Vegas Street Poetry Vol.8
Rock and Roll unplugged
Magician of sound
Keeping the bar alive
Strumming her guitar
With a cigarette
Pressed between her lips
Smooth strokes
Rigging notes
Beer by the bottle
Bourbon on ice
The pitch isn’t perfect
Yet there’s serenity
In her tone
Strumming her guitar
As if she were alone
At home
The stage lights
Reflect in her eyes
As she poor’s her soul
Into the microphone
A man at the bar
Stops talking to the bartender
Turning his head
He raises his glass
To Rock and Roll
Tattoo Shop
Modern artists
Decorating skin canvasses
Ancient practices
Piercing flesh
Freeing expression
Embracing individuality
Driven
By the hissing rattle
Of tattoo guns
A breath of fresh air
Dipped in ink
Casting an imprint
By the hands
Of an artist
Street Performer
Conductor of groove
Sharing his Beat
To all who listen
Tapping their feet
Feeding the rhythm
With his heart in command
Stopping the people
With the rattle of his hands
Beating on those old
Buckets and pans
Pulsing hot
A flow of poetry
Rushing through his glands
His family is hungry
The tip jar is filling
Donations accepted
By those who are willing
His bones bounce off the buckets
Projecting
A rhythm for dancing
He encourages their singing
Alive and raw
A masterpiece teething
This soulful percussionist
Plays on through the night
Creating a living
Glowing
In the neon light
Treasures Of Trash
Treasure of trash
A folded receipt
Left in the ashtray
Useless paper
From a useless purchase
The last cigarette
Tucked into a wallet
Saved for an emergency
Of little importance
A burning match
For whatever intention
Loses its friction
Then crumbles to ash
The evening so subtle
Passing without warning
Collecting the treasures
That once were left as trash
