STREET ART

“Michael” lives on the outer margins of both society and sanity.
He is neither, as many assume or judge, an addict or an alcoholic.
I sat and spoke with him today, ignoring the enquiring looks and cretinous comments from passers by.
He graciously allowed me to photograph him, would accept nothing in exchange except asking me to take an “honest photograph”.
He is a quiet and gentle man of many surprises. Amongst the many things he really enjoys are the rhymes and the rhythms of rap music. Before his eyesight started to fail he loved all forms of visual art.
“Michael” many thanks for sharing some time with me yesterday and here is a heartfelt offering of some lyrics I have written,based on our conversation, to accompany the photograph.



STREET ART

I’m around here every day,
Always sitting the self same way,
My life’s belongings on display,
And hearing every word you say,

But to youse,
I’m just,
Street Art.

Youse cannae see ma face,
Youse think ah’m a disgrace,
But there for God’s good grace,
You would be here in ma place,

And still to youse,
I’m just,
Street Art.

I used to be so dapper,
In the Army as a Sapper,
But now I’m just a daily scrapper,
A subject for an iPhone snapper,

Because to youse,
I’m just,
Street Art.



No-one ever sits beside me,
To pass the time of day or ask me,
Why ah’m here, 'cos ye cannae abide me,
Are ye frightened that ah’ll bite ye?

And all youse ever see,
Is just,
Street Art.


And there’s you with your Leica,
As genuine as formica,
With your back-pack and your Lycra,
Blipping away at your Nikon and Mamiya,

Youse think all I can be,
Is just,
Street Art.

And now I’m getting older,
Father Time is on my shoulder,
And the rats are getting bolder,
As the the nights are getting colder,

And youse still think,
I’m just,
Street Art.

Now I know my body it is slowing,
My eyes they are no longer glowing,
And though my mind is quickly going,
You can still hear me softly moaning,

Ah'm no,
Street Art.














douglas