David Niall Wilson

An Author's Virtual Home

Katmandu – Dedicated to Samuel Taylor Coleridge & Rock ‘n’ Roll

David Niall Wilson


by David Niall Wilson

(with a nod to Samuel Taylor Coleridge)


In Katmandu did Bob the Man

A Detroit Rockin’dream decree:

Where Jim the Lizard King once sang

As acid left its sizzling tang

On the tongues of a human sea.

So twice five thousand screaming fans
With flow’rd tie dye girdled round:

And there were acid trails and colored aura’s  bright,
Where swayed a score of  incense-bearing priests ;
And here were sounds as primal as the light,
Enfolding all in ethereal dreams.

But oh ! that deep and rhythmic passion pounded
Echoed deep beneath the f-holes graceful curves !
A savage sound! as holy and enchanted
As e’er from Marshall Stacks and strings incanted

By rocker screaming to his demon lover!

And from the stage with dry ice smoke clouds seething,

As if his soul leaked from his fingers, bleeding,

A haze of purple momently was forced :

Amid whose scintillating bursts

And scales that vaulted like rebounding hail

Or tasty hemp beneath the thresher’s flail :

And ‘mid these dancing rockers, once and ever

Music undulated, formed a sacred river.

Five melodies meandering with a mazy motion

Deep Purple backbeats rolled and ran,

Through deep, harmonic caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a mindless ocean :

Amid the tumult all could hear him from afar,

Jimi prophesying on guitar !

The shadow of a generation hovered,

Floating on the sound and rode the waves ;

As veils were lifted, and their minds discovered

The Song Remains the Same beyond the grave;

It was a miracle of rare device,

A pleasure dome beyond all human price !

Elvis in a pompadour

In a concert once I saw,

He was a vision burning bright,

And on that empty stage he played,

Ensconced within a holy pearly light.

Could I remember clearly

What the chemicals portrayed,

To such a high it would return me

That with music loud and strong,

I would play that holy sound

In Katmandu, with Bob the Man

That Purple Haze, That bluesy sound,

And all who heard would see them there,

And dream of Godspell, and of Hair,

Weave a circle  round them thrice,

And close your eyes, then bow your heads,

For they, on dreams and acid fed,

And climbed the stairs to Paradise.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Copyright © 2021 David Niall Wilson