat what did my eyes beholdbut a couple left over slices of Dominoes pizza, looking like solid bricks of goldjust when I thought the Munchie God couldn’t have presented a better scenarioI spotted a pack of Twinkies and a half eaten peanut butter OreoI turned on the radio and the Strawberry Alarm Clock was belting out a jamas I took a bite and tasted olives, onions and what might have once been hamthe pepperoni looked gray, diseased and wrinkled like the liver of Keith Moonand my taste buds started to revolt when I bit into a rubbery mushroomI was drifting in & out of half consciousness as if as Rip Van Winkle on QualudesAs Mott the Hoople started singing a ripping tune about a couple of young dudesI then stepped out of my car, through a righteous cloud of Sinsemilla smokeand all around the winter wonderland looked hallucinogenic and baroqueI was lucky to thumb a ride on a passing psychedelic busthat ran on mystic peyote buttons and Columbian cannabisOn board were merry pranksters who made me feel right at homeusing a tennis racket as a guitar and a hair brush for a microphoneSo we jammed to Grand Funk Railroad and a tune by Iron Butterflywatching the Byrds fly 8 miles high while a purple haze kissed the skyI was clearly out of my mind, but not sure whose mind I was infelt like I was floating beneath a crystal blue celestial aquariumI saw neon colors swirl in shapes as they mixed and danced and floatedand I helped myself to a handful of bennies that tasted sugar coatedI saw Elvis trying to shake his pelvis, but his britches were too tightwhen he ripped the seat of his pants there were 2 moons out that nightWe were getting famished so we thought we’d stop for a bitethough the driver of the bus refused to move too far over to the rightSoon we spotted a pulsating sign ahead touting Alice’s Restaurantadvertising we could get wavy gravy over anything we wantWalking through the diner door, the atmosphere was smoky and surrealI spotted Julius Hoffman on a bench next to a duct taped Bobby Sealea disco ball that Ted Nugent had shot up was on the floor obliteratedand it had everyone cheering madly, feeling groovy and liberatedI saw a suave Warren Beatty in a beret he borrowed from Che Gueverraas he cavorted past Carly Simon winking with one eye in a mirrorevery song on the Whirlitzer was a billboard chart topping hitand we found an empty table open up when the Beatles had to splitThe busboy looked sharp like a conductor on the Marakesh expressthe waitress was attired with love beads and a tie-dyed mini dressthe decor of the restaurant looked like the inside of Jerzy Kozinski’s mindwith booths adorned with custom bongs and table cloths Peter Max designedSo I looked around, t’is what I foundCaptain Beefheart and Major LanceAdmiral Halsey in khaki pantsSargent Pepper and Major TomColonel Parker and Cheech and Chongstuck in the middle between Steeler’s wheelsat Donovan smoking a banana peelPoor Gilbert O’Sullivan was sitting alonewaiting for Jim Croce to hang up the phonein a corner sat the Allman brothersrambling with Dick and Tommy SmothersCharles Whitman and William Calley,Murph the Surf and Mustang SallyI saw Charlie Manson and a beach boy drummerwith a bitching tan from surfing all summerI turned my attention back to the folded menu in my handevery entree was a product grown on some commune organic landthere was tofu salad and hamburgers made strictly out of soyand the dishes were adorned with ivy shipped in from IllinoisI heard Harry Chapin in the doorway asking who had called for a cabWhen I spotted Mrs Robinson at the register squaring away her tabusing the plastic that Benjamin had been advised to bring alongas he stood obediently beside her wondering where Joe Dimaggio had goneMrs Parks implored that everyone return to their assigned bus seatso in piled all the musicians with Small Faces and Little FeatSoon we were back on the road heading south on 95to a farm in upstate New York where some bands were playing liveWhen we arrived I couldn’t believe the size of the crowdthere was peace and love everywhere and the music was really loudsome women skinny dipping had daisies in their flowing locks of goldand judging from some naked fellas, the water was getting coldWe all decide to camp out underneath the stars that nighttuning in, turning on and dropping outta sightand we marveled at the full and distant moon as we fell asleepwhere only a month earlier Neil Armstrong had taken a giant leapAfter some transcendental meditation and a tab of purple micro-dotwe found in our altered imaginations, the Utopia that we soughtIn the wee hours of the morning Country Joe led a spirited chantI would tell you what he spelled out but my upbringing dictates I can’tBut I can tell ya what I did seeI saw Crosby, Stills, Nash and YoungCarlos Santana and Woody Guthrie’s sonRichie Havens and Jefferson AirplaneTen Years After singing in the rainWhile Melanie strummed a groovy tuneJohn Sebastian vowed he’d be home soonAfterward Sly and his Family Stoneplayed a jam that rattled my occipital boneJoe Cocker belted out a Fab Four songwith a little help from his friends who sang alongon the stage came anthems of harmony and peacethere was no need for National Guard or riot policethere was no mistaking who’s generationwas rejoicing in the spirit of this celebrationAfter three days we figured it was time for us to hit the roadagreeing we desperately needed to find a shower and commodefeeling euphoric although we were all smelling somewhat ripewhich was probably the main reason we constantly sparked up a pipeIn a day or so we found ourselves camped out in Washington DCto listen to a man of peace thank god almighty for finally being freealong that narrow reflective pond stood the children of Mother Earthwho had come together to