Life Lost Its Sheen
Just an old-fashioned busker
with a tattered guitar,
entertained local people
and those from afar.
For years he had stood
in the shopping parade,
bringing joy and delight
with his sweet serenade.
He sang all the old songs
with an Irish accent
and crowds gathered round
his voice - heaven sent!
But one cold winter's day
no busker was seen
no love songs were heard
the Mall lost its sheen.
For that poor entertainer
had disappeared overnight...
the shopping area was ghostly
a gloomy funereal sight.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Busker Joe
He busks at the street corner every day
For an hour at least his guitar he does play
A musician song writer and a man of song
As he does play he always sings along.
On the sidewalk by him an open money tin
And those who choose to do so dropp a coin or two in
The sidewalk diners he does entertain
Though for his great talents little is his financial gain.
With brown beard and long brown hair he looks thirty years or so
The fellow that the locals refer to as Busker Joe
One of the friendliest people in the old seaside town
He smiles and nods in greeting as he does sing to people passing up and down.
Every day at the street corner he sings and plays guitar
Just to earn ten to twenty dollars for a few drinks at the public bar
A character in his own right though without wealth and fame
The town's best known entertainer Busker Joe is his nickname.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Shopping
Were buying and selling your history
How we go about it is no mystery
We check it with the city, then change the law
Are you looking forward?
Now you want some more
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Its easy when you got all the information
Inside help, no investigation
(no investigation, investigation)
No questions in the house, no give and take
Theres a big bang in the city
Were all on the make
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Our gain is your loss, thats the price you pay
I heard it in the house of commons: everythings for sale
Were shopping
Were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah
Ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
(were shopping
Were shopping
Were shopping
Were shopping
Were shopping)
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Move Over Busker
Well the rest of my life lay in front of me,
I was pedalling down the road,
When I saw nell gwynne and her oranges
And Ill have one of those.
She said move over busker, dont bang your drum
Move over busker, your time will come.
Well I was hanging around for a miracle,
Struggling with a rhyme,
When I saw mae west in a sweaty vest,
And I said Ill come up and see you sometime.
She said move over busker, dont bang your drum
Move over busker, your time will come.
Youve got it coming, come on come on,
Youve got it coming, coming to you.
Youve got it coming, come on come on,
Youve got it coming, coming to you.
Well Ive been waiting, but Im impatient,
No-one can hold me back, I want to stay with the action.
But I wont get it, my great illusion
Will vanish anyhow if I dont grab it now.
Well I was hacking my way throught the undergrowth,
Juggling with my pride,
When I saw errol flynn in a tiger skin,
And I said you look satisfied!!
Well he looked down at me from his motor home,
And he gave me a dirty smile,
He said well yes I am but shes calling me,
Would you excuse us for a while
Move over busker, your day is done.
Move over busker, my time has come.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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21st Century Shopping Mall
Built on a day in sin
Sand, girders and tin
Prefab shopping mall
For a working class clientele
Everything for sale
With chemist and optician
Open 24/7
All made in heaven.
...............................
Soc ial gathering if you like
Star parade caked music.
Push your food around Mike
.................................
Pref ab shopping mall
The Vatican
A pilgrimage every time
The Notre-dime.
..................................
Walk down towering isles
To marry a barbeque
With blessed burger
You become the Pope
In prefab shopping mall.
......................................Checkout!
A gorgeous honey bun
With e numbered eyes
Or male hunky spunk
Wearing organic hair gel
Loving your food to death
Into recyclable bags
Or do it yourself
With smiley friendly computer scanner
Serving a mega ram lip service.
..................................... .
