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Mark Nov 2019
I’ve been busking about since young and fair
The atmosphere from onlookers, like skating on thin air
So unconventional, prior to the old smacking ways
That’s how I’d spend my entire waking days
Melodic riffs, dancing over bass lines
Harmonising daily, to some lonesome feeling ballads
Playing finger-style guitar, without any speeding **** hazards
            
Along the boardwalks of Venice Beach
In unlikely places, that you’d ever encounter or reach
A folksy blues musician, you can’t wait to hear
Independent, from a money-making machine, that’s so clear
A young black musician, singing ‘bout life’s rights and wrongs
With an aching intimacy, strings are strummed, to original songs
            
The overall effect is something like a blend
Of other musicians, with a depth and subtlety
More suited to the stage, than a street with a dead end
While the busking experience is fundamentally a freedom, luckily
Still taking a fading, battery-powered amp, with heaps of torque
Along with a flattop, down to the busy LA boardwalk
            
I think the best thing you learn from being downtown
Is how to be really optimistic, while still being on your own
Busking was like practicing with a metronome
It started pulling on a few chords, like not ever knowing a safe home    
Then, thoughts of ones life coming to an end, my tick-tock time
Then, I go back to playing a song, people tossing me, a silver dime
I imagine, how it would sound, playing along with four in a band
I’ve never really been dealt, a very good poker hand
Trying to re-create myself, like an over paid, auto tuned, music star
Well, as much as I could, with just a worn out, acoustic guitar
            
They say, I picked up the guitar at seven
At first trying to play lap style, just keepin’ it even
Because, I couldn’t reach across my scar torn body
Early childhood lessons, gave me a foundation in blues
After that, I wasn’t taught nothin’ by nobody
I just kept playing like that, what did I have to lose
I could learn by ear, until I heard the rings at the checkout
It would take a while, but I’d figure it out, what they were all talking
about.
© Fetchitnow
21 December 2019.
(From my ‘About’ Period Collection)
lj brooks Nov 2019
I'm only having fun!
I said.
I'm dancing in the street.
Little bolts of lightning
Are charging up my feet.
Oh! But it's the morning?
Well, what is that to me?
What does it affect you
If I'm dancing until Three?
New experiences are all around,
And surprisingly, most are free.
I have the urge to feel them all
Before it's my time to flee.
I have the urge to make a mess
And let my wild be.
I just want to feel the movement
Of the swaying of the trees.
And I want to feel the rhythmic tides
Of the seven seas.
But all I have for now
Is a hazy yellow, red, and green
Above my head, now Four A.M.
Not a car that I can see,
But if one stopped,
I'd have to ask,
"Wouldn't you like to dance with me?"
11/19/2019
Oskar Erikson Nov 2019
floor to ceiling windows
stacked two upon two
capillaries bursting with office work.

neon signs and patina streaked doors
opening up valves at lunch times
Pret A Manger bloodletting.

final call at The Angel
heralding the end of the work week
teams of cleaners flush the system
to restart for the following Monday.
emma hunt david Mar 2019
Walking home from my friend’s house after making music and making faces and his roommate’s ex-girlfriend was in the kitchen, her back to mine across the living room and I closed the door.
I walked the eight blocks to my house.
To the left
To the right
I thought of you but only a little bit.
I laughed when I slid on the ice on Summer Street and I inhaled deep to relish in the lack of sun, and for the first time, I listened that night in November
with her cold and slender hands over both of my ears.
Bhill Nov 2019
Wearing shoes has always been fun
We learn to tie them and off we run
We run all day and into the night
We have to be home when street light, lights
It always seems that the lights light, too early
Because hide and go seek when its light, is just girlie

Dinner is served when everyone's there
Who's turn is it, to say the prayer
I know it's not mine, cause I said it last night
It's got to be Sis’s, I hope there's no fight

When dinner is done the TV goes on
Or we play family games sometimes time until dawn
We really don't play untill it's that late
I just said that because bedtime is eight...

Brian Hill - 2019 # 273
Who remembers?
else Oct 2019
I sat awake on the back seat
Stared at the window, harnessed heat
As the lamp-lit city whizzed by,
The untouched dusk still in the sky.

Closed my eyes as it gently swayed,
Then listened to the silence fade,
Speed cushions, the quiet highways,
The sleepy tires, its steady phase.

I missed the constant compliance,
Radio waves' static silence,
The roads rolled on, no fuss or rush,
An empty mind, all my thoughts hushed.

They were asleep, no sound of day,
And on the car's back seat I stay,
As urban cat eyes shine, blink fast,
A few more hours to home at last.
Jaxey Oct 2019
If love is a two way street
I'm the person on the sidewalk
the third wheel
she bellows in her star
that her relation was cabal
this dance's chandelier
with broken ballade plays
a tiger crouch serenade
but still refrain this balladeer
a plaza night wall and tell of rampart
with that lyric in the air
is darkness in Gloria
that slams him kind
immigrant
Jo Barber Sep 2019
Watch the lonely people
as they shuffle about
these solitary, rain-coated streets.

Watch them as they go,
as though you are not one of them.
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