(apparently, the word "busker" springs from the Spanish "buscar," to seek)
He’s just another busker
strumming in the rain,singing on the corner
down on First and Main.
Seven people listen,
Looks like four will clap.
Look, one drops some coins
In that old black hat.
He’s played like this
Around the world,
Belgium to Berlin,
Paris to St. Paul.
He might move on
To Tulsa, or to
the metro, Montreal.
Yeah, it’s hard to find
A gig in a coffee house or bar.
Well, that’s the way it is
So he’s a sidewalk star.
Folk and rock and pop,
Jazz and country, too.
Someone drops paper money--
Time to nod, "Thank you."
Buskers play like this
All around the world,
Ireland to Spain,
Paris to St. Paul.
They might move on
To Tulsa, or to
the metro, Montreal.
He used to have a dog
But sadly it's has passed on.
The blues tunes made him
Moan. That old dog’s name
Was Don.
A woman listens hard
He can see her sigh.
That feels pretty good,
It’s true—he cannot lie.
If that woman walks up
And tosses in a bill,
That will help him eat:
A different kind of thrill.
The cities of the world
Are the troubadours’ abode.
They’re out there playing now
On this street or that road.
Stand or sit, play and sing—
That is the busker’s code.
hans ostrom, 2025
