Glastonbury has had a remarkable transformation from its roots as a counter-culture rock festival.
Nowadays it is an essential part of the summer social scene and attracts huge media coverage. Celebs fly in to spend the week in a luxury yurt, rock royalty are booked to perform, but can it still manage to retain the original atmosphere of youthful (and not so youthful) rebellion.
This poem takes a wry look at the modern Glastonbury.
The last bastion of the hippy dream
Nowadays it is an essential part of the summer social scene and attracts huge media coverage. Celebs fly in to spend the week in a luxury yurt, rock royalty are booked to perform, but can it still manage to retain the original atmosphere of youthful (and not so youthful) rebellion.
This poem takes a wry look at the modern Glastonbury.
Glastonbury
The last bastion of the hippy dream
Now
part of the upmarket social scene
Justin
and Josephine
On
leave from their bank
Pretend
to be
Part
of the 'family'
But
only for a few days
No
drug-fuelled haze for them
Only
the best wine is good enough
For
the 'creme de la creme'.
And middle-aged rock bands relive their past
But
their songs of rebellion sound daft
Now
they're part of the wealthy elite
Their
anarchist posing sounds so effete
The
passion is gone from a song
Where
their hearts no longer belong
They're
too rich now to berate
And
they can't sing about owning
Plush
mansions and estates.
Some
of the stars now wear a hat
So
you'd never guess that...they're bald
And
bulging stomachs only add to their woes
Never
mind about not seeing their toes
How
can they look raunchy
When
they're getting old and paunchy
As
for those high notes, they're best left alone
Ironically
proving that ageing rockers
Can
still lower the tone.
The audience have the same problems too
Who?..in later life
Would want their wife
Sitting on their shoulders
Waving a flag
At a lead singer
They perhaps wanted to shag
Thirty years ago
And unbeknown to you
Maybe did so too.
But this middle-class...
Middle-aged partying needs a shot of new blood
So come on you young ones
Forget about getting a mortgage
Let's have some rebellion please
Remember how punk
Made us all ill at ease
Reclaim your territory please!
Then us counter-culture oldies
Can rest in peace.
Copyright © Peter Wheeler 2016.
All rights reserved.
This poem is from my new collection entitled
A message to Father Time
If you would like to get more information on how to download a copy to your kindle/laptop/tablet or own the paperback, click here.