However much you pay
Sacred food should stay
You cannot ever leave
Our God blessed sanctified
Prefab shopping mall......
poem by Andrew Nawroski
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The Last Mall
Attention all shoppers
It's Cancellation Day
Yes the Big Adios
Is just a few hours away
It's last call
To do your shopping
At the last mall
You'll need the tools for survival
And the medicine for the blues
The sweet treats and surprises
For the little buckaroos
It's last call
To do your shopping
At the last mall
We've got a sweetheart Sunset Special
And all of the standard stuff
'Cause in the morningthat gospel morning
You'll have to do for yourself when the going gets tough
Roll your cart back up the aisle
Kiss the checkout girls goodbye
Ride the ramp to the freeway
Beneath the blood orange sky
It's last call
To do your shopping
At the last mall
song performed by by Steely Dan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shopping for Yesterday
Busy crowds, lonely hearts, broken dreams
Shopping for yesterday.
Visiting the shared moments,
In all the familiar places
When shopping for yesterday.
We are all prisoners of the past
When shopping for yesterday
Knee deep in our loneliness
Surrounded by the crowd
We’re shopping for yesterday.
Pictures and memories
Half-forgotten words
Time slipping away
From the windmills of my mind
When shopping for yesterday.
poem by Adrian Wait
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Shopping= Me
Shopping is my passion,
Passion 4 fashion
The clothes, The shoes
Especially the food
I'll go a probally spend $50 or maybe $100
There's Claires, Hot Topic, And Raves
I really have a shopping crave
I love the mall
It's so full of life,
I love the mall
Let's go tonight.
poem by LeLe Gallon
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One Time At Band Camp
I’ll always remember the day
I was writing in my notebook
Alone in the woods by our bunks
I was already thinking of you
Contemplating ways to be near you
Searching for an excuse to talk to you
I heard I twig snap behind me and looked
You laughed and said you were trying not to be conspicuous
I was still so nervous around you but I laughed and smiled at you
Just because I was nervous didn’t mean I couldn’t flirt
You had your guitar case in your hand and sat on the bench across from me
I laid on my stomach, facing you and I watched as you tuned
After a day of marching the slight breeze was welcomed
And the rustling of the leaves around us added to the moment
With your guitar tuned and my full attention you began to play
I was captivated by your voice and amazed by your playing ability
You sang of heart break
You sang of hope
You sang of lost love
You sang of days long since passed
You sang songs that meant a lot to you
You sang songs that you wrote
You captured my heart; even before that day
From that day forth we continued our odd status
So much more than friends
But never quite lovers
Now you are with someone who can make you happy
As am I
But I will always cherish those moments we shared
One time at band camp
poem by Brittney Wilhoit
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I Can Play (Lyrics) :
He didn't give himself up to fear.
And his voice had a life of its own.
He didn't give himself up for broke.
Just a man who played his guitar.
He said 'I can play the guitar', 'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
He didn't give himself up to drinking beer.
His voice still had a life of its own.
And he didn't give himself up for smoke.
Just a man who played his guitar.
He said 'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
He didn't give himself up to curcumstance.
Always tried to make it alone.
He didn't give himself up to telling lies.
His honesty was already shown.
Always kept himself up to par.
Just a man who played his guitar.
He said 'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'...
Rock Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1987,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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The Low Down
Mother; remember I am small
a little over two feet tall
My view from here is limited
the shopping mall a place of dread.
Boots and shoes are all I see
as people rush impatiently.
You have forgotten how it feels
to see only toes and heels.
You hold me firmly by the hand
but I don’t think you understand
Just how it feels to be so small
and dragged around a shopping Mall.
If you ere small and couldn’t see
then you would know what frightens me.
16-May-08
http: //blog.myspace.com.poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Rising Sun Blues
When I heard 'Rising Sun Blues'
for the very first time
I was twelve years old.
When I first heard
its mystical sounds
it was like a bomb blown up
somewhere
in the deep of my soul
and broke my heart to the tiniest pieces.
When I first heard
'The House of the Rising Sun'
I couldn't help crying
and wept so bitterly with all my heart.
And I didn't realize the reason of my tears.
And then
I picked up my dad's old guitar
and sang this song to feel it
again and again.
It was my first love that I
first sang with my guitar.
I have come with it through all my life.
