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Buskers

See them each morn.
From dawn
They busk
Till dusk.

     The one-man show-men
     Drum thumbs across chords,
     Kick sticks against skins,
     Strum fingers on strings,
     While a tambourine rings
     And a hat beckons pennies for music
     More suited for kings.

     Tooting fluters for commuters
     Counterpoint with klaxon hooters.
     In the City, tuning up,
     Practising its morning concert,
     These, the soloists, add one more melody
     To inlaid themes which echo
     Through the score of streets they wander.

See them each night.
From twilight
They play
Till day.

 

            busker2

            busker1

            busker3

 


 

Copyright: Richard Fox 1973
All rights reserved

 


Picture credits: Puncture kit-969.JPG by ProfDEH (Original photograph) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Bardentreffen 2014 So 0241.JPG by Rs-foto (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or CC BY-SA 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

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Filed under Music, My poems

All Night Cards

The strangled room,

     silently suffocated by smoke and

     quietly acquiescent in the tar-stained sunlight,

     receives no rest this morn.


The squint-eyed squad,

     quietly confident, who choke on

     silently soothing menthol and tip,

     deceive the rest till dawn.


Tea-cups litter hearth and chair,

Cornflakes capture eyes that stare

And wish for sleep, for slumber pray.

Fools, who know it now, are stone-

And poker-faced, and watch, and moan,

As ash engulfs a groaning tray.


And still they play …

 


 


Copyright: Richard Fox 1967
All rights reserved

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Filed under My poems