arrivals and departures

arrivals and departures

 

 

impartial street rhymes

a couple dollars in the bucket

 

more verse, less curse

existence in crumpled pages

 

reading to survive

writing to accost the blues

 

the poet loses his place

mumbles, stumbles stops

 

another takes his place

opens his dirty chapbook

 

partial to the clouded portrait

he's painted himself into.

 

a protagonist drawing lines

in an apathetic dust

 

settling like a storm of snowflakes

that do not fall gently

 

 

erin-cilberto

9/11/22

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

Street poets. There's a thought. Buskers get plenty of attention. Perhaps it could work. The passers by would need to have an attention span longer than a gnat though :)

Chris

[jacob erin-cilberto]

ha ha, yes...thank you, Chris,
j.

[Ken e Bujold]

Really like this latest offering Jacob. Found my mind wandering through so many byways: a poets worn street corner, busking their rhymes.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind words, Ken.
j.

[Patricia Wedel]

“Settling like a Storm of Snowflakes”... so beautifully spoken… as a token of Peace …
tenderly, Pat

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, dear Pat,
j.

[duff]

Strong lines and quite a few i like.

"reading to survive

writing to accost the blues"

Read it a few times and its great work.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, duff.
j.

[red93]

Excellent and very evocative. Despite Bristol UK being a big Poetry City, we as a Poetry Community have never got into busking Poetry. But you paint a great picture here JE-C - the guy ain't got nothing, but he still has his Poems. Shades of WH Davies and other 'Hobo Poets' of the Past ✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your words, red,
j.

[W. Barrett Munn]

Street poet is an interesting concept but who would stop to listen? Many questions offered here: why do we write? For whom? Is there value without it being heard/read? Interesting to ponder, Jacob.
Winston

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Winston....we hope someone would stop, even just one listener would do.
j.

[Robert Haigh]

Open enough to be read in several ways. I see a busy transport hub - an airport, a train station, or a bus station. Buskers plying their trade and trying their luck. Human beings, just like us, but travelling a different road. My youngest son was a busking street musician for a short while. He lost his regular job when the company he worked for relocated to Ireland, and rather than draw unemployment money from the state he elected to try his luck singing and playing guitar on the streets of a local town. He did it properly, applying for a performer's licence (which he was granted after playing just one song for them). He had mixed fortunes as far as earning money goes. Some days he did very well, but other days he sang his heart out for almost nothing. He was still living at home at the time, so he had the safety net of knowing he would not starve! Still, I admired his efforts and his enterprise. He soon found another full-time job and left the life of busking behind. Your multi-faceted poem brought back these memories!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

that is great story, Robert...too bad he wasn't able to make it as a musician...that is what he really wanted to do...but sometimes we need real jobs to supplement our art.
j.

[Robert Haigh]

Yes indeed, Jacob. I too am a frustrated amateur musician who long ago foolishly dreamed of the big time. Reality bites hard sometimes!

[Sami Khalil]

Wow! I feel the power of the cycle of life; the arrivals on the life's scene, the departed in due time; the making of poets, the losing afterwards to another that takes the place. This has truth and resignation to those cycles and forces acting upon us.
Your legacy sets you apart sir Jacob.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Sami...thank you,
j.

[Sami Khalil]

You are most welcome.