Archive for the I’m a hippie Category


Posted in I'm a hippie on 18 June 2009 - Thursday by Matthew Bowerman

Greg, you are a dork.


better this way

Posted in Everyday Life, I'm a hippie, Ideas, People, Poetry, Posted by g mcclure on 6 March 2008 - Thursday by g mcclure

but don’t sleep
wake walk and dream
in time in tandem
but don’t condone
live love and accept
without compromise


Posted in I'm a hippie, Poetry, Posted by Matt, Silly on 15 December 2007 - Saturday by Matthew Bowerman

everyone it seems

is in their own section of the universe

taking care to ignore the sections beyond

in the universe that is Chilis

Staring across the waters from Chesil Beach

Posted in Affairs of the Heart, Art, I'm a hippie, Ideas, Literature, Personal, Posted by g mcclure, Things on 13 December 2007 - Thursday by g mcclure

I just finsihed, less than ten minutes ago, reading On Chesil Beach, a novel by Ian McEwan.

One day, that is what I want to write, what I dream to achieve. I aspire to write something powerful, something evocative and painful that destroys and confounds the reader. I want to bring an eighteen year-old, college student child to subtle, quiet tears as he lounges on a couch on-campus, just waiting for something to happen to him. I want to someday be the author of the first something in that child’s evening.

statue stood with silenced legs

Posted in Affairs of the Heart, I'm a hippie, Past experiences, People, Personal, Poetry, Posted by g mcclure on 11 November 2007 - Sunday by g mcclure

statue stood with silenced legs
never held by her or his
(monolith monument obelisk)
known by almost and loved by nearly

everyone all (both here and there)
paid their dues to statue still
skyline stature merits awe
pure as stone and strong as same

masses (mad and merry) knelt
dressed their front and turned their back
(monument obelisk monolith)
they sighed her wonder they breathed her praise

one night nature ran his course
and statue burned as by he passed
to everyones no she held her first
joy through pain in natures sleep

hammer by handle (swing and swung)
forth and back and down and up
(obelisk monolith monument)
even stone falls stone by stone

natures course was sooner later
and statues silence broken dreamed
(as seasons turned in timely fashion)
known just once and loved once less

Almost Callus

Posted in Faith, I'm a hippie, Past experiences, Personal, Poetry, Posted by g mcclure on 27 October 2007 - Saturday by g mcclure

God, thank you for this pain
It means I’m still alive
Don’t ever take every tear
lest I forget what it is to care
lest I forget what it is to cry
Thank You I can still hurt

I’m going, going, … … … gone?

Posted in Affairs of the Heart, College, Everyday Life, Faith, Friends, I'm a hippie, Ideas, People, Personal, Places, Posted by g mcclure, Society, Travel on 19 October 2007 - Friday by g mcclure

I need a vacation. Bob Dylan called it Time out of Mind; that sounds good. My love for life is waning at best, dying at worst. Classes are redundant when they’re not repetitive, boring. They hold my attention no better than the eraser cast-off left on my desk from the previous class. Work is one wing over from class, but no more exciting. My house is quiet and dull, its inhabitants growing stagnant, not unlike myself. Praise God for Christen, whose voice and hands soothe me at every sound and touch. She keeps me sane when I am incapable of doing so myself, which is more frequent than my preference dictates. Praise God also for Himself, His continuity, his changeless nature. Something of which I have no fear is my life with Him; He is stable in my instability and present in my absence. My great Sustainer and source of hope even when my strength is no more active than my church’s youth group, which might as well not exist. Oh wait, it doesn’t.

What it comes down to is a dime-sized patch of hairless skin on the back of my head. It’s been called a bald spot, but bald seems an awful word to use in reference to one so young. I prefer think of it as the exit hatch for my stress and exhaustion. Though, in earnest, it is a bald spot, a damned bald spot. It speaks to me from the right backside of my cranium, almost audibly, saying, “you need to pull a Southwest Airlines and ‘get away.’ Trust me on this one, you need some of Mr. Dylan’s time out of mind, and I do too. Grab your car keys and a good novel, but leave the phone and textbooks where they are.”

For being so unsightly, that hairless blight on my head has got a point. A good point. It’s been a while since I genuinely took off, stole away, disappeared. A disappearing act would do me good. First off, I slap-happily threw up, literally regurgitated, the crap I had in drafts on this site. It’s worth less in the public eye than the current Presidential administration, but to me it represents a temporary closing on this portion of my load. Now I just have to make it ’til I can cast off my other responsibilities. After that, who knows. Not me. I don’t want to. I want a little time to not know, to not care. A chance to step back from myself and check if I still like who’s on the other side of the mirror.

I need to recheck the mirror. Wow. James would surely have nasty words for a person like me…