And there were so many songs in it!
But none of them
could even compare with her.
And I will remain faithful to her
till the very end as only a man
can be faithful
to the very first kiss and the very first love
which is so similar
to the genuine rising sun
that never sets down.
poem by Igor Grey Balatsky
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Inside Of My Guitar
INSIDE OF MY GUITAR
Melvin Banggollay
When I saw my guitar hanging on the wall
It reminds me that once I do sung with joy
as I passionately air a melody one can enjoy
while my guitar hummed songs I can't recall.
Come inside of my guitar
There's a garden full of star
Shinning to tingle your desire
To hear me even you're afar
For the wind will surely whisper
deep in your hear to remember
my love to thee will be forever.
But now my guitar solemnly rest in the wall
with no sweet tune to hum one can enjoy
For my heart could no longer feel the joy
to air tender melody I love to sing and recall.
I buried my desire to sing forever
For you are no longer here to hear
the love songs I used to proudly offer
whenever we are enjoying together
Sharing melody with my old guitar
that one can even hear from afar
as the wind loved to share its nectar.
poem by Melvin Banggollay
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A legend and Diva, Whitney Houston
A legend and Diva, Whitney Houston
(Ode to Singer Whitney Houston)
Dedicating this poem
To you, Whitney
We all love your songs.
You're really a diva
Let your songs remain
In our mind and remain
Evergreen through time.
On February eleven,
Twenty twelve
You left us too early,
We never tire enough
Of all your songs.
You inspire us
With your lovely songs
And your beautiful voice.
Your songs
enrich our life,
motivate us,
make us happy.
We'll remember you
In all your songs
Let the world listens your songs
Always and forever.
Goodbye, Whitney,
A legend and diva,
May your soul be blessed by God
May you rest in Peace and in Joy,
May your songs be heard here and
In heaven.
Leaving a legacy behind
For all to hear and enjoy
Farewell to you, Whitney Houston,
We miss you,
Love you and
All your songs.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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That Man
I saw him
the other day
In the shopping area
He was
leaned up
against a tree
I looked at
my own hands
I had
a shopping bag,
I had my dad's hand
to hold,
I had keys
in my pocket
not that man
All he had
were his clothes
with holes
as people
walked by
he shook this can
I wondered why
As I passed
I peered
inside the cup
there were a few coins
thats all
Then I went away
I asked my dad
who he was
he is homeless
that man
my daddy said
I closed my eyes
and went to my car
and that was that
I never saw
that man
again
poem by Ammie Sparks
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Lily Palmer
She doesn't ask much of life poor Lily Palmer
Just a small cabin by the Gippsland sea
Where she might sleep and from the weather shelter
'Your dreams are small when you're in poverty'.
Her life's belongings in a shopping trolley
She push it up through Bourke Street Mall each day
A tattered figure amongst the wealthy shoppers
She show her years in wrinkles and in gray.
Some look at her with looks of human pity
Whilst some with looks of scorn ask who is she?
But she has learnt to cope with disapproval
Nor does she welcome looks of sympathy.
The Salvation Army give her food and clothing
Without their help by now she may be dead
And she sleep on hard bench at Spencer Street Station
I do not envy Lily her cold bed.
She's sixty six too old for the rough lifestyle
And far too old for sleeping in the damp and cold
Life's never easy for the poor and needy
And so much harder for the poor and old.
It has been said she has a son and daughter
And that she has not laid eyes on them for years
She raised them on her own when times were better
But for her past she doesn't shed any tears.
Faces of wealth and affluence all around me
And amongst them the face of poverty I see
Through Bourke street Mall poor Lily slowly shuffles
Indifferent to both scorn and sympathy.
Still she has her dream and her dream seem quite modest
A small cabin in Gippsland somewhere by the sea
Where she might sleep and shelter from the weather
Your dreams are small when you're in poverty.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Christmas Past
Oh happy days, the snow fell over-night,
we have a white Christmas in our sight.
