Love is in the Air …

How the story ends…

A Busker’s Love Song

I

Pink-glazed clouds hoist frayed sails

over pilgrims, tourists, ghosts; they flock

around a busker as he folds his wings, frail

golden sheen and half the feathers lost

like his ragged repute.  Some idle thoughts

burst into mind and soul as he admires how

a lonesome painter’s brush slipped across

indigo canvass of the unsuspecting sky.

II

Half-torn  hat in his hand declares

whether to cry or commend this day.

White Lady struts through town and a fan

of yellowed papers saves the busker’s face.

A pirouette later she sweeps his dreams,

his breath, a kiss into drifts. His faith

in providence gives him daily strength

when his heart lies in the gutter.

III

He whistles when stifling day of May

and a bitter song cling by his side;

he follows starry signs and secretly prays

for the Underdog pub to show him the way

to ease this pain.  Behind a wall of noise

five jesters take shots of his rusty stubble.

A trumpet’s cry tears the air above all those

who gather around legend turned to rubble.

IV

A pack of jolly gods cheer as White Lady turns

towards our hero; her dress, his leg, her feet

his chest explodes with thousand fireworks

as his and hers, his and hers lips meet.

Ladies and gentlemen look at them how

they sing of pinkish clouds and the lush

lapis lazulis of the unsuspecting sky

coloured by a painter’s shaky brush.

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Prose for Thought
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Love is in the Air – Part 3

Welcome back and if you would like to catch up with the previous installments click on Part 1 and Part 2.

A Busker’s Love Song – Part 3

He whistles as stifling day of May

And a bitter song cling by his side;

He follows starry signs and secretly prays

for the Underdog pub to show him the way

To ease this pain.  Behind a wall of noise

five jesters take shots of his rusty stubble.

A trumpet’s cry tears the air above all those

who gather around legend turned to rubble.

And there is more next week…

Prose for Thought

Love is in the Air – Part 1

I wrote this poem when I was in my hometown Krakow last autumn.  I spent days  strolling around the Old Town and observing crowds, pigeons and eccentric street artists.  As a result,  I dedicate this short love story to Krakow and its buskers – here is Part 1 and Part 2 follows next week.

A Busker’s Love Song – Part 1

I

Pink-glazed clouds hoist frayed sails

over pilgrims, tourists, ghosts; they flock

around a busker as he folds his wings, frail

golden sheen and half the feathers lost

(more…)