i slept outside on Mt Tamalpais in Marin County overlooking Stinson Beach in California .
2 months after this poem was written i hitchhiked out of town all the way to the Canadian border that being the last time i ever hitchhiked again and at the border i cut my hair for the first time in 8 years and let go the name of Huck and retook my own name of Jonathon Darly Lipsin and i decided to get into the record business and change my life .I called up my dad and told him my plans .He immediately sent me 10,00 dollars to buy a car and i did even though i didn’t know how to drive a car !
I drove to California and 6 months later to my hippie friends complete surprise and went to the Arhoolie and Kicking Mule record labels offices and somehow convinced them to allow me to be their distributor in Canada. A year and a half later i signed the childrens group in Toronto Sharon,Lois and Bram and they became huge and it seemed everything i touched became gold and platinum those being the records i was duly awarded. This is the first time i has read this poem since i wrote it.
I feel very solid ,very good this 22’nd birthday ,a magical time for me .waking in the forest middle of night to find i am 22.
Deer and raccoon making rustling sound about me.
I wrote a poem and read Moby Dick with my pocket flashlight.
On my birthday day after writing this poem i climbed Mount Tamalpais to it’s peak , hiking about 10 miles ,a mile straight up a sharp rocky incline .
Reaching the top my body soaked with sweat i had a fantastic 360 degree view of the Bay area .It was hard climb bit i did it proudly ,aware that dream are like that.
My 22nd Birthday poem
Full moon in Pisces
middle of the night realizing i am 22
waking up with surprise an djoy
the woods of Mt Tamalpais
gentle,kindly and watchful
fall of pine cone
creak of branch
supple and warm
my naked shoulders gleam in the glen
afforded protection and affable solicitude
these trees unweary
pine,redwood,laurel leaves reaching past me
to other wisdoms
stars gleaming through spaces between
this sylvan quilt
where jesters are not seen or heard
it is just like praying
waking up to be 22 in the Thoreau American night
to the fall,rustle and remark of deer,raccoon and birds ..
flotsam and jetsam of forest
smell rich and sweet ,
like sleeping in a box of herbal remedies
i pick up scree to my nose
breathing in it’s aroma
the night a clear picture
I am 22.
The future looks bright yet misty still
this Cold Mountain
it’s trails steep and twiney
i climb open to it’s tales
what does this mean then i am 22?
in a place amongst these grainy woods
where i am but a young pup.
The trees can’t console me
they re too old
and i hear the voice of life itself
self affirming confidence
within these bones.
the soul’s mind speak sonorously…
to go on is evident
to go on joyfully is the plan
we must hope to follow.
my gifts and dreams in wide circles awakening.
I am he that emerges
my skin of many colors
the rainbow and gossamer
arcs and fields
this is my birthday
and somehow the trees don’t comfort me
they being too old
and of another race
out of time..
there is always a certain sadness that comes with growing older
and realizing the only way back is in dreams and memories.
My mother said she thought deeply of me last nite
remembering the night she carried me
“it was on a day like it is now
and that seemed “,she said ,”like yesterday”
Deep down within my soul is a primeval memory
i think i can almost remember
sometimes the feeling back then
way back then
a void of warm and white
the comfort ,milky heated bliss
when everything was so huge
I have evade a deep notch on life’s tree
this quarter of my life already passed
i remember as a child
looking up at this tree
from it’s very trunk
and getting scared to think of the long way up
the thought looming and luminous would l;last a little while
before i would once again
act my age and run out to play.
now here i lie
3,500 miles from my place of birth
distinctly whittling my own tale
carving my sundry totem..
what are they as death’s yawning maw
lies ahead to accept equally
Last night alone in the woods
lying by fallen moss,
velvet laden log
redolent it’s smell of pine boughs
forest sounds of wind and
falling movements of unseen animals
in the night
stars crowding above the lofty peaks
anxious for a look within
full moon in Pisces starting to wane
yet still round
glowing strongly at one point
on my face
thru an opportune opening in the trees
and i lay awake and then fall asleep
likened to Montreal summer nights
warm enough to lay haphazardly
in a partly open down sleeping bag
and i stared and discerned
in order to see truths and forfeit lies
journeys thru the past
eye straining to the future
And then just quiet without waiting’
very sombre and slow
but the morning sunrise
orange redescent glow
and birds awake in song
like the very very first morning
eden saw play
i watch and stretch slowly
and let sink in taste
delicious of mountain morn
for all the world