A Visit With Old Friends

I opened the black leather door
Leading to the rooms filled with my old friends
Who I had not seen for what seemed like an eternity,
But eternity is longer than life so how could that be.

As I entered I looked into the mirror
That had been hanging in the museum
Reflecting walls lined with aging portraits
Except the one of the young man camera covering his face
As he composed his self-portrait
Capturing his youth at that point in time
To be reflected on in his later years.

Another mirrored reflection
Held a different view of the young man
Lean of body and full of hair,
Standing motionless on the platform
Watching the train speed by
Without realizing
That his life would speed by all too quickly.

Through the windows of the room I toured
The juxtapositions presented themselves one by one
As the jesters did to the kings
The contrasts forever captured

A man standing on boulders near the harbor
The distant high rises monopolizing the horizon
Man forever planted
Between nature and development.

The final resting place of soldiers from the wars
Marked by neatly rowed white stones all alike from afar
The foreground holding the matching rows of military vehicles
From war to eternal rest
In the distance of a few feet.

The 18 wheeler
Speeding to its destination
While on the roadside grew a blossoming plant
With nowhere else to go
Man’s movement forever missing nature’s beauty.

The crying child in his summer play outfit
Tears of sadness unknown running down his face
Until they dropped one by one onto the ground
Looking across to the ancient mountain waterfall
Forever motionlessly pounding downward over the rocks
Into the waiting pool of countless
Droplets of the earth’s tears.

From above and below
The bookends of life stare forever at each other
The young boy’s face without a line and his eyes without a story
The grandmother’s neck stretching upward
But not enough to hide her worn and wrinkled skin
Her eyes holding a lifetime of joy and sadness,
Stories kept inside without escape.

The musicians of the seventies
Forever ready to play the music now held tightly in the mind

Jerry started off the procession
Still young, without the gray or excess weight that would visit him in later life
Guitar strapped across his shoulder covering part of his solid plain tee
His four fingered hand frozen mid-strum
As he looked across the stage and out into space toward his future.

At the piano sat Sly Stone, his name well earned
Dressed in flamboyant felt hat and cloak
Staring across to Dave Mason
In his what would later be known as a yuppie sweater vest
Pulling the weeping notes out of his guitar
Together forever playing their music.

Bob and Leon were there together
Dancing without motion across the stage
Robbie Robertson joined with them
The great ones of their music degeneration
Their youth never vanishing as on they played.

Some spokesmen of the 70's filled rooms of their own
Words floating somewhere in the air only rarely now heard

Angela her afro covering her absorbant head
Held full and proud for all to see
Powerful right fist thrust into the air
It would have reached the sky
Had it not been attached to her earthly body.

Joining in were David Dellinger
The active pacifist of the infamous Chicago 8
Then Ed Muskie suspended in time
Before he cried and his tears unjustly
Brought a rapid cessation to this presidential dream
But here David and and Ed can dream on, dream on.

Off to the side were the outcasts
The ones who never quite fit in and yet populate all of the world

Against a wall stood a life size raggedy-ann
Striped dress and a sailor tie
Her matching stuffed twin sister in arm
A drink in her hand seemingly not her first
A clenched smile on her face
Saying this was the wrong time and place.

The old man stood close by with his too large nose
A well-lined face told the story of his life
A woman’s feathered hat upon his head
His twin puppet where his left hand should have been
With its own large nose and feathered hat
The puppet ranting against the war and telling stories
That the old man's mouth could not directly share.

The forever overweight man
Trying to hide behind his dark glasses
One encircling fat roll resting on another
In an endless progression
A portion of his posterior resting for posterity
On the plastic seat of the metal chair that surely would break
If he failed to sit completely without motion
And complete motionless he sits - forever

Starring out into space
The man with just one tooth
A fang resting on his lower lop
One false move and it would pierce through
But it never has and it never will

As I left I stopped to gaze upon
The obligatory family portrait from a time long past

My father with his white hair and highly starched shirt
Contrasting with his solid black suit and neatly placed black tie dotted with white
His face showing the years of life
Of newspapers and war and business
The sparkling pride radiating from his face, radiating from his face.

My mother with that working on it smile
Surrounded by the family she loved so much
Oversized Jewish star hanging on a chain over her heart
Burrowing into her heart or out from her soul
Forever symbolizing the centrality of her religion in her life, religion in her life.

My brother with his long hair and wild beard
Smiling like a cheshire cat
Giving him an undeserved Charlie Manson look
While dressed in could have been a bar mitzvah suit with hip tie
A contradiction between convention and revolution, a contradiction.

My sister with a bright smile on her face
Shorter and older then her brothers
Yet then larger than us all in so many ways
Gazing to and through the burning Sabbath candles
Her youth captured where she stood
Forever young, forever young.

In the middle stood a younger version,
Of a boy-man I know to be me
Standing physically above the others with
Too large glasses and too long hair
The promise of a full beard that would be a life-long friend and protector
A future waiting to unfold, waiting to unfold.


This piece is intended to express in writing my thoughts on the photographs that I produced in my 20's, mostly when I was attending Washington University or living in St. Louis post-graduation, and some during my travels throughout the country. The photographs now reside in a black leather portfolio on my bookshelf and remain my "old friends".