#poetry busker

[leicadiary]

[middlefade]

☕ plotting call — would really like to have more things going & to delve into some historical / dark academia / supernatural / horror stuff & to write with these muses particularly so if you are interested in plots like that or in just writing with these muses in general let me know

ages vary per verse but are always 20+ & things labeled * are only relevant to supernatural plots. insomnia is prevalent in a lot of my muses for varying reasons.

anna sun — she/her, madelaine petsch / bi / professional ballet & company dancer, perpetually in debt, occasional purveyor of substances

aristotle aryes — she/her, saoirse ronan / bi / investigative journalist (particularly mysterious subject matter or crime), nomadic

auden smith — she/her, victoria pedretti / bi / owns & operates bakery, responsible & sensible

bliss iver — she/her, florence pugh / bi, preference for women / waitress, singer-songwriter, busker, dive bar & open mic performer

chance — he/him, lee minhyuk (huta) / gay / vampire* / film photography, magazine

charis — he/him, tom blyth / bi / vampire* / theater actor, filthy rich

draco aryes — he/him, dylan o'brien (specifically blonde, buzzcut 'not okay' era) / bi / artist, historical art restoration, struggles with addiction

ella finley — they/them & she/her, halsey / bi / part time at a music shop / dj

emerson beckett — she/her, kristen stewart / bi, heavy preference for women / touring musician

evie caldwell — she/her, olivia rodrigo / bi, demi / witchy, clairvoyant, practices tarot reading & divination

hannah monroe — she/her, lili reinhart / bi / film & photography restoration & preservation

jace tide — he/him, dylan o'brien / bi, preference for men / freelance writer for print & online papers, drummer in a band

shen keung — he/him, xiaojun / bi / lycan* / traditional artist, works part time at a gallery, takes commissions for paintings, died briefly once & is real existential about it

kian wyatt — he/him, timothée chalamet / bi / night shift laundromat, poet & aspiring novelist

lorelai parker — she/her, hunter schafer / bi / waitress at a 24hr diner, loves a good party, partakes in most nightlife scenes

mandy carter — she/her, hailee steinfeld / bi / bartender, works & has worked a lot of odd jobs, catholic trauma, interest & belief in most things supernatural

nash newton — he/him, thomas sangster / bi, demi / lobby pianist in hotel, re-strings & balances pianos at music store(s), is known for being almost non-verbal unless particularly comfortable

neil parrish — he/him, josh hutcherson / bi, demi, preference for men / runs physically & away from his feelings, big on trust, used to deliver & work for a florist, is good with cars, does translation work & has been a verbal translator, freelance photography (travel, flora)

nellen casper — she/her, jenna ortgea / bi / doesn't set down roots, good at casual relationships, not good at long-lasting romances, more likely to flee the more she cares about a person

ophelia caldwell — she/her, amanda seyfried / bi / a bit off with the faeries, a mental medium & is a witch or bananas depending on the way you look at it

rhea czerny — she/her, anya taylor-joy / bi / ghost?*, nebulously clairvoyant, has prophetic dreams, speaks a bit cryptically, not good at time awareness, uses tarot cars, makes elixirs

river josslyn — he/him, elliot page / bi / atmokinesis by way of emotions*, is autistic, has alexithymia, into classical poetry & shakespearean literature

finnigan — he/him, they/them, barry keoghan / demi-romantic, bi / lycan* / speaks a lot of languages, has a literary understanding of even more, has studied many religions but does not practice them, filthy rich, a haunt to local pubs & clubs, loves a casual hookup, good fighter, curses a lot

stella monroe — she/her, dove cameron / equal opportunist / fashion girlie, amateur model, adores women, will take almost anyone to bed, dressed up to get messed up, loves to dance, will wreck a home, does not feel shame rocking up to breakfast in last night's outfit

winter josten — he/him, troye sivan / gay, demi / was almost an olympic swimmer, does not swim anymore, works at a bookstore with cats, believes in most things, always has a book

[sophieswundergarten]

More on Constance learning to gamble because the idea won't leave my brain:

She didn't know she was psychic at the time because she was so young, and so she just assumed everyone was really good at reading/guessing body language and couldn't tell why the other players were so bad at it.

