Busker Most folks rush past, but this one old guy, he wheeled up fast to the best seat in the house, one of a thousand there on the street, to hear me and my guitar bleat and stomp about bad boys, stupid dreams and tired feet, drugs and drink and drinking all the bad blood of every bad job I’d had, and of running away from pain and noise, and nowhere to stay— all the big themes of me, of who I am and will be. He could’ve been my old grandad sitting there, who never heard me play, never took me in, but as I strummed and grooved and wailed a while, I saw he’d close his eyes sometimes and smile, and I knew I hadn’t failed.
Brachycephalic, my kind of guy! Ice storm last weekend tore limbs off trees. 2000 in our county without power. We didn't lose our, but I've got a photo of a big dangling limb which reminded me of your tarot card, The Dangling Man,. It's on my phone, Will post it to you later.
No busker has ever failed me. Not possible.
now that's someone who knows how to listen <3
Brachycephalic, my kind of guy! Ice storm last weekend tore limbs off trees. 2000 in our county without power. We didn't lose our, but I've got a photo of a big dangling limb which reminded me of your tarot card, The Dangling Man,. It's on my phone, Will post it to you later.
Beautiful and poignant Alan 💚
All the big themes of me….terrific!
Sweet one, Alan, nice work.
You know you are absolutely right.
Success is sweet, sweet nectar.
You never fail to amaze me.
Coming to this post a few days late 😅 but I couldn't not mention how wonderful this poem is. Awesome work!!
This is wonderful in every way. The photo, the poem, the spirit driving both. I really love it.