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Sunday morning silence Like the eye inside a storm The street was empty, vacant This would be the brand new norm The windows all were shuttered The doors were closed up tight No one in Cy's doorway To recover from the night The church doors were both open A note pinned to the door The back, open to the alley The note, "pray" and nothing more Giannis, door was locked up Joe was sleeping in the back A note said "order through the window" The window, open just a crack The bar was also locked tight A note said "coffee, but no beer" "yell through the broken window" "Don't worry we will hear" Broken Spines had in the window A large note for all to see The note said "Cooking up some chili" "Come back here around three" Cy came in the back way Taped his note up on the door "Don't worry about paying" "Call if you need more" The street was still in motion It had life, but none to see Today, and for a while The street folk lived for free The city closed the main roads The street, forgotten to most folk The old man, sat on the curbside Looking up, he lit a smoke People ordered up their coffee Got themselves a bite to eat Stood in line outside, all waiting Social distance...now six feet Most folks on the street now Lived above their stores or near The street was still in action Strong and silent, cloaked in fear While life was now adapting A sound, blew by upon the air The Bluesman, oh so gentle Was singing, but, from where? The alley by Gianni's Was empty, not a sound But, still there heard the music With the singer not around The music, it got louder The wind brought it to the street The stores opened windows, To hear the Bluesman's vocal treat It took some time to figure Where the music was relayed He was on Gianni's rooftop He just sat up there and played A special Sunday concert With stops for "medicin" now and then Brought the street folks altogether They were one now, once again The Bluesman sang The Beatles He sang U2, he sang the Band He sang all the Guthries He sang about the land He sang of inspiration Of not being all alone How we were in this together His message simple, inspired tone He sang songs that got you dancing In the stores, that's what they did All alone, but, with the Bluesman Dancing like a little kid Some sang, but no one heard them They sang loud and didn't care They were exactly like the Bluesman Singing proudly to the air He sang for near an hour Folks below yelled up their praise The Bluesman brought The street together In the most beautiful of ways He finished up by singing Two songs that made this right He sang "Imagine" by John Lennon Then he gave them "Silent Night" He made his way down slowly He was older than he was He did this for his people He did this just because People started singing You could hear it all around But, the Bluesman grabbed some chili Found his tent, and hunkered down Inspired, I would say so That is just life on the street A group of flawed, broke people You'd be lucky should you meet A family, but not really They were one, but, many too No one here is really special They are all like me....and you.
0
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 5:18 PM UTC
Bluesman inspiration
Sunday morning silence Like the eye inside a storm The street was empty, vacant This would be the brand new norm The windows all were shuttered The doors were closed up tight No one in Cy's doorway To recover from the night The church doors were both open A note pinned to the door The back, open to the alley The note, "pray" and nothing more Giannis, door was locked up Joe was sleeping in the back A note said "order through the window" The window, open just a crack The bar was also locked tight A note said "coffee, but no beer" "yell through the broken window" "Don't worry we will hear" Broken Spines had in the window A large note for all to see The note said "Cooking up some chili" "Come back here around three" Cy came in the back way Taped his note up on the door "Don't worry about paying" "Call if you need more" The street was still in motion It had life, but none to see Today, and for a while The street folk lived for free The city closed the main roads The street, forgotten to most folk The old man, sat on the curbside Looking up, he lit a smoke People ordered up their coffee Got themselves a bite to eat Stood in line outside, all waiting Social distance...now six feet Most folks on the street now Lived above their stores or near The street was still in action Strong and silent, cloaked in fear While life was now adapting A sound, blew by upon the air The Bluesman, oh so gentle Was singing, but, from where? The alley by Gianni's Was empty, not a sound But, still there heard the music With the singer not around The music, it got louder The wind brought it to the street The stores opened windows, To hear the Bluesman's vocal treat It took some time to figure Where the music was relayed He was on Gianni's rooftop He just sat up there and played A special Sunday concert With stops for "medicin" now and then Brought the street folks altogether They were one now, once again The Bluesman sang The Beatles He sang U2, he sang the Band He sang all the Guthries He sang about the land He sang of inspiration Of not being all alone How we were in this together His message simple, inspired tone He sang songs that got you dancing In the stores, that's what they did All alone, but, with the Bluesman Dancing like a little kid Some sang, but no one heard them They sang loud and didn't care They were exactly like the Bluesman Singing proudly to the air He sang for near an hour Folks below yelled up their praise The Bluesman brought The street together In the most beautiful of ways He finished up by singing Two songs that made this right He sang "Imagine" by John Lennon Then he gave them "Silent Night" He made his way down slowly He was older than he was He did this for his people He did this just because People started singing You could hear it all around But, the Bluesman grabbed some chili Found his tent, and hunkered down Inspired, I would say so That is just life on the street A group of flawed, broke people You'd be lucky should you meet A family, but not really They were one, but, many too No one here is really special They are all like me....and you.
roger-turner
Written by
Canadian
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 5:18 PM UTC
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