Elegy for Allen Cohen
By: J.C. Flyer

With a bellowing voice
howling like the winds
of change
A poet stands
amongst a pile of hats
in no discernable order
maybe not to you
But
always the conscience
of the buffalo
or of you and I
Teaching truth
to students of the future
Speaking words
too truthful
for ears to hear
Remembering Hiroshima
and tales about
denizen bikers, drug fueled wanderers, and
down on their luck burlesque
queens

Or was it Brooklyn?
where the seeds were sown
to blossom in North Beach
and into the Haight Ashbury
Like a strong warm wind
sharing the bounty
of ideas and visions
Now a shell of a body
clutching effortlessly at those moments
of truth
of freedom
of sharing the consciousness
Pointing towards the path that's
right over there
I'll catch you later man

© Gypsyman 3 Publishing

Last Words To Allen Cohen

Dear Mate,

I want to say so many things

so, so many things full of heart

and of the times before

to thank you for being my friend -

for this alone I have been blessed

to thank you for having moved the world

of man and woman kind unto and far beyond

themselves as illuminated sentient beings

all in the moment then and now

as one energetic body of loving

transformation and regeneration

and to compliment you one to the other

for having carried on as you have

as a warrior - bhodisattva and scribe

of proud lineage - a legacy in fact

of a "one hip hippy" as you once

commented to me in virtual space

I am there with you in this moment

timeless of today or tomorrow

asever in this moment

knowing full and well

that we shall meet again

transformation bringing us

so close to the source

of all things worth living for

Namasté - Bole Nath Kí Jai

Tat Sat Hari Tat Sat!

With love remembrance joy

and the image of your smile

in my heart

AsEver yours,

© Hammond Guthrie, March 2004
My last words to an old and cherished friend well met at Morey's Deli (circa 1965)

Finding Refuge in the Spirit of Allen

We lay there
Our breathing finds its own rhythm
anchors us in the moment
We find it curious
why now so close to his dying
we should find such deep comfort
in each other's presence
I begin to softly hum a Buddhist chant
It is my way of offering him blessings,
I want Allen to know he is held by my love,
not to be afraid, to
treasure this liminal time.
In a moment a warm breeze
wafts into the room.
It ripples over us.
Our touching arms merge into one.
Our breaths sail together
on the precious waves.

© Yana Womack

Yana was a care giver to Allen and they shared wonderful conversations on dreams

FOR ALLEN COHEN, A POET WHO DIED

If you were alive today
I wouldn't be thinking about you.
I never did.

Then we ran into each other,
your black curls
bouncing with enthusiasm,
your arms flapping,
breathing hard enough
to chase another group project,
magazine, anthology
and we were so proud to be needed.

It was like a big red india-rubber ball
stamped with gold stars
and thrown for us to catch.

You made it seem so easy
and we could no more
think about you
than the centipede can think
about which foot starts walking.

You were our first step
so many times.
So what now?

You were refreshing to be around
like cool water is good to drink.
Good people are usually
embarrassing by contrast,
they make us feel
we should pick up our insides
like dirty rooms of headless dolls
and lost socks.

"Good" is a word
we hear too at funerals.
You were a good man
but we liked you anyway.

Your soul was used to getting up
like a man in a crowded bus
offering his seat
to an old woman with groceries.

But your soul
gave its place to the world
and the Lord.

"Rest In Me, O Lord" was the title
of your great poem
in the peace anthology.

The Lord accepted your invitation.
You have to rest in peace,
and I'm going to see
God doesn't get any rest at all.

We needed you more.

© Julia Vinograd

Julia Vinograd website

Allen

Kaleidoscopic mind
Transcends past and present into future
The slight mist over the bright green trees
in Golden Gate Park
Holds your essence here forever

With Love,
Lauren Kael

A Haiku in 2 Parts

Part I
The Streets are Quiet
For a Man of Many Words
Has Now Ceased to Speak.

Part II
Though Sound is Fleeting,
His Words will be
Heard for Years -
Felt for Much Longer.

Jade, age 16

Jade learned about Allen Cohen through her interest in the history of the sixties and was inspired by his poetry and vision of peace and harmony

Love is Always Within Sight