all the leaves are brown
and the sky is grey
i went for a walk
on a winter's day
it's autumn here
a lovely cool grey day
all we need is rain
this golden oldie
with bad flute playing
sparks a flash back to
mini skirts
waist length braided locks
boots
women's liberation
vietnam moritoriums
the sexual revolution
simone de beauvoir
the second sex
so many years ago
so many lives ago
so many changes since
so many gone
i'm still here
still slapping misogynist faces
with wet roses
much to the amazement and
barely concealed disappointment
of many
and still wondering
what i am going to do
when i grow up:)
Perfect Rall - and rings so true as well.... Love the: "slapping misogynist faces
ReplyDeletewith wet roses" and your great ending too... Really made me smile so wistfully - thanks for lifting my Sunday
A nice look back to compare with today. Luv the fun you infused as well
ReplyDeleteHappy Sunday Rall
Much🌻love
Oh, the Mamas and the Papas, and those heady days of dreaming big and feeling so alive. Your poem took me back there. I had to smile at the "barely concealed disappointment of many." LOL.
ReplyDeletekeep fighting the good fight!
ReplyDeleteha - I am always wondering what I am going to do when I grow up..do we ever truly grow up? I hope not as my inner child longs to linger.
ReplyDeleteEnjoyed the way the poem brought out different layers of nostalgia and frustration and determination (and shifted my perspective on that song).
ReplyDeleteI'm still here too, and still wondering what I'm going to do and be when I grow up! Ha!
ReplyDelete"i'm still here
ReplyDeletestill slapping misogynist faces
with wet roses
much to the amazement and
barely concealed disappointment
of many
and still wondering
what i am going to do
when i grow up:)"
That sums this up perfectly. It's unfortunate that we're all fighting the same fights decades later... and I'm just as unsure of my future as I was long ago. This is great writing, Ralls. :)
Tears, dear poet: First from the song which I had to listen to all the way through before I even started to read your poem. And then because you and I ... you capture me, too. Except I like breathless flute playing. Smiles through tears.
ReplyDeleteI'm still here too and I remember WW2 as a child in Britain, playing in the fields with doodlebugs going overhead and bombed out buildings and having to evacuees from London stay in your home, but at least Vera Lynn was singing.
ReplyDeleteYou'n'me both, baby!
ReplyDeleteoh, those were the days when it was difficult growing up.
ReplyDeleteglad bell bottoms didn't make a comeback.