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Poetry busker

Have you ever had someone write you a poem in public? In the middle of the street or at a festival? I have and I absolutely loved it. There was the man with the typewriter and the ‘free poems’ sign at a flea market in Brussels, who wrote me this piece of art which made me smile a million smiles for days. The second and last person who ever wrote me a poem on the spot, was at Shambhala festival in Canada. An awesome woman asking you for just one word to inspire her and five minutes later: tadaaaa! Your very own handwritten poetic treat.

These two encounters have always lived on in the back of my mind because I just love what these poets do. Grabbing life by the balls and going for it! Out on the street to bring their poetry to the people. Making many days by sharing their creative gifts. Ahh this makes my heart dance with delight. Because I think it is bold and courageous. To put yourself out there, with your deepest soul writings hanging on a clothes line, flapping in the wind. Ready for big mean birds to poo on them. Or for someone who fits your words so perfectly, they want to wear them like a jacket for the world to see.

It’s the vulnerability that gets me. What I find so immensely beautiful and scary at the same time. It’s putting your heart in someone’s hands, knowing they can crush it or kiss it. I know, I’m dramatic. But it fascinates and excites me to grab a typewriter or a pen and paper, take them out to the streets and write poems for people right then and there. Is it strange to dream of becoming a busker?

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