They climb ladders
looking for high notes,
Unlimited by sky
they seldom touch the ground,
No matter the season
there is always spring in their steps.

Moons, both blue and gold,
star trails, a bee in the cheese,
tendrils of hymn and always
the tag alongs.  Days that last
for weeks, paladins of pieces,
riffs that fill in the spaces
between songs.

Eclectic, electric, acoustic,
coldwater flat or loft,
penthouse or hovel,
never enough funds
but this carnival of harlequins
always keeps seeking.


6 thoughts on “Buskers

  1. BoardFlak

    A hand-to-mouth existence, probably lived hand-in-hand and with fewer cares that one would expect. You paint an interesting picture.

    No song lyrics to go with that one (okay, I did think about the song “Cotton Jenny”…)

  2. Busking is great busking is so good that even after social distancing i started busking on facebook doing the same stuff i would ordinarily do down at the icecream shop. The first line of your poem struck me. They climb ladders looking for high notes ..yes.. we wear clown shoes and silly hat s and we search for that lick or piece of repertoire that can be put together with an action that grabs the audience.

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