Hippie Chicks and Gumboot Stomps

There is always a salty tang in the air

On these time warped island enclaves where

Time loops itself around the summer of love

Where you can still hear the cellophane being torn from Sgt Pepper’s

For the first time

And patchouli oil arrives in 45 gallon drums

To anoint tied dyed dervishes

Unconcerned with convention or shifting fashions

Hippie chicks and gumboot stomps still rattle the boards

In moss covered community halls

As loose tunes carom off moonbeams into midnights

Where memories bleed into one another

Passed around like joints on the back porch at the break

Where the tide is a constant presence

Lifting each rocky island up

Then washing it down

Where the rhythm of life is punctuated

By arrivals and departures of coastal ferries

Carrying 30 year old Volvos and even older punch buggies

On and off these islands of no return

Where homespun sweaters are more popular than yoga pants

And woodstoves bake solid loaves of love

Pungent with unadulterated truth

Where home means more than a place to sleep

But is a state of being in the moment

That wraps itself inside out with summery love

Garnished with unconnected freedom

And the sharp pull of the sea



David Trudel   © 2013




Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “Hippie Chicks and Gumboot Stomps

  1. Love this–the sweaters, the bread. All of it has such a wonderful feel to it.

    • Thanks! The title phrase was in my mind for a day or so but I wasn’t sure which way to go with it. The Gulf Islands (between Vancouver Island and the Mainland) have been home to many counter-culture folks since the sixties and it often seems like time is irrelevant to many of them.

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