Patti
by Zettel
Posted: 01 July 2005 Word Count: 242 Summary: Patti Smith - Meltdown: 'The Salt of The Earth' Royal Festival Hall 19th June 2005 |
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I saw this by happy accident. Quite the most extraordinary live concert I have ever seen. Unique.
She stands in a pool of light
pawing the stage with the grace
of a grey-maned mustang
wise in the ways
of world and man
waiting to lead
her bate-breathed feral fans
towards the storm of music
she will unleash.
Ordered genteel rows
of courteous conformity
in a royal sanctuary
of classical demesne
have suffered the incursion
of the hoi polloi of rock
shirt-sleeved, even suited punks
await the sweaty salty thrill
in defiant memory
of their youthful passion
now domiciled by life.
With heartfelt words
of time-undimmed belief
she recites her passions
of Ginsberg, Morrison
and iconoclastic Blake
The wild child queen
leads us to the edge
and beckoning, fearlessly she jumps
careering down the slope
Like a Rolling Stone.
The storm of sound
and furious discontent
at needless death and hate
breaks through the carapace
of our forgetful state
reminding us that
passionate commitment
can storm the gilded gates
of privilege and blindness
to the innocent
and their man-made cruel fate.
Tirelessly she rides the storm
still raging hours in
with undiminished power
she calls upon the gods
to free the gates of heaven
and let the people in
Fragmented serried ranks
gathered now around
her epicentre of the storm
where elemental voices sing
have shared a heart of thunder
and the inner strength of one
who has kissed
the lips of lightning
She stands in a pool of light
pawing the stage with the grace
of a grey-maned mustang
wise in the ways
of world and man
waiting to lead
her bate-breathed feral fans
towards the storm of music
she will unleash.
Ordered genteel rows
of courteous conformity
in a royal sanctuary
of classical demesne
have suffered the incursion
of the hoi polloi of rock
shirt-sleeved, even suited punks
await the sweaty salty thrill
in defiant memory
of their youthful passion
now domiciled by life.
With heartfelt words
of time-undimmed belief
she recites her passions
of Ginsberg, Morrison
and iconoclastic Blake
The wild child queen
leads us to the edge
and beckoning, fearlessly she jumps
careering down the slope
Like a Rolling Stone.
The storm of sound
and furious discontent
at needless death and hate
breaks through the carapace
of our forgetful state
reminding us that
passionate commitment
can storm the gilded gates
of privilege and blindness
to the innocent
and their man-made cruel fate.
Tirelessly she rides the storm
still raging hours in
with undiminished power
she calls upon the gods
to free the gates of heaven
and let the people in
Fragmented serried ranks
gathered now around
her epicentre of the storm
where elemental voices sing
have shared a heart of thunder
and the inner strength of one
who has kissed
the lips of lightning
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