Smelling of sweat and old sneakers the gym darkened to a state of night,
Strobe lights blink come into the world of flashing our light
Wipe-out and pipeline pounding through speakers eight foot high
Guys in coffin boots, burgundy pants and paisley shirts I do not lie
Outrageous imitation Beatle hair cuts almost down past their ears
Girls in mini skirts and see through peasant blouses sip cokes like beer
Three pairs of white sweat socks bunched up below bell-bottoms pants
Its Friday afternoon sock-hop but nobody will dance
Boys to the left wall trying to look cool, girls to the right wall
Or fixing their makeup lingering outside in the hall
The Beatles, Santana, Steppenwolf, Hendrix and Stones
Long before computers, DVDs and cell phones
Stairway to Heaven, House of New Orleans, I Want to Hold Your Hand
If you owned a guitar and amp you could be a part of the band
Ahhhh those sock-hops on Fridays from four until six in the gym
Made magical memories of those days that were no more then a whim
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Gueneva
Keep that door of memories open. . . it's a place of smiles and tears in harmony.
Peace 2 U Felix P.,
cynth'ya lewis reed
"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I may as well be."
And wipe out is still hanging in there. Sock hops here must be a little different. The boys are still on one side and the girls on the other, but if the girls want to dance they ask the guy and then they all get out on the floor. Just different kinds of dances. And yes you can't beat the good old days. Now our children are making their own good old day. Interesting write. Karen
Love Tinka
great mood poem ...