Jimi – a poem

Jimi

 

A sorcerer

Changing a guitar into a bomb,

A machine gun,

A helicopter gunship,

A roaring machine of death

Or a vehicle of love.

 

Harnessing feedback

Through a tremolo arm,

With an elbow,

The back of a hand,

Teeth and soul.

 

Creating sounds

That had never been heard;

A tsunami of emotion

And wonder.

 

A magician

Towering over

The vibe

Of our alternative

Vision.

 

Opher – 16.8.2019

 

 

I was fortunate enough to catch a look at Woodstock. It took me back to the ideals of my youth. We were so naive – but brave, so optimistic and full of hope, so earnest and determined.

This is the new world we built.

We fought for freedoms, nature, equality and an end to racism, sexism and elitism with big dollops of love and fun.

It’s a battle that is still going on.

I watched Jimi play at Woodstock – not long before his death. He brought reality and Vietnam into the fight. War is the result of all that greed and inequality. He conjured up emotion.

We had the alternative vision and Jimi was our magician. He worked his magic in our ears and minds and opened our eyes.