This Is Busking
We met at The Old Swan
Tuesday nights, open stage
music acoustic
he, street-smart from Paris
thin as wire, Dylan-haired
fresh from Sorbonne
student unrest - a Maoist
I was in London to sing ballads
in folk-clubs and pubs
he'd come to sing
at the Troubadour - 'Heart of Gold'
short of money
needing a copy of Time Out
he took me across the road
to Nottinghill Gate tube station
he said 'put your case down
in front of you and sing'
I sang 'Streets of London'
to the passing crowd
coins started flowing into my case
he retrieved 70p
for a precious copy of Time Out
and said
'keep singing, this is busking'
Pamela Sidney 2003
The Seedling Planters
The boy and I, both down and out
unlikely mates
for the same boss
planting spring seedlings in window-boxes
of banks, pubs and posh apartments
together we shared the lucky day
planting flowers a garden border
we dug up eighty pounds in silver coins
buried right outside a bank's front doors.
assistant gardeners
me a busker
and he so young
both needing money so desperately
he needed a bicycle to get around
and me,
we had miraculously found
a substantial stash of cash
only to be arrogantly brushed aside
by our bragging
Rolls Royce driving
who didn't intend this nice
to be 'finders keepers' for his rather sweet
odd-couple spring-flower seedling planters
our Cockney-boss ingratiated himself
to the security guard for the bank
whispering together in the foyer
he handed the stolen money over
still in it's plastic bags
branded London Transport
to his swaggering gun-in-the-holster mate
no doubt they divided the hidden heist
between them later, after the boy and I
had knocked off for the day
I resigned that night
in absolute white-hot-fury
at my bosses lack of empathy
I said to head office
“a personality conflict” with the boss
I couldn't believe his insensitivity
to our poverty
and the boy - just out of school -
who badly needed a bike
and me
the money for a plane ticket home
all thought of my future survival
my poverty
completely obliterated my need for this job
as a spring-flower seedling planter.
Guitar Riff
It only takes a certain guitar riff
a certain descending melody
with an off beat disguised
to bring you back
the smokey pub
filled with transient gypsies
holding glasses of ale
longing for something
to fill their emptiness
it only takes a certain guitar riff
to bring back
cigarette tips
sound coming out of the gloom
melodies thrown into the night
it only takes a certain guitar riff
to bring back the day
we woke to deep snow
covering the garden
up to the front doorstep
then off to busking
in the heart of
gloves, scarves, hats, cold mist
curling from our mouths
it only takes a certain guitar riff
to bring back the red buses
circling
the old Golder's Green Jewish Cemetery
the neighbour
who thought we were hippies
bound to make trouble
just music 'til
and a brand new world
to explore each morning
Pamela Sidney 12.2.05
