A wise old man
with his guitar
Busking,
Tending a scar
Seeing the pigeons
scanning the floor
stirs memories
millennia old
He eyes the preacher
across the street
and he recalls
the one he greets
Why won't you listen?
Why don't you hear?
I'm calling for you,
I'm calling you near
He sees the people
Avoiding his gaze
Seeing their faces
He remembers again
Before thrones
Speaking God's word
Calling down fire
Making God heard
Faster than chariots
Water wide open
The furnace explosion
The whirlwind to Heaven
Why won't you listen?
Why do you not hear?
I'm calling for you,
I'm calling you near
He's ignored
People pass by
Not seeing him
Not hearing his cry
Why won't you listen?
Why do you not hear?
I'm calling for you,
I'm calling you near
2 comments:
Hi,
I like your poem very much.
I am a busker, myself - though not a "wise old man with his guitar" - I am a woman playing the musical saw. I tell what happens when I busk in the NYC subway on my blog www.SawLady.com/blog
Anyway, just wanted to let you know that I think your poem is great.
All the best,
Saw Lady
I like this poem too. The busker is a good character. Keep posting them.
You would love the poems of Woodbine Willie (real name G. A. Studdert Kennedy). He was given the nickname as an army chaplain, when he would give out Woodbine cigarettes to the soldiers on the front line.
Check out especially "Woodbine Willie", "Faith", "If Jesus Never Lived", and "Indifference".
http://www.mun.ca/rels/restmov/texts/dasc/TUB.HTM
David
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