The first few times she tried to join a game people would wave her off or look for her parents, so her reaction was to march up, climb onto a chair, slam her tiny hands on the table, and yell "Deal me in!" as loud as possible.

Eventually she gained a reputation for being really great (almost supernaturally skilled) at the game, and so people would let her play out of curiosity; seeing if she was really as good as people said. She always was, and soon people were desensitized enough that she was respected as a regular.

However, a few more superstitious (and more intoxicated) players went way overboard, and began spreading rumors that she was Something Else: a ghost, a curse, or maybe even the devil himself. Those players are always petrified when she's playing, which, of course, makes it easier for her to beat them.

A few of the older regulars are careful to look out for her. She may be a strange little child genius, but she's still a child, and they keep other adults from doing things like giving her alcohol or, on rare occasions, actually physically fighting her when they loose. ("Come on, seriously? You're going to take on a kid over a game of cards? Real mature. You're better than this, let her go." All while Constance smiles deviously in the background)

She has a bunch of little squirrel hoards all over Stonetown, and no one found them because they're in such weird places. Most of the money she used to either buy food, invest back into gambling, or buy notebooks for her poetry.

The way she got enough money to make the initial bets is by picking up change off the street and out of fountains, and by occasionally leaving scathing poems in busker's cases and taking part of their money as a "critic's fee". (She always makes sure to not take too much from those who need it, she has standards, especially for art)

There was at least one time post-Benedict that she was walking with her family and they passed a game, only for a player to nod to her or look terrified as she makes eye contact. Mr. Benedict doesn't really notice, but Rhonda at least has had some experience with the gambling circuit, and she and Number Two exchange mildly concerned looks.

When Milligan encourages the kids to start playing with the adults so as to get their energy out in a way that won't end in actual consequences, a house rule is quickly made that while she will be allowed to "win" a couple of games, all of her wins are invalid because she always cheats.

[pippinmakesthings]

Hello my loves! Thought I'd pop in and do a bit of an introduction 🩷 my name is Pippin! I'm an artist based in Northern Rivers NSW Australia striving to create works that speak to both the positives and negatives of growth and self (re)creation through visual art, textiles, poetry and songs.

A bit about me and my art-

I was a busker in my childhood and teens, my dad was in bands, my mother and grandparents are singers, my uncle plays guitar. Music was a massive part of my upbringing. Visual art came into my life a lot later.

I thought I hated painting for the longest time. It turns out what I actually disliked was not understanding how to create a visual piece of art that was mine. Making art that looked like mine was an intense unlearning process. I'm a big believer in unlearning things. It took a lot of years of stripping back my preconceived notions of what art even is for me to begin seeing, feeling, putting myself into my work.

Textiles feature heavily in my work and my daily life, and adding knit, crochet or embroidered elements to my paintings has helped me put more of myself into my art.

Most of my works are vibrant colours featuring plants and eyes and faces. For me, eyes are a perfect way to represent both the positives and negatives of "being seen". The pain and the love of being witnessed and, in turn, to bear witness. Plants are my visual representation of growth in the literal sense, the beauty of physical change.

I enjoy thinking of my art as an ongoing conversation between artist and audience, as with music. My work has specific meaning, but that meaning will change on the other side of the canvas, and with time. I am endlessly excited about what the other side of the canvas has to teach me, what things I will next unlearn.

[harrison-abbott]

travel poetry - Bratislava

A metallic crash through the open windows wakes you up.

Your body’s all rocklike with the heat, and when you check

The clock it’s 06:57 – and the traffic outside is already in

Gaudy bustle with these whooshes and shoots and bangs.

Beyond the road, though, there’s a little park, filled with

Trees enjoying an amazed bloom of foliage and within their

Leaves there are birds which actually compete with the

Transport when it comes to the volume of their manic songs.

You’re astonishingly dehydrated and it takes forty minutes

To get up properly, taking sips of bubbly water …

You’re somebody that never has the heating on throughout

Scottish winters and the temperature hike here is quite the shock.

But you get dressed and geared up and head out walking.

This is the old town, with crackly-walled buildings in

Multicoloured paint and between them are the blood-red

Trams that pass by you with this astonishing feline agility.

