Buskers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I sit and sip my coffee taking in the scenery of life as

it passes by in front of where I key my verse from the

wifi given freely as a patron of their coffee house

 

My first visitor passing by is an old man pushing a

cart with his neatly stacked treasure trove of pearls

found in the local bin he tore through all the while

wearing a grin and eating leftovers thrown out by

fattened purses rung in from local restaurateurs.

 

A few pigeons hover over my head

and bold enough they land between

my legs expecting some bread crumbs

from my muffin they spied from above

with perfect eye they honed me in

before bravely daring

to become my friend

 

I toss them a few morsels of delights

trying not to frighten them to flight as they

rest awhile and peck away in perfect rhythm

to the buskers now in ear shot outside

the merchants rooms where they begin

to throng with open cases for donations

from the locals who start to gather

to listen to their songs.

 

Sweet melodies ring current and

some of days gone by

I listen as my coffee cup gets filled

and my feathered friends continue

pecking at their sweet delights the

music begins to fill the air with sounds

of guitar plucking and smooth lips

puckering on the brass tip of a horn

with voices singing in harmony like

a choir of angels breaking through the

blue sky so given on this day.

 

The crowds are gathering in numbers

tossing coins and paper bills into the

artists cases laying open neath

their feet and begging to be filled

and thus they play throughout the

day never tiring of entertaining their flock

 

The doors are locked by merchants

for the day the buskers smile and tip

their cases while slowly walking away

and slip into the shadows whence

they came and know they will be

back again at break of dawn to

entertain again this poet who

lingers in his thoughts

with pigeons and his free wifi.

 

© Copyright 2011 by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved