Billy and the Busker


With apologies to Dr. Suess



it was a lovely, sunny day – Frank decided that he would play
he liked the corner at Yesler Way
he grabbed his old geetar, and he grabbed his old hat
in hope that the tourists would drop money in that
He picked up some milk crates on which he could stand
he placed a call to Billy to help round out the band

Billy wasn’t answering his phone
Franklin decided he’d go it alone

Frank rolled up his pant legs, he got ready to play
he stood top his milk crate there on Yesler Way
tuned up his geetar and found a good beat
but something was missing it wasn’t complete
there was one empty milk crate where Billy should stand
again he tried Billy to round out the band

Billy wasn’t answering his phone
Franklin resolved he’d keep going alone

he played through the morning – he played past midday
he was making no money there on Yesler Way
then suddenly – Billy arrived close at hand
Frank climbed from his milk crate said, “Now we’re a band.”
“Billy, where’s your accordion, your horns, your things?”
Bill watched mutely as Frank riffed his strings

then he said, “Frank, ya  know, I’ve disconnected my phone
you’re holding me back, I’m gonna go it alone.”

a heart-broken Frank just continued to play
he couldn’t watch his friend Bill walk away
but he did, he walked slowly, down Yesler Way
Frank packed up his geetar, he picked up his hat
he stacked up the milk crates, the this and the that
the mighty fine day had now turned to crap


Written for a fun photo prompt found here:
Thanks Ms. Rose

Experimental Fusion Haiku With a Haunting Jazz Beat

TBP

Image Courtesy of The Blog Propellant
Image Courtesy of The Blog Propellant


“Is she dead, ya think?”

“Doan know. Might be, I guess… Prolly not though.”

“Why’d ya think that?”

“Look around. Ya see another one of us that looks like her anywhere?”

“Nope”

“There ya go then!”

“Is she sleepin’, ya think?”

“Not a very comfortable place to sleep.”

“Maybe, she’s drunk. Sleepin’ it off?”

“Ohhh, we could mess with ‘er.”

“How?”

“We could dip ‘er hand in a glass o’ warm water and see if she… well you know what that’s ‘posed ta make ya do. I’m not gonna spell it out.”

“Na, that’s just mean.”

“OK, you got any ideas?”

“Shavin’ cream!”

“What?”

“We put shavin’ cream in her hand. Fill it really full, see. Den we float around in front of her and say boo to wake her up. Then we start doing that scary stuff that ghosts do, she’ll rub her face and cover it with shavin’ cream. It’s like a pie. Get it? Oh man, this is gonna be so funny!”

“Sounds good, got any shavin’ cream?”

“No… you?”

“Huh uh”

“Wanna get up the road some? Maybe haunt the pub?”

“Sure. She doesn’t look like much fun anyway.”

“Yeah, let’s go, then.”

“Right behind you.”


 

Written in an obscure, neo-classical, form of verse known as Fusion Haiku that I am experimenting with. As far as the Jazz beat goes: think Art Blakey meets Buddy Rich. Read it a couple of times, if you have to. It’ll grow on ya, trust me!