On the horizon of the street is the castle and we don’t really

Need to describe it, just go up and check it out. On the way

There’s the cathedral and it’s one of the most mammoth things

You’ve ever witnessed and as you walk under its main

Turret you look up and it hurts your windpipe, it’s that tall.

You wonder about the folks who built this 400 years ago,

And how on earth they figured out to pull off such an

Achievement … because the cloud-white blocks of the walls

Are the size of a man’s torso and any one of them would

Kill you instantly if they landed on your head … and there’s

A small fantasy of what it’d be like if the tower collapsed

On you right now as its masonry came hurtling down.

You jaunt up the pathways to the castle, and sweat flumes

Down the neck and you’re already soaked anyway and

You take a breather in a shady tunnel and there are a gabble

Of people behind you speaking Slovak and you like the

Thrish-thrash artillery of the language and can’t decipher

A single word therein; and nor can you get the lyrics of

The buskers singing with their guitars but they’re doing

Well and so you toss them a coin and bounce higher upward.

And get to the top. The castle is just sublime and you can

See out now for miles in stunned panorama; and what you

Most like are the flat rises the other side of the city: for

They seem as sultry dominoes in the sun, with a rash

Ironic beauty and there are thousands of people alive within

Them with their own characters that you know nought about.

And, halving the city – of course – is the Danube.

Up at this height it seems enticing and you have the urge

To descend down to it and see it up close and so you do that

And choose the modern bridge over the river and it’s

Rather like approaching a monster or supervillain or god.

You’re familiar with the Thames and Vltava and the Spree

And Vistula … and they’re all spectacles … but there is

Something different about the Danube. The waves lunge

Heavily as you peer down from the bridge banister and

If there was any river to drown yourself in it’d definitely be

This one; and you wonder how many people have done that

Already; and the memorabilia that lies lost and forgotten on

The riverbed – what else may people have lobbed from these

Bridges that dare to span its width; and you look across to the

Bank sides and there are no fences there and you consider

Creeping down them and feeling some of its water, just to know

That you touched the liquid of the Danube; and ponder from

Whence this brute was created and how long it took to

Become what it is today: long before mankind, that’s for sure.

It passes through ten European countries and that’s some effort.

Overhead, the cars hurtle by and they shudder the metal

Plates under you with giddy horror and you cross along to

The far side and come by the by on the city park and because

It’s twenty six degrees Celsius a lot of the woman are wearing

Dresses or skirts and you can’t help but watch their legs.

The white smooth fertile luscious contours of calf and thigh.

You’re actually reading a book at the moment (written by a

Famous American author) who talks about the first time he

Goes to New York and he observes the ladies on the streets, too,

And notices their differences compared with his country roots.

So you’re not the only one who does such a thing and don’t

Think it leery to say so and the park has these spurting

Fountains of angelic water and turquoise pools and now and then

There are statues of prominent Slovak men in purple stone and

You find it marvellous how a person in one nation can be

Eminent enough to have somebody else make a sculptor of them

And yet you’ve never heard of them and have no clue of their

Biographies and you wonder whether they’ll ever be making

Statues for you personally and you conclude properly not. (Ha.)

Next, we go back across the old bridge over the Danube, and

Come to the corporate area where there are a gabble of plush

Skyscrapers in silver and navy blue gleam and it’s like a mini

Island of finance with these fat logos of companies above their

Revolving doors and you feel out of place there – like you’ll

Never be working in such a tower or field of mass business.

And beyond that edge of the city are other towers in construction;

With men in fluorescent yellow and orange and helmets

Working with hammers and ropes hundreds of feet up and

The other ones smoking cigarettes in their vans beneath.

The roads are ragged here and you’ve kinda gotten lost a bit

So you find your way back into the old town, and by now its

Midafternoon and the sunshine shows no signs of relenting.

There’s the national gallery with its pillars, and afterwards

The main square which is about as ancient as anything here;

And dotted around its shape, the embassies of Japan, France,

Spain, Italia & Polska, Czech and Slovenia: right in the hub

Of geopolitical bodywork: and their flags seem half out of place

And a quarter bold and another quarter internationally proud:

And, aside most of them is the starry flag of the European Union;

The sad irony being that there’s a Union Jack flag at one point too.

You pass a church with a pretty spire and head nearer to see if it’s

Open; it’s not, and you decide to head back to the hostel for a while.

They say there will be thunderstorms tonight, because rain’s on its way.

Good. You always liked thunder’n’lightning. You look forward

To the break of humidity and those other sounds rampaging the citadel.

[theopenbookwigtown]

Our last two days at The Open Book...

have been busy! But in a relaxing way.

First, here are a few photos of our surroundings I wanted to share. Some views from the flat:

This was my favorite place to read in the mornings, and watch the activity in front of the co-op (7am-10pm!).

Our bathroom view showed the other side of Wigtown.

On Thursday night, we attended one of Wigtown's two poetry groups. We had seen flyers around town, and the hosts, Tim and Maggie, welcomed us kindly. Participants meet biweekly and read poems aloud based on a theme...this week's was FOOD. One of my peak Scotland experiences was hearing Robert Burns's Address To A Haggis read with the proper accent.

I also did a bit more exploring on the outskirts of the town.

On Thursday and Friday mornings, my mom and I skived off work and went out to explore Wigtown's other bookshops.

We enjoyed Froggie Toddle's, the children's book store (left) and The Bookshop (right), and quite a few others!

We had been to Joyce and Ian's Old Bank Bookshop previously and in fact visited while they were practicing for Friday night's live music event--it was good that we actually promoted the event!

Top right is flyer designed by my mom for the Old Bank Bookshop Buskers and Friends event at The Open Book! (I also went to the pilates, flyered left, which was great).

We had a wonderful time on Friday night. The Old Bank Bookshop Buskers did not disappoint! And neither did their friends! We had seven musicians in the shop, as well as an enthusiastic audience.

It was a great way to wrap up a wonderful week!

We are so grateful for this experience. We have met people we will never forget and hope to return one day.

[lettersfromleslie]

Winter of the Mole / The World-Famous Poetry Store / & Another Turn of the Wheel

Down come the leaves, into the drear. The goopy rains are here, the trees half undressed & half still leafed, deep damp reds and ochres with black slick skeleton winterbranches beginning to poke. My New York friends tell me there's been a drought on back East… No such thing out here in Seattle. It's been about as wet as I've seen it. My North Sea DNA is responding well to the slime, but my busker's heart knows the lean months are here. The better-organized performers have started heading for warmer climes. Hawaii, San Diego, Arizona, New Orleans. I'm staying put. I'm getting ready for the Winter of the Mole.

Not sure what animal we'd name the summer after, but it was a nice one. There was much of the usual - playing markets and gigs and parks and airports, a few trips to NY and back for gigs - as well as a lot of the outdoor time - which really was the chief reason for moving out here - paddling about on kayaks, walks in the woods.

New schemes too, however. I think my future memories of the summer will center on the many eves I spent moonlighting as a street poet on Ballard Ave with my new pal Dusty. Dusty is an Alaskan wild man, jazzed-up by a decade of winters in New Orleans and summers in Seattle, fueled by coffee and weed, hustling for his living much as I do but maybe moreso. By way of his strange hypnosis I suddenly found myself typing alongside him one day in late spring, and before I knew it I'd bought my own typewriter and was attempting to play stride piano and learning Hoagie Carmichael tunes. It seems he does this to people. As far as cults go it's a pretty benign setup. And he's surely one America's great remaining street hawkers: "Welcome to the world famous poetry store! Come on over sir, yes you, come get a poem about all the wonderful dirty things that mustache does! That's right, my mustache brother! Come on over, name your price, name your topic, I'll type you a poem! … Awright, have a drink and go think it over … You'll be more truthful with a couple drinks in ya … Tell you friends! … Poems for your loved ones, your sweetheart, your friends in jail! … Jazz lessons! … Oh sir! Sir, your mustache fell off! Right there on the ground! … World famous poetry store, any subject, any price! Ice cream poems, ice cream poems! How's that ice cream? What flavor did you get? … Have a good night! I miss you already! … Ma'am, would you like your tarot read? Would you like your tarot blue? Is that your man? Get that handsome hunk a poem … OH! SIR! SIR! Bet you a dollar I can tell you where you got those shoes at ..! …They're on your feet!!! You owe me a dollar!"

The process of writing the poems is a great bit of free-association. You get your subject, do your best to shut out everything that's going on around you, and rattle away. Sometimes the flow catches, sometimes it's just blather. It being a tip-based thing makes it feel reasonably fair. A new way to remain on the bum … Shoutout to Dusty. Love ya, ya fucking weirdo.

Simmering the background, the state of the nation. Grim & feverish. Always in flashes… Thinking of the moment when I walked into Washington Square Park in June and Peter the poet - a colleague now, I suppose - helloed me with a "Robert! Trump's been shot!" ... Or the Biden-Harris switcheroo ... The ever-nastier tone of things, bleakness & bile. And now the here-we-go-again vertigo of another four years with America's favorite aging bigoted TV huckster. Most around me claim not to have been surprised by the result. I was. It seems like a pretty definite vibe shift at any rate, the end of the old liberalism. Once could be a fluke. Twice, with eyes open…

And what to make of this new style of American government? It seems each faction of Trump's supporters have a different idea of what's going to happen - and all of them are seeing what they want to see. The Wall Streeters and finance bros and crypto entrepreneurs see a boon to business, deregulation, mergers & acquisitions; the poor see lower taxes, higher wages, the same govt services and an end to inflation; the bosses see unions busted and oversight reduced; the heartlanders and the working class see a return of industrial dignity and good-paying jobs; the anarcho-futurists see an era of big ideas unchained, of enlightened space despotism; the alternative health crowd see Big Corn Syrup brought to heel; the farmers see environmental deregulation without climate change; the bigots and white supremacists and religious nuts see their old imaginary 1950s main street scrubbed clean and lawns green and all the weirdos and foreigners safely back wherever they came from; the immigrants see their American dream realized fair & square among people who've worked on it hard, as they have (unlike the riffraff that's coming in); the military men see victory; the isolationists see peace; and I daresay almost everyone who voted for Trump II sees a bit of extra dough coming their way. Good luck with that soup of contradictions... But why be consistent, eh? The whole style is to do it on the wing. You say what you want and the crowd obliges by hearing what they want and everyone enjoys the jagged thrill of contradictions and dissonance. Eventually it all shakes out - if it shakes out well, it was planned, if poorly, there'll undoubtedly be someone to blame. The unknowableness of what's real and what's bluster makes a perfect realm for magical thinking, and the true reality of it all is somewhere way up ahead, off in the fog, like heart disease and credit card bills.

I guess it could be the start of America's strongman era, but there seems to me about an equal chance that they cock it all up again. The actual policy proposals look like a clusterfuck in the making. They wanna bring down prices while cutting taxes, raising prices on imports, and deporting the country's lowest-paid workers?

Still, the election result makes a kind of twisted sense if you look at the choice as a single, momentary thing, as a lever you pull one way or another. Then it becomes Ineffectual Establishment vs Crazy Outlaw. And we know who Americans tend to root for. Look at how it's been going with mr. CEO shooter. Left and right seem to agree on that one more than anything else: the big shots have it coming.

Oh well. In any case, here we go again. All eyes on the egg charts.

As I said, I was surprised by the results. Maybe twas a useful jolt, in the sense that realizing your powerlessness can be empowering. Finding meself politically in the minority, I feel an almost cozy isolation falling. Fuckem then, thinks I, do your worst, good luck, I disengage from the nation, from here out I'll look out for myself & those I love. I've picked up on a similar feeling of resignedness and disengagement around me. I think that's alright. It seems to me the kicking in of healthy defense mechanisms. Back to the neighborhood. The larger order shifts. The post-cold war neoliberal establishment take a bow. One last hurrah - there stand the Bidens, the Cheneys, the Bushes, the Clintons, the woebegone Obamas, the woulda-coulda Kamalas, handing over the keys.

And chances are we'll miss them yet, eh? It's easy to pooh-pooh an idealism that doesn't live up to itself, but at least it's an ethos. What rules will future debates revolve around? Will there even be meaningful debate, or do we fully stop pretending it wasn't always about power? They're nihilists, Donny!

Oh, sod it… What with the stage set for a cold, cold winter, we'll have need of those inner flames, and they need tending in quiet darkness, so here we go, we've hashed it out, now we exit the vortex, tune out the hubbub, reject the hijacking of our imaginations, and dig deep like the mole … that's my plan, anyway … One size does not fit all, of course … if you have the energy you could make like the monkey, flinging the turds of fortune back at them that crapped em … I have thought of it … (Ariel's got me jamming to Amyl and the Sniffers) … embrace the spirit of the gibbon, shrieking by day and soaking by nite in ancient hotsprings, being dusted what soft snows our modern winters still flurry down for us, pondering … considering the poopoo … or you could make like the pelican & flap off faraway, to the places that are still conducive to dreaming, and where one can cram one's gular skin with exotic crabs at favorable exchange rates …

And come crocustime we'll flap & stagger back out with the meltwater, moles & monkeys all, banana slugs & penguins, and we'll haul our sleepy carcasses back up to the wheel, human beasts still after all, and give er a spin. And around and around she goes, that wheel of fortune. "Here it is again, the Great Reversal: the first ending up last, and the last first." Ronald McDonald said that.

[dreampoetforhire]

Front page in @usatoday this week!

Feeling all sorts of gratitude to Phaedra Trethan for capturing so much of my story and depicting some of the magic I experience daily as a dream poet who sets up in public spaces around Philly and around the country.

Read the full article here: https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2024/04/23/philadelphia-poetry-busker/73326769007/

Also worth it to say that in the print edition the other headlines sharing the front page speak to the very real struggles facing our world. I don't take it lightly that a feature on poetry was paired with articles about tyranny and the police state. I think that's exactly where the work of a poet belongs. To challenge those unfortunate norms and encourage a passerby to dream a better world.

I think of Joy Harjo's "Poet Warrior" or James

Baldwin's "The Artist's Struggle for Integrity", or Nina Simone's "An Artist's Duty", and so many other statements on how the Poet affects change.

I'm so grateful for these literary ancestors to guide me and my peers. Also, I wouldn't be anywhere without all of you who have consistently showed me so many facets of how poetry has an impact. Thank you!

[bryanos12]

About Denny Ja 44: “Round the bell, always”

In the long journey of life, every individual has a unique story that should be shared with the world. Denny JA, a famous figure in Indonesia, has made an interesting journey through his chosen work. At his 44th birthday celebration, Denny JA decided to celebrate his life’s journey with the work that inspired his heart in the exhibition titled “Bells, Always”.    In this exhibition, Denny JA presented his chosen work which included various aspects of life, ranging from poetry, short stories, to visual artwork that described the beauty and diversity of Indonesian culture. In every work, Denny Ja is able to present a deep atmosphere and hit the hearts of the visitors.    One of the famous works of Denny Ja on display is a collection of poetic poetry entitled “Greeting Morning, Touching the Heart”. In this poem, Denny Ja is able to describe the natural beauty of Indonesia and provide such a deep expression about the meaning of life. Every words contained in this poem are able to arouse the emotions of their readers and make them reflect on the true meaning of life.    In addition to poetry, Denny Ja also features a short story that raises various themes of daily life. In the short story titled “A piece of life on the streets of Jakarta”, Denny Ja described the social reality that occurred in the Capital City of Indonesia. He told the story of a street busker who struggled to survive in the midst of the busyness and density of the city. This short story invites readers to see and feel empathy for life on the streets of Jakarta which are often forgotten.    In addition, Denny Ja’s visual artwork is also the main attraction in this exhibition. With unique techniques and styles, Denny Ja is able to express the beauty of Indonesian culture through essay poetry and art installation. One of the most interesting visual artwork is “Fishermen Village”, where Denny Ja describes the lives of coastal people who live in harmony with nature. Through bright color and subtle details, this essay poem managed to attract the attention of visitors and invite them to reflect on the importance of preserving the environment.    Apart from the work on display, Denny Ja also shared his inspirational experiences and stories with visitors through discussions and lectures. In the session, Denny Ja shared about his life journey, the challenges he faced, and the message of life that could be a motivation for every individual.    The exhibition of “Riding a bell, always” is a clear proof that Denny Ja is not only a talented artist, but also an individual who cares about the journey of life and culture of Indonesia. Through his work, he is able to inspire and move many people to appreciate the beauty and diversity of Indonesia.    Denny Ja’s journey in his selected work presented at the 44th exhibition shows that every life journey has a unique story and should be shared with the world. Denny Ja managed to arouse the hearts of visitors with poetic poetry, her short stories that raised their social reality, as well as alluring the charming visual artwork.

