Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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Like a wave pounding the shore
the Beat Generation before
fomented the 60s, “On the Road”
with Kerouac’s Neal Cassady struck
a raw nerve, beatniks were born
the 50s had their game, 60s the same
with war, death and assassinations
protest for change boiled over
my 50s, still were Elvis, pink and black
Jan and Dean, family’s record machine.
My first car a Volkswagen Van
Blue Elephant was her name
four cylinders for slow, view loving
patience, married June 1966 we rolled
out of the Bay Area heading north.
Poetry major in college, songs to write
tempered by restored religion
“As I stood there in the silence of yesterdays
the chill of chains swung at me
shredding the air and I heard the chest
of a horse heave as his head burst white
above the stream’s saplings
and disappeared in a shattering of leaves.”
I was bridled, taking on the work of life
no drugs or free sex only focus on the essence
no destructive diversions, I entered the bead
the pure bead of silence, inner stillness
to know God, hear the words sealed in my soul
genetic library, volumes of my ancestors
waiting to be read, my search of Siddhartha
“…he was horrified and his heart ached as if
he had thrown away with this dead bird all
that was good and of value in himself.”
My bird, the Ibis standing at her equinox
skull once shattered, her redemption now
my vicarious, poetic, life’s continual work.

© Jan G. Otterstrom F. February 15, 2015