daen davidson-couch ≈ two poems

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the quiet room

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we meet, you and me, by the mirrors of tomorrow

i will serve the tea, in Chinese porcelain ceremony

then watch the lamp where time rushes by

seasons float by, like Miro’s scape, we will escape

in the quiet of our wanders, whales will speak

to hummingbirds, mountains will tell the story

of life’s many stages of change, of birth among

the species of bird and mammal reptile fauna

flora, collecting colors to soothe your hunger

for beauty, your silent call for a universe’s blessings

for your sons and daughters, we will sip wisdom .

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working the street,

on the doh-rah-me of my survival
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i have been a street musician, enough to feel the

dignity of it, the charms that the crowds love

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the music, that washes the day’s stress

down the drain, leaving a cloud of joy

another pattern, i smile back

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the doh-rah-me’s of my survival

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for some it may be the only warmth they

get all day, cause i am them also

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out there, i have my flutes
and whistles, the birds follow
me, like a lonely river

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the doh-ray-me’s of my survival

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and they are emotionally hungry
the faces moving by my notes
hunger, for what we all need
some harmony, something that
works, and leaves beauty for us
to rejoice in, a bit of celebration
in the humdrum, doing it day after day
and still getting kicked when you are
down

the doh-reh-me’s of my survival

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street musicians are instant friends
and we live, where we are
you are invited in, for a song
a smile, making the world
a much more friendly place

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in the doh-ra-me’s of survival

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