Check more: an interesting journey in the 44th selected work of Denny Ja: Round Bells, Always

[apathetic-kiss]

there's something special about doing things that are so stereotypically Teenage. like, yes, my friends and I do ride around the city on skateboards and hang out in comic book stores and edit youtube videos in the public library, we do give each other piggy backs and kiss in elevators and dance to the buskers in the street. we throw our backpacks at one another and flick through records we can't afford and make fun of the evangelicals on every other corner and use disposable cameras and scrawl shitty poetry on public bathroom doors. we're experiencing the transition of our lives, let us experience it in peace.

[cinader]

L&BH - Wednesday, June 7 on WPVM Asheville, NC

Martha Cinader will interview Laurie Stone live from WPVMfm, and interviews by Tony Robles of poets Christopher Sims and Crystal Cauley and flute busker Diana Flores.

Listen & Be Heard continues with our new two-hour format on Wednesday afternoon at 3pm, EST, hosted live by Martha Cinader from WPVMfm 103.7fm in Asheville, NC and at WPVMfm.org anywhere in the world. Christopher D. Sims Crystal Cauley Tony Robles speaks with poet, Christopher D. Sims , from Rockford, IL, a poet, activist, and spoken work performer, about poetry appearing at the upcoming…

[karl-christoph]

[petitprance]

Writer in Residence at St Pancras International, Summer 2019.

Photos by Sam Lane.

[flyonblackbird]

Busking Coconut Grove, Miami #2/4 - "Take Me Away" [Improvised Acoustic]

Busking adventures in Coconut Grove, Miami! "Take Me Away" Improvised Acoustic. Check out the lyrics below:

*LYRICS:

Well I've made many mistakes in my life and I don't try to make or break it when I find that I am in conclusion I just find that when I see these bruises

I can not get escape from my mind, I get way too stuck inside there is something that I like when I see that sunshine in your eyes

that sunshine in your eyes you take me away make me feel so alive you make me feel so high on life take me into the night you make me feel so right I wanna feel you inside give my all to you night and day just the way that I am feeling for you and I know that you can you can, you can, you can take me away just like a toucan up flying in the rain forest I want to feel your breath like these trees and I can get on deep and beneath these roots absorbing everything Love won't you just understand the simple reasoning all that I have inside you, inside of my mind takes me away and now I can't find myself when you let go on, oh Love love now now, won't you love me so, oh love, la la la la la love, love la low, oh la la nah na na no

well I live breathe and sleep music and I can feel it down in my soul, oh and this life here well I choose it I understand just that I abuse myself, so

(I love your outfits guys, beautiful, beautiful! "Thank you!" Have a wonderful weekend. "You Too!" - Thank you.)

I feel so good, oh mamma, na na na na no this happiness feeling inside is all I need to feel alive express yourself don't test yourself for you've got to understand the best in your soul is all that you can go on and on and on and live for and when you find what it is inside your mind that you have always needed don't you go on and hold yourself back you've got to get on like attack on, oh got to get on this life right back on this, oh

take me away oh love, love now now well now listen keep you here to stay I just want to take your mind at ease tell me please just what you need I know that in time I can have you on your knees, oh woe but I ain't gonna take advantage of you love I just need your oh, I just need your arms wrapped around my love for the love that I feel it so, I feel it all tell me listen to my words, are you...?

(what's up guys, nice hat man! "hey what's up." Have a wonderful weekend man. "You too man!" - Thanks.)

[thedustyrebel]

Typewriter Poet Sean Carey

Washington Square Park, NYC More photos: Poets, Random Strangers

[nudeartpluspoetry]

A Visit to the Sun Building

Why are you here? asked the moon people in the sun building. By mistake, I replied, adding, Anyway, hello. They said if I were to stay, I would have to conform. A tempting offer. But no, for I saw there already things that rankled. After my departure, I walked under invisible stars and put money in the cardboard coffer of a street musician who sang of asteroids. hans ostrom 2018