Friday, August 20, 2010

Decades: A Poem from Jason Wright

( From the 50's-- Horn & Hardart)



The Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene got the poem "Decades" from Somerville, Mass. poet Jason Wright

Jason Wright lives in Somerville, and is the Founder and Editor of Oddball Magazine. His goal is to live on a boat some day with his beautiful love Lisa. He enjoys writing poetry, playing music and long walks on the beach. He has written over two thousand unpublished poems. He will be famous for sure posthumously, but does his best to live a poet’s life. You can see more of his work at Oddball Magazine, where he welcomes submissions.




Decades



For Mom







1920-1929



The Sultan of Swat, the King Supreme

The Prince of swing, it’s in a dream.



Fedoras and three-piece-suits,

double breasted



gangsters not arrested,

money golden crested.



Do the Can-Can to a 20’s beat

dance the Charleston, with these swinging feet.



The dance is grooving, a sophisticated cat

Money is swindled, like wood being kindled.



It’s rich in here, poor over there.

Gangsters didn’t worry. Gangsters didn’t care.



The Chicago hit list was growing and thriving

When you pay your debts, the Mob isn’t dying



You’ll live to swing on the dance floor

That’s the roaring 20’s the first of 4.



1930-1939



The Worlds hung-over, and colder then ever

The people look hopeless, they’ll never get better.



More people homeless, due to lack of money

It’s the great depression, cloudy not sunny



The War time boomed, and now were broke

For many living, life is just a joke.



The stock market is crashing, Uncle Sam’s dying.

Depression runs rampant, no one’s trying.



It’s a lowlight, broken wings when birds don’t fly

The 30’s decade (when baby hope cries)





1940-1949



What a decade were starting

With the troops departing and



Our business is booming once again

Our heroes they‘ll fight, and many will die



But well see them all again

Such proud men, proud for the U.S.A



Fighting the Anti-Christ

every single day.



Baseball hasn’t stopped playing

Although our troops are gone



Music hasn’t stopped playing

Although our troops aren’t here


The heart still sings a song

And they know that we all care



We all know where they are

But when will they come back,



To all the men, we’re fine back home

Drop the bombs, Attack!



1950-1959



Be-Bop du bop, singing on top

Elvis, a Nashville boy



Climbing the charts, and breaking the hearts

Rock and Roll can never stop



With a slick hair style

and Chevrolets shining

Parents don’t like this jazz

And they won’t stop pining



Black and White T.V and the Sullivan Show

Keeps us entertained through



Rain, through snow

Baseball, the All American dream



Everyone wants to be on the team



The Beatles, haven’t yet arrived

Probably just forming



“Johnny and the Moondogs”

How long can this dream last?







1960-1969



Started off innocent enough

The Beatles stepped off the plane in 64



Brought history to music

Ellis Island, just off the shore



But something’s changed

Beatniks and Hippies,



Poppers and stoppers, pot and trippies

The President is dead. His brother soon after



What the hell happened in this chapter?

The Civil Rights Leader, when he made the change



He said We had a chance. He said we had a dream!

Birmingham’s child killed



Time heals all pains, but killed in your prime?

Just like the Civil Rights leader



we were ambushed somewhere every day

The Government brought us over there



and that’s where our bodies will lay

Back home their celebrating “Free Love”

Woodstock, and Pot smoking



Over here they don’t support us

And don’t care that we are choking.



Stimulating their minds with music and peace

I want these things, can I have a piece?



So this is what’s happening

Free love and War



Our government corrupt, our hippies too much

our leaders are gone, a new decade



God, we’ve had enough!



1970-1979



Wow, are we hung-over!

The jungle strike has left us spent



and has left love a loather

Our Beatles are broken up



They just don’t care to be together

Bob Dylan sings of “Hurricanes”



But not an anomaly of weather

Jimi and Janis, and the Lizard King



Drugs, and alcohol have taken away all these things

Bell Bottoms are still around, but now they’re even neater



Disco fever is running rampant with Saturday Night Fever

Welcome Back Kotter, where did you go?



A new series of shows, no one cares

And this hangover grows



The Black Panther party is aggravated and with every right they should be

Remember we killed their leader, and time heals everything?



Political Prisoners, and nothing is tolerated

Freedom is dead and in place instead



Free love has become the leader

And don’t forget the pills pink, blue, red



the spoon, the lighter, the acid queen

pass out, the morning after.



1980-1989



It’s a Digital Age, when Pepsi makes commercials

Tight jeans, and Bright threads



The punkers, and the poppers

The rocker non-stoppers



Big hair bands, and lots of hair spray

Men wear the make-up when they’re on the stage



Roller Skates and Mini-Boomers

Carry the boomer over the shoulder



Listening to Billy Jean, Billy Ocean, Billy Joel, Billy Idol

Billy’s run rampant. This is the Digital Age



Hi-tops, Hi-fi speakers, drive-in movie theaters

The losers, the tweakers, and the football team.



Society is colorful, so colorful

The Sugar Hill Gang keeps the teens dancing



And New Age classics appear on the movie screen

Fab Five Freddy delivers the message



Gets rap going into the next dimension

This is the time when they dropped the Bomb



But the bomb was just a song

When the Artist was known as Prince



Michael J. Fox and Michael J

Back to the future, and the future back to you



The Ricker rocked on the Silver Spoons

This is the 80’s like boom boxes and digital tunes



1980 the year this poet was breathing through.



1990-1999



The Time is changing but the future isn’t so shocking

The clock still digital. Still tick-tocking.



By this time, thoughts of flying cars

Hover boards and Stations on Mars



But our cars are on wheels

And big money deals



No space suits, but plenty of lawsuits

Lots and lots of Baggy clothes



Instead of moon boots I suppose

So the future still looks real



So what’s the Big Deal?

with 2000 approaching



Will we be soon flying?

With Robot butlers



with gold plated pilings?

Remote control TV’s all



replaced with RC rooms,

like escalators in every home.



But one thing will change

And that’s the truth



The music will change

will change the youth



The drugs will be more commercial

the THC rising



The Government will still lie

And will never stop lying



But one thing will change, and will change the most

With the ozone gone this world will roast



The heat will rise, and lower the sky

It’s no disguise



The future is in the hands of the youth

It’s sad but that’s the truth.



Jason Wright © 1998

3 comments:

  1. Anonymous6:41 AM

    Thanks Doug, appreciate it.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Do you realize how many history textbooks you've now made obsolete? Hundreds of publishers will now go out of business. I hope you're proud of yourself!
    Great poem, Dude.
    ONE CORRECTION: In the sixties section "pot smoking" should not be capitalized. I know, I did a lot of research on that.

    ReplyDelete
  3. hahaha, thats hilarious. in the 90's i did alot of research on that, probably why i didnt finish the poem.

    ReplyDelete