Harmonicahelps.….. from a contented Busker.

 

 

 

  Dawn Wong   I say marry a rich man, Dawta…Oh Mom, I thought you said Marry Irishman. And Julie Kim…

 

 

  Energy in buckets full.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  For these he left Motown Fast cars, bright lights Late hours Whimsical wanders. To get close to Home Hearth and happy times With loved ones Still in contact Or gone before What could be more? (Dance with my Father).

 

  Alone And in a new place One carryall Off the bus Little cash and One name and address. Anne Ida had given this out Along with sixty bucks. In her precious letter. “ Anna, 235 Porter Street. Bridgewater, NS.” Taxi took twelve dollars. Chatty guy, Somalian. Been in the Dominion. Seventeen months. Little bachelor’s room. Not far from Anna’s. He knew about her. Former Yugoslavian. Spinster. Heart of gold. Big as Fundy’s Bay. Third floor apartment. Held two adjacent ones. Let out short term For peanuts to new arrivals. Got some help in this From Orthodox church. Stomped up three flights And knocked sheepishly Door opened to This plumpish woman Rosy cheeks, smiling Closely cut white hair. Apron on. It’s you…Natalia. Ida told me everything. Come, come. Coat in front closet Relieved of carryall. Simple prayer plaque With painted red roses. Beside front hall mirror. “Lord I give you this Day Use me. Sustain me.” Home…for now.

 the sweetness of the Celtic breathtaking Cabot Trail we started at Baddeck and went counter clockwise. Buddy just shows up on weekends at Baddeck Town Hall. Plays with a stately woman who joins in with an upright piano. And a younger woman who teaches clog dancing at the College. Such fun!

  An old family photo back in the nineties.(Lauren, Doug, Jordan, Hilary). Married September 21, 1974. I am using this as a point of contact with a very frank and inquisitive young teenage man. He needs encouragement, a listening ear and supportive suggestions. This blog delivers music, joy, comedy, poetry and Gospel helps. Marvin says that he is not looking for money handouts, rather he would be interested in receiving some Bibles. I am still waiting for Marvin’s postal address. I will add it to this post once received. Others reading this might want to mail a couple of lightweight Testaments to Marvin. The outcome for him and his Village might just be phenomenal.  Put it into God’s Hands. (Something like a special written message stuffed into a bottle and tossed out to Sea.) Image showing Marvin. Big smile, strong back, high hopes. Happily involved in a local church with Pastor Julius Muleme. I think they are looking for help with Bibles. I have no mailing address yet, from either on

 

  Will be useful for suggestions for songs at our Seniors’ Harmonica Club at Rockway Centre. Come join…harmonica, keyboard, button accordian, vocals.

  And this young man hits it out of the park.

  From the volume, The Rain Doesn’t Know What Me Anymore.   Copyright Elvin Hill Publishing, 2011, Second Edition.

 

  Don't wanna do it Raise the hands stomp the feet  leave my chair. just because others are at it. And watch the show Seeming to rejoice About things real Rescuing, repaying. Nah just a bunch of hype. Led by Pros up front. But check out that one Woman over there forty-ish. Down on the knees. Talking alone. AS IF to herself. But no, rather to SOME OTHER. And perhaps getting answers. Needed most desperately. She will soon join the DANCE. HHHMMM. I better keep quiet And observe.

 

  Rick Charbonneau told me about this performer. (She lived 1894-1941)

 

Coming from a small Scottish town A might frumpish, ungarnished Nervous sense of humour showing. But then a pause  Entire audience still, eager Wondering. And Susan's voice exploded Like incoming beams from Heaven. With all of a Heart's Emotion, thanks  and Joy. New Star had arrived. Audience roared their approval. Simon simply smiled.

  Jim Haynes, peculiar sort of hero for these days. Knew him years before  Playing by the  Grocery  Store  Good guitar  And folk songs  Most  would  know.  Tambourine,  harmonicas  too.  Any time of day  would  do. Gospel getting new emphasis.  Misty,  chilly  times too.  This his  source  of cash  His store.  Handyman yes, on the side  Subdivisions, Boss  would  ride.  Boss who died of  Heart ills, in Jim’s arms.  Work-friend,  never  meaning harm.  Jim, my friend  Without an  ounce  of pride About this poem A real life friend Jim Haynes of Kitchener. We busk together sometimes. 

  Remember Passion of the Christ Remember Braveheart Remember Apocalypto? All wonderful films Birthed by Mel. Redeeming messages. In a Hollywood otherwise Sold out to  Silly superheroes And zany romances. Then came his shameful impaired Driving incident Making trouble for a Cop Who was Jewish. Bad press Bad innuendo Bad emotional crusis Sorry for Mel. Then came a number of Film noir stories. Only so-so. Around that time  I had an idea. Sent a letter to Mel’s Producers in London England. I suggested a role that was  An interesting mix Of Gospel and bygone Scotland under pressure. The twenty years of Scottish Covenanters (1660 to 1680) A time when preachers of  Solid stuff refused To swear an Oath to The King’s Anglican formats Appointing godless puppies, Bishops serving The King’s Agenda. And not Jesus Christ As Monarch of His Church. The fight was on Dragoons in fiery mode Captures. Imprisonments. Tortures. Executions following Ghoulish dis-embowelments. Parishioners in disguise Watchi

  was his Dad really that grumpy. I hope not.