May 15, 2021

Steve Conway

THAT SONG ABOUT ASTRO MAN FLYIN HIGHER THAN THAT OLE SUPERMAN

inspired many a sixties & seventies freak
to be a rip roaring high flyer w.no cape
ah yeah you gave em wings
the generation that flew higher than birds w.out feathers
floating on the freest wind a guitar string could cut
into the diamond mine of a human being
so far into psychedelic sky you were
to many people w.in earshot of your songs
the greatest mother pluckin finger pickin genius
whoever evolved from the primordial ooze of the blues
a warrior w.a whammy bar & wah wah pedal
who put a fresh twist on an old anthem for a generation
determined to change the world by marching
for peace attempting to correct injustice a powerful statement
the rockets red glare & bombs bursting thru your fender
heads & marshall amps stacked up over that ocean
of mud & trash left behind causing me to think
it may have been an omen in retrospect it
brings my heart floating up into my throat
choking on a sea of forgotten teardrops
it makes my lips quiver & eyes glaze over filling
everyone w.pride when they hear that
loose rendition of purple haze leading
into that frances scott key song that played
for over one hundred yrs. before it
cut into the very soul of america

from Rattle #15, Summer 2001

__________

Steve Conway: “Originally from Rhode Island, I’ve ridden my motorcycle all over the U.S. and Canada. I enjoy being at one with nature.”

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October 9, 2018

Steve Conway

DAYLIGHT RUNS

from the coming night
with its nocturnal temptations.

Glimmering scales slide
between concrete structures,
under countless artificial suns
they release another spirit
on the cooling wind
from where the dove hides
existing as free
as life will allow.

From within darkness and moisture
crowns are shed,
minds burst forth
from between
wide open thighs.

Crying cuts the breath-
less anticipation,
the beginning of another
reason for
demons and angels
to do battle.

from Rattle #10, Winter 1998
Tribute to Poets in Prison

__________

Steve Conway: “I was born and educated in Providence, Rhode Island, and have lived and traveled across the U.S. and Canada by motorcycle. I stopped counting poems after I reached a thousand.”

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