ALL THOSE EMPTY SPACES

All those empty spaces
in a Vermont writer's colony
my surreal drawings
over the campus lobby
waiting for a pop artist
Andy from Manhattan
with his canvas
carrying under his arms
the charismatic patterns
for future happenings
as he engages us
in art ,music, plays, films
I'm in a love song to the folks
playing my acoustic guitar
we are glancing at the stage
moving our feet in dances
to the jazz riffs and rages
of Allen G.,a Beat poet
with his sitar and bong
in the Sixties language
with India's rhythm's in heat,
viewing those spaces we see
on the bird branches
a canary flying up
here by the White Mountains
who at day's first light
may want bread or my croissant
or to drink in a thirst
for mineral water
from the city fountain
as this canary escaped
from his cage to the Elm trees
by home folks who cannot
let the tiny bird share
any invitation to be free
for those like the canary
are held in captivity,
yet hearing her song's voice
wanting a choice to be free
we rejoice in her serenity
knowing we all seek peace
as flower children
and like the bird
want harmony.