Harmonicahelps.….. from a contented Busker.

 

  Year and more gone by now.  City of tent shelters  At plot of land  beside   VIA  TRAIN  STATION.  weber and  Victoria  streets.  And so cold.  They are heroic.  NOT lazy or shiftless.  Some are ill,  mental  issues.  Cascading from exposure, shame  Boredom and blame.  But  their  vocation latterly  Has been survival.  Eeking out some community.  Even some fun.  Water, sanitation, light, heat.  Respect, (you hear me  Respect.)  Empathy  A  listening  ear  A fair  minded  media  A High  Court  with a heart  Relating to the  common  people.  They got it, oh yeah.  Homeless  score  One.  High  posted  bullies…ZERO.  Charter of  Rights  argued.  And  legal  costs to boot.  Great  morning  Saturday,  January  28th  Newspaper happy for a change. Eh? About this poem News article today Tent City people won their time in Court.  7

  Or mock Hitchcock, just a tad. And saddles that blaze. And history, well sorta. Zero Mostel, unforgettable; same with Gene Wilder..

  In out, in out In out, in out. Draw down slightly Puff, chug Trill that mug And seemingly so lightly. Ride the plains Bluesman’s pains Cajun’s cyprus wonder. Irish jig Strauss, so big And lifted from down under.

  My Mom’s heritage was English and Danish.

  All that can be said is Wow! Skipping lightly, gloriously On a G harp. Through all that Plantation Suffering, stamina and joy That history cannot destroy,  re-write or lessen. That other races cannot Even begin to copy. So help me God. LAWDY UH-HUH. NOW HIT IT. y’all clap along, friends.

 

 

 

 A soldier certainly would think in quiet moments of his faraway Beloved (American Civil War).

 

  Pre-teen Joshua King.

 

  Stanley Holloway, cockney hero…

  Holland Home Town Down in Mexico Everybody gets a glass… libiano, let’s drink delightfully, as at a feast.

  Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? (Movie by Cohen Brothers) Convicts on the run picking up pocket money.

  Sounds of quandary. Undeserving. Overwhelmed by deposits Of Mercy, Courage. A Love Response Untiring. Other-worldly. Sung to the ceiling.

  Will Wilde

  Do you travel…Oh you must…Start the car…Kick up dust…See how folks live otherwise…catch the air…catch their skies…Or a seaside salt to smell…or some waterfowl…doing well…mountains in their grandeur shrink us…grab a map…and plan no fuss…nothing else can teach so fully…yeah just travel…Bully bully.

Awake at six thirty Must report two hours hence. For a spot for busking. Hope it does not rain. Got my chair My various harps The amplifier The thank you box. Numerous happy memories. Today's hopes. Let there be music And smiles. Still thinking of  Several little ones Who danced. Gave the thumbs up. Parents simply smiling.

  Live performance; its passion and vulnerability. The Big City assault in Rhapsody in Blue. Hands become playful hammers. Rhapsody in Blue What does it take to Imagine a newcomer Off the boat And encountering NYC. Its crazy noise And crowding. Its juxtaposition Of purposes, thrills and panic. George somehow captured It all on keyboard. Where was he positioned? Alone or  Squeezed with others. Did he have to execute Big chunks of it Before the sheet music. How could it be broken down? Like some butterfly Pinned to a soft board Of Blue. When it was intended Eternally to fly. Did Brother Ira Sit in awe Near its birthing. No lyrics Just suggestive explosion. With joy at the front of the line. Whites and blacks Fitfully at play. Love does not forget a note. Does not fail in stamina. From entrance of one happy Jewish clarinet. Onward.

  Goddess of good sounds.

  Two words…Adam Gussow https://puffnchord7.blogspot.com/search/label/Adam%20Gussow