Welcome back! This will be my last entry until Wellness Wednesday now so please enjoy.
I wasn't too sure which poem I was going to pick for tonight's edit - I have such a huge back catalog of old and new, terrible and terrific pieces (at least to me they are) - but when I found this one, it brought back such a beautiful memory of meeting this colourful busker named Philip Northmore in Plymouth High Street nearly 4 years ago. I sat and listened to him singing while I wrote the first draft of this poem which I gave to him. I saw him all over the town after that and we became friends. I think it's a reminder to me that life may be tough, but no matter what you're going through, there is always a ray of light somewhere.
The Northmore Busker
My heart beats in time to the busker
and his ukulele song,
his hair a Rastafarian
Rapunzel,
his skin smiling at the sun
through an open shirt.
The kids wouldn’t understand
his troubles beneath a rough
Bohemian grin,
they can only laugh at his balloon
pants;
he is mere music and they are
untouchable.
Yet to the soles of his
busted-up boots
he is the most alive,
unlike any soul I ever saw:
a solar-powered sunflower
dancing in the midday heat.
His voice caresses the air,
And opens our selfish eyes
to a joy that money cannot
buy.
I thought children lived the
purest lives;
I thought even love came cheap,
but now I know the true
professor of happiness
gives his joy for free.
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