validate that everybody’s life has a worthI met some every day people who were not much different than myselfsome came from impoverished backgrounds, while others came from wealthbut everyone shared a mutual respect, despite the differences of our skinand for a few fleeting magic moments, we really all felt like kinGassing up the bus we split, saying goodbye to our new found friendswe headed to the southern states, where there were freedoms to defendWord had spread about a march down in Selma and Birminghamregarding lunch counters, water fountains and the equality of every manSo we lent a hand and took a stand and did what we could doand walked along and sang a song to make the dream come trueWe saw Jim Crow fly away, as they promised changes to the lawso we split toward Louisiana to join in the debauchery of Mardi Gras We stopped at a party in some house down in New Orleanswhere we spotted Captain America and Billy ride in on their machinesthey had some lawyer in a football helmet hanging onto his seatwho waved to John Fogerty standing on a corner at the end of Bourbon streetThere was impromptu dancing, by ecstatic people wearing beadscongregating in taverns, clubs and bars, satisfying all their pent up needswe soaked in the orange sunshine above this abstract scenelistening to some blues by B.B. King and a Mississippi QueenSoon we were out on Route 66 following the setting sun to the westalong the way, upon a hill stood an aging Indian in a deer skinned vesthe looked sad and disillusioned as a teardrop rolled down upon his faceas he stood silently reminiscing about a once proud and sacred placeWe stopped to stretch our legs at some desolate roadside standeast of the Painted Desert where Gram Parsons was burnt in sand and while the proprietor was busy strumming a Buffalo Springfield tuneI bought vanilla fudge, a chocolate watchband and an electric pruneSomeone suggested that we stop at a church along the wayto say a prayer or two for some sexual healing of Marvin Gayebut we couldn’t find a house of worship that welcomed every soulso we made our own religion and we called it rock and rollWhen we finally made it out to that sunny California shorethe Pacific winds blew our freak flag higher than it ever flew beforeIn Hollywood we hit the Whiskey a Go-Go down on the Sunset Stripwhere we took a moonlight drive on Mr Mojo’s Crystal ShipSomeone suggested that we should drive farther up the stateand hang out around Haight Ashbury and see the Golden GateOn the way a stranger joined us just south of Monterreywho inquired if we all were heading up San Francisco wayGoing by the name of Scott he wore a flower in his hairand said that we would meet some really gentle people thereSo up the Pacific Coast Highway ,we toted, laughed and sangdetermined to end our road trip not with a whimper, but a bangAs we got closer we heard some music from the Altamont speedwaywhere Mick and his fellow band mates were performing that autumn dayand though we were stoned immaculate, we decided to roll on byto find a place to get mug of moby grape and a slice of humble pieWe saw some smoke on the water across the Frisco bay,it looked like a giant balls of fire coming in from Berkeley waywe could smell the burning of draft cards in the rebel breezealong with some smoldering playtex bras, a few were double DsWe took in a couple sights and a concert at the Fillmore Westwhere they gave away an apple and a poster to every guestDown on Powell Street in a Corvair, Ralph Nader slowly drove on byand Vote Pat Paulsen for President was written across the sky The Diggers were handing out free sandwiches to some hungry soulswho lounged on dirty blankets; dressed in worn out shoes with holessome were living, some seemed dead and some you just couldn’t tellbeneath a sign proclaiming, “Maybe this world is another planet's hell."This really harshed my mellow and I quickly started to loss my highand knew it was just about time for me to finally bid goodbyeso I gathered up my senses that I had developed along the driveand I promised Zager and Evans I’d return in the year 2-5-2-5 But before I left I reflected about my tripThere was Eldridge Cleaver and Malcolm XMarc Bolen and tyrannosaurus-rexI saw Ratso Rizzo walking thereby a midnight cowboy with Jon Voight hairNancy Sinatra in her walking bootshung out with Mods in Italian suitsBob Dylan finished with a cryptic sigha song longer than the Treaty of VersaillesKen Kessey flew over our rolling cuckoo’s neston his way to take an electric Kool Aid acid testIn Romper Room was Captain Kangarooteaching soup can art to Twiggy and Nico toowe listened to Allen Ginsberg in a coffee shopand saw Lenny Bruce getting hassled by a copWhen I awoke I found myself in someone else’s clothesspeaking in hippie jargon and polyphonic prosewearing a Nehru jacket and Jesus sandals on my feetI noticed that the snow had melted all along the streetI decided to skip the party; drove back home insteadfigured I’d take a shower and get warm and cozy in my bedwhen I jumped out of the shower and was drying off my assI noticed fresh ink promoting “Hippie Heaven; Lifetime Pass”And on the other cheek, much to my chagrinwas another tattoo that read, “We hope you come again”after I shook my head, I really couldn’t help but laughI guess I’ll always follow down that old happy hippie path *Disclaimer: This Hippie was not stoned during the writing of this poem.All similarities to people past or present was, of course, intentional. - Jessica A. Eaton Devon Christian 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
_Laurie_ Posted January 14, 2016 Report Share Posted January 14, 2016 Love it! thanks for sharing, Jessica! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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