Birth of Punk Rock
An aging warehouse with a cement floor,
broken glass, and swooning walls.
Proud of its code violations.
No ads or radio spots, you just had to
know this was the place.
Before the Dead Kennedys came on,
some other band played “Sit On My
Face, Stevie Nicks.” In the parking lot,
Some boys too young for facial hair
mocked my pal’s beard, “I’ll
bet you were at Woodstock, ” one
sneered. This was an epithet? I wish
I had been at Woodstock. I would have
stayed for Jimi after everyone else left.
Now it’s too late and it always will be.
Michael Philips's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Birth of Punk Rock by Michael Philips )
- Nappy Change, Joe Hughes visit joehughes.o ..
- Holding Closely, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Rock an' Roller, Joe Hughes visit joehughes.o ..
- Living With An Open Heart, Renee Marie
- Love Burns, Angela K Brown
- Broken Love, Angela K Brown
- All of Me, Angela K Brown
- Rain, Angela K Brown
- Stay With Me, Angela K Brown
- seriously though, the ending is dope, Mandolyn ...
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Footsteps of Angels, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)