The Pipes of Pan


It all began with a brief drum fill

And harmonized Yeah Yeah Yeah’s

As I doffed my hat to Mr. Zimmerman,

Said to be Hibbing’s finest,

Who was masquerading

As James Dean for the day.

On the Feast of St. Cecilia

The charismatic leader fell,

Opening the floodgates

Of rage unprecedented. 

Hair grows longer As skirts get shorter

And couples dance farther apart. 

The man on the moon

Competed for attention

With the eggman

The  dark horse and the walrus.

Seduced by a Summer

Of (False) Love. 

Of course, it was all false. 

No one knew though. 

That was the big secret

Neither mods, nor rockers, nor hippies

Would tell anyone

Among their followers.

As the Pipes of Pan

Continued to play. 

Today the Fab folks at NA(GLO)POWRIMO have asked each of us for a poem inspired by his musical interests. Here’s one for dVersepoets’ Open Link Night.

6 thoughts on “The Pipes of Pan

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