The Happy Busker

The Happy Busker.

Get noticed.

That Comes first.

Do something subtle or edgy.

That comes from the Bourke Street Mall’s

‘The Busker’s Handbook’ ‘

You gotta be good to survive anywhere,

Blogging is like busking.

You perform on the stage of the page.

Keep it succinct, punchy, authentic.

You want coins in yr cup, clinking with compliments.

You like to go home pleased, clicking yr heels

like Mr. Tambourine Man.

You do a clunker like my last one,

kick it in the gutter, get back in the saddle.

big blue mouth: the origin poem

          Big Blue Mouth

The sky is a big

blue mouth.

…………….

Already it has eaten

the daylight moon.

……………..

What next?

The sun?

………….

No. A mere morsel

will do.

…………………

It opens wide and

Swallows

…………………….

my tiny yellow run-

away balloon.

*Kerrinda Press S.A.

2009

The Kangaroo down Webber

The Kangaroo down Webber

Took a walk ‘round the hood

a sudden rain came in

took refuge in a Gaming Lounge

Had no money – win-win.

………………………………………..

Slipped down to Weber

met my mate Metal ‘Roo

but he had lost his left arm

so what’s a poor boy to do ?

…………………………………………..

So I thrust out the other arm

shook his remaining paw

the little joey looked up

and smiled at what he saw

We All Cracked Up

We All Cracked Up

Maybe I really do look sluggish.

like I’m on my last legs —

do slugs have feet? —

that they bring it to me, the cappuccino

rather than make me hang around the counter

like the others.?

You feel like royalty .

Maybe it’s the Loyalty card I hold

that I’m a customer of long standing.

They all know me.

And I know them.

First name basis.

We go back.

We bonded that time I was in the queue years ago

paying for a few finger buns to share with a friend

when Chris asked me,

Would you like your buns buttered, John ?

and we all cracked up..

Why am I always the butt of jokes ???

It’s wet and miserable outside but I feel happy here.

The endorphins surge through me.

If you visit down this neck of the woods drop by

the Café Boulevard.

Tell ‘em John sent you J

and you don’t want your buns buttered !!

The Bin Chook and Me

The Bin Chook and Me

The bin chook was plundering a plastic bag a few meters from the bench where I was reading, a loaf of brown bread with its insides almost eaten out.

Your turn, he said, as he winged away.

Nah, thanks, I’ll pass.

A pigeon ambled along a few minutes later. He passed too.

Not much of a story but if you’re a writer, you gotta take what crumbs you are given.