Only a few more days and nights,
Christmas will shine bright of white.
Remember those beautiful Christmas Eves,
when we gathered round our colorful trees.
Remember when we caroled down the street,
sang Christmas songs oh so sweet.
Memories are precious let’s not forget,
don’t do anything you might regret.
Christmas is the time of year to share,
to treasure family far and near.
This Christmas with the lights shining bright,
reflecting God’s blanket of white.
Sing sweet songs in memory,
past Christmas’s history.
Written: Dec.14/06
poem by Melvina Germain
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A Father's Innocence: the Princess Child
my soul who chooses
to live in solitude
has always cried in the winter cold -
seeking for your silky skin
to warm the snowy wave of air
that forms the morning dew.
in the green fields
beneath the mountain tops, my gaze
plays with the horizon between the lonely sky
and the grassy land i patiently till,
as tears fill up my emptiness
because it seeks for your heart.
my soul who chooses
to live in solitude
has always cried in the winter cold
like the soft white feathers from the heavens
that fall in the leafy woods,
lost, wandering -
deprived of the songs by the lake.
between the pristine sky
and the mountains of forests,
or the castle of our love
my heart shall seek for you
in vain, in infinity,
within the sweetness of innocence.
hear my heart from afar,
oh sweet songs of boundaries;
hear my heart from afar,
oh white doves of destiny;
for in the comforts of her embrace,
to her i shall rest, and for her i shall rest.
poem by Jaypee Belarmino
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Love And Life
LOVE only sings when Love is young,
When Love is young and still at play,
How shall we count the sweet songs sung
When Love and Joy kept holiday?
But now Love has to earn his bread
By lifelong stress and toil of tears,
He finds his nest of song-birds dead
That sang so sweet in other years.
For Love's a man now, strong and brave,
To fight for you, for you to live,
And Love, that once such bright songs gave,
Has better things than songs to give;
He gives you now a lifelong faith,
A hand to help in joy or pain,
And he will sing no more, till Death
Shall come to make him young again!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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She Put The Sad In All His Songs
Words and music by mac mcanally and robert byrne
He was a good time, beer bar picker until the night she came along.
He gave up his women and his liquor, and she put the sad in all his songs.
Something about hermade him sorry.
She was holy in his eyes. she had him bound and hypnotized.
She put the sad in all his songs. she put the blues in his guitar.
She took what he had and she made it wrong.
She put the sad in all his songs.
She was the rattle snake that bit him.
She was the blow fromup behind.
She thought the tear in his eye just might fit him, and he was the last thing
On her mind.
She put the sad in all his songs. she put the blues in his guitar.
She took what he had and she made it wrong.
She put the sad in all his songs.
She put the sad in all his songs.
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode to Four Green Fields, RIP, in Royal Oak, Michigan
Four Green Fields has closed
That is why I write this ode
For year Joe Borkowski and I
We entertained many a gal and many a guy
After I played bass behind Pat McDunn and the Gaels
Who sung Irish tunes and told many Irish tales
Some were short and some were tall
In this Beaumont Hospital strip mall
Pat was popular at one time in his day
So were we at one time in the same way.
It was packed on Thursdays when we did perform
We were of Polish background, and for entertainers,
- who sang in Irish pubs, that was not the norm.
We were witness to odd things in the bar, things not that smart,
Such as a person who wanted get stuck with a dart.
There were many people who got engaged
Some of the people were deranged
But most of all it was,
A good place to have beer, food your favorite adult beverage,
Some waitresses were caught, buy a sting, serving minors who were underage.
But usually all was well in this pub,
Outside Royal Oak downtown, S/W 13 Mile and Woodward, which was one a many hub.
So farewell Woodbridge Tavern, Hurling Green, Deacon Brodie's Tavern
- and Four Green Fields, I'll see you later in the song Fiddler's Green*.
Joe and I'll entertaining crowds and talking and meeting people that we have seen.
poem by Joe Rosochacki
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