Sorry, but these are BAD
Posts
Gramma danced as I played...so fine.
By Yasmeen Hussain She danced As I riffed With my A harp. She danced with Her shadow apace. And children just smiled As this Gramma Showed moves Dignified, COOL For the place. She smiled as my Music had pleased her And that was The greatest return The sun beamed. The grass smelled Of cutting. And nothing else Needed to earn. This trip. No, nothing I lacked Left to earn.
Tent City, Kitchener (May 2022)
Sing me a song For the street folk Down by the tracks Camp all set. Trying their best To make good of it Days ago, even when wet. Thankful for roots Of a sort here. Thankful for friends Who will share. Smokes and some cheese Bottled water, yes please. All in the kind open air. Peaceful with Law And the passers-by. Some of them shout "Get to work". What would we do Slightly just Turn the screw? Yes, hard not to End up berserk.
A Public Service, Puffing and Drawing
How can I help you To see some things freshly Raised from the humdrum So tediously borne. Here I am seated Harmonicas ready. Tunes haply brought to mind Bringing the smile. All of that "separateness" Suffered so many months Crippling Community Keeping us down. But now a brilliant sun Speak up yes, everyone All around Town.
Met a guy named Justin in the Park. He linked this song.
. Never heard before. Reminds me of group Bare Naked Ladies. A warning but with fun. Trombone specially good.
Playing in the Park
https://waterloorecord.pressreader.com/waterloo-region-record/20220524 (Open up A2 Local in the Record Newspaper for May 24th. The Guy perched on the folding wooden chair making music.)
Appointed to Meet
He was a quiet young man. Pulled up with his bicycle behind me at the drugstore. locked it and went inside for some treat. Then he just came out and lingered, listening. I was playing my various harmonicas. Mostly improv, but with some feeling. Seated on my trusty wooden folding chair. I felt his attentiveness and appreciation back over my left shoulder. Eventually I turned and smiled and made eye contact. Neither of us was wearing a COVID facemask. Isn't this nice, I said, no masks in the way...face to face encounter...some real community, isn't that right? And long overdue? His response surprisingly was like fresh water spilling over a dam. You betcha! Hasn't it been a long time. I have felt so cramped and cooped up and pushed around. People haven't been talking at all! I like your music. I am glad that you are here Sir. We talked for several minutes more. Things of the heart. A few things that had been troubling. Then he rolled off, waving back. I played something
A Place for Friends...in and through music
Just befriend him. Enter into his magic in Beethoven. Share in that flowering and grace. Do not expect radical change or conformity. The street and mostly invisible friends in the margin are his choice and Joy. Enough. Judge not.
Strings for our Land
There had to be some days Before the crowds would form Before the songs gained praise New heroes getting born. But human folk and kindness Would paint the stories told Would echo thanks and wonder And never would grow old. Long May You Run.
Tom Rounds it Out
Bill Ward’s cottage up North. Dad. Me. Chilly season. Pickerel perhaps. CBC Radio with Shelburne Fiddle Festival. Stompin Tom Connors. What a trip! And several times for Jack and Bill. Tomatoes from Leamington: When I was a baby our family lived briefly in Chatham ON. Mom would take me for long walks in the stroller, smelling cooking tomatoes everywhere she went. “Does everyone make chili sauce in this town, Jack?” Nope just one large factory.
Roger Hodgson Captivates (Supertramp)
Kicked off by wonderful harmonica. Remembered from college days and scenes.
