Listening to Carlos Santana in Kitsilano Gym.
listening to Carlos Santana
in Kitsilano Gym,
his guitar solos
leading always
to that existential wail
on the top fret
above the cutaway
takes me back to Asbury Park
walking along the boardwalk
having watched Woodstock
my head an unsustainable mix
of idealism, hedonism.
This is a response to Quadrille #82 – Fretboard of Poetry, the prompt from Kim at dVerse, which is to use the word fret in a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme.
Stopdraggingthepanda 
As a fan of some of Carlos Santana’s music, this was an enjoyable read.
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Thank you
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Those were the days my friend! It was a whole different world back then. Great poem! Great nostalgia!
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Thank you
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I sometimes wonder if idealism and hedonism walk hand in hand.
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It’s funny how music can transport us, like John Kaye sang, “on a magic carpet ride.” Very cool about Woodstock.
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I loved the poem and also thought of the transportive power of music. Love this Jim
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Thank you Lona!
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I haven’t listened to Carlos Santana in years and your quadrille brought his ‘final existential wail’ back to me – I’ll be putting on a track or two later.
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When that man plays “Blues For Salvador” I simply melt. No one can make any electric guitar cry like an angel the Carlos can. A genius with a gift from the gods!
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I listened to Carlos Santana when he had aged…. how different it would have been in the beginning.
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Music can save souls! Watch out for those ~ism’s though!
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