Harmonicahelps.….. from a contented Busker.

  Where is that thrill They get when they push They get to torment The cruelty a rush? Always a bigger fish Sent to the scene Sent there to humble And break what is mean. God sees the mess And enters in time With full plans to bless. Now watch it; she's Mine. Same goes here. Boyohboy.

  Passtime with harps, meeting the people, happily. Agreeing with them in song. And the kids stop and wonder. Give me the thumbs up. My little website keeps me moving forward. Learning. Enjoying. Knowing that I am past the stage of performing like some goofball. Getting the hang of it. Some muscle memory and instinct. Greater breath control and timing. Even the bending is coming along. Cupped hand finesse. Printing the names of new friends and encounters on my little folding chair. Remembering them and lifting them up. But the stuff of Buddy Greene, Indiara Sfair, Grandpa Elliot, Lou Adler, Neil Young, Bob Dylan? Still way down the Road http://puffnchord7.blogspot.com/

  They stop and they talk And that’s the best part The music enticing Sweet notes from the the heart. Yes, someone inviting With songs, most long passed. But memories re-kindled. The kind that must last. The kids stare, unstopping. They like the refrain. No pushing, no yelling No shows filled with pain. And maybe another Will take up the call To play for street Watchers With music, that’s all. Note: The pleasing power of agreement  released through simple song.

  A child held the money In the Park as I played She smiled, hand extended Generosity made. Her Dad wants this Giving A Grace, the world knows I held in my hand Her blue bill That she chose. Some cash from an Island. The CAYMANS it read. It stays in my wallet. Memento instead. Sweet girl in the freshness Sweet smile, meant a lot. Sweet audience for music And joy that I got. https://puffnchord7.blogspot.com/2022/06/harps-bring-engagement.html

  I remember with fondness the man who so beautifully played the Pan pipes at Waterloo Farmers Market. In his beloved Maastricht, Holland. Huge multi purpose Civic Square. They sing, smile, weep, embrace....remembering. I have been there In my bloods The Family endured all of the place. Working, submitting Gazing at God’s Beauty All around. Now, in another Brighter locale Only the Good Stands out In me, for me. I shall not forget. No, never.

  It's not dark yet, but it's getting there. My sense of humanity has gone down the drain. How many beautiful things have been sung in vain? Still got the scars that the Sun didn’t heal. I followed the River til I got to the sea. Dylan had this closing song for one excellent movie. (Worthy poet Nobel Prize winner.) Last Flag Flying, 2017.

  With Mitch Grainger

  Eleven stories up The West Wind seems ferocious Sometimes a cadence Sometimes a roar. Tapping on that pull cord For window blinds. Calling me to come Outside. Brave some sun and exposure. Meet some folks. Spend some hours. On sidewalk, seated With smiling passers-by. Join harp chords With His percussion. As if we had long Practised the routines. Weighed the pros and cons. NNNOTT! They are spontaneous. Coming from long Deposited melodies. Of the Race. Holding the repertoire Of a world in pain, struggle Occasional laughter And Hope. Yes, Hope from  The Wind and I. Together.

  Loretta and Momentum Gained The love set in apace Guitar pulled out of case And song or two Got strummed right through Instead of losing face. The stage soon came a-beckoning Tunes of Love, the reckoning And legendary woman found her place. As if the fates pulled strings to bring along Loretta came full stature in the Song.

  -  June 14, 2022 They stopped by the man With the music The children gazed, wondering so. And parents saw Hobbies A-birthing. Some art to add As they would grow. Harmonicas were The prime lesson. To slur and to bend With a song. And melodies brewed And styles sweetly stewed. As simple chords Moved it along. Relieved at the chance To converse here. Community raises its Head. Delights in the talk And this green park walk Where months before All had seemed dead. (Covid distancing),

 

  Sh Yeah cum dem folks An dere singin comes through. And people remember Sweet lyrics A Family, that’s new. A concert on concrete Singing siblings come round God creates Glory In the concord they’ve found. A strum with some Spanish A bluesy harp wails And common folk gather To hear those old Tales.

  Why so mobile Folks around? Listen to the words Rock to the sound. Simple it talks Of things held dear Family and past Keeping them here. Here in the heart Memories fine. Measured to me What I call mine .

  A candle of revelation As if we all knew him well Those tales of the heart in turmoil Of roads taken, he might tell. Then joy that involved selfless loving The kind that would make for rich gain. Guitar would add to the picture Like strings of the heart Plucked of pain That troubadour of living fully With homes for each Concert night And friends for a couple of hours. Just hope that they heard him aright. Harry Chapin, 1942-1981 Note: This song borrowed from the life of Harry’s friend Tom Bishop of Burlington, Vermont. He was a cab driver, ultimately married. Harry first sang the song in Tom’s Home. Next came all of the accolades and thoughtful responses. (facts learned from a comment posted to this video.)

  Forget all the discord and decline on the tube or monitor. Get outside where the music is played. Kids stop to stare and wonder. Parents address the possibility of an old fashioned hobby and achievement for young Michael, requiring a certain amount of gifting, rhythm, imagination, practice and motor memory. Perhaps on harmonicas? MUSIC is the answer; is the tonic; is the focus of gathering or worship or dreaming or community. Come on. Jump in. Clap the hands. Hum the tune. Beauty of Nature in Africa...FB Group

  There is  so much that Indiara does without effort. Establishing a mood, a memory, a pathos, an outburst of unbridled emotion. A wandering in many places. The supreme slur and warble. We will not understand the cumulative hope and practice to attain these results.

  A big man on those little Islands of Song and Colour. https://youtu.be/W5vWhNGWDg8

 

 

  but then, someone like Indiara Disappointments were in his genes? But keep laughing anyway.

  A longing for all that shall arise in Jerusalem. And they dance about it.