PHILADELPHIA ‒ Dogs barked,−onatypewriter− birds chirped, office workers lunched and chatted on nearly every bench. At one end of the square, a small circle of women, toddlers and infants had an "Old MacDonald" singalong with an acoustic guitar accompaniment, while at the other end a clarinetist softly played jazz standards.

In the middle of the square, the "CLACK CLACK CLACK" of a manual typewriter added to the soundtrack of a city square on a beautiful spring day.

Marshall James Kavanaugh, a self-described "dream poet for hire," worked at a TV tray/makeshift desk, a battered but fully functional portable Smith Corona Skyriter ready to spin whims into words. Influenced by Beat poets who revolutionized the art in the 1950s and '60s, the 37-year-old busking bard sets up shop in Philadelphia's Rittenhouse Square and other areas in the city and elsewhere so people can, as his sign says, "Pick a topic, get a poem."

'To inspire and be inspired' by poetry

A native of Trenton, New Jersey, Kavanaugh bikes from his West Philadelphia home Thursdays through Sundays (weather permitting), the Smith Corona packed in the suitcase it came with when he bought it at an estate sale years ago. When he travels (New Mexico and California are favorite destinations), he'll bring the typewriter with him and find a local park or public space.

"My mantra is to inspire and be inspired," said Kavanaugh, and taking poetry to public places as he has for the past eight years is his way of showing others they can follow their dreams, like he did in making a living as a poet and writer.

He finds Rittenhouse Square, ringed by some of the city's priciest real estate and with its trees, fountains and fanciful statues, a prime spot, "the heart of the city" where he can see, talk to and write for people from all walks of life.

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One of those people was Michelle Chapman, who approached Kavanaugh and asked for a poem for her son Tristan, who's about to turn 17. A repeat customer, Chapman said Kavanaugh has written poems for her before, and she has always been happy with them, saving the small cards with his staccato, free-form verse.

"It's kind of quirky to have a poet in the park," said Chapman, who's semi-retired and lives in the neighborhood. "It's always delightful to see him, and he's always very creative. His work has a lot of heart, but it's never sappy."

She told Kavanaugh a bit about her son – he loves sports and music, he's kind and smart ‒ and in short order, a poem was produced, read aloud for its patron, and a gratuity dropped in the Smith Corona case.

Judy Emmons works in the area and stopped by because she was inspired by the unusually mild April day. Her poetic prompt: "Sunny."

"What better way to spend a lunch break?" she asked, and it was hard to argue. "It's such a cool idea."

Poems about grief, love – and toilet tissue?

Kavanaugh usually writes free-form verse or haiku, and he sees the work as something belonging to the receiver, not the writer. Sometimes tourists ask for a poem as a souvenir of their time in the city; students too young to remember a time before computers will stop to marvel at the typewriter, "the original laptop," as he calls it, made for traveling writers and journalists.

"I get a lot of people asking for a poem celebrating something: birthdays, weddings, anniversaries," he said. "I'll see businessmen with flowers asking for a poem for their wives," and he has even had couples who got a poem while they were on a date ask him to write poetry at their wedding.

Other occasions aren't as happy, he said: "Sometimes, it's people going through struggles: heartbreak, depression, grief," and with those poems, especially, he tries to be a vessel for someone else to express their feelings.

And some requests are a little more complicated: Someone remembers a phrase from high school English and asks for a poem in iambic pentameter ("I tell them that'll take some time, and ask for their email address," Kavanaugh chuckled) or just plain vexing, like the person who asked for a poem about Charmin toilet tissue (Kavanaugh shrugged and obliged).

'People look to poets ... to be the voice of their times'

Poetry speaks to people in ways they often feel on a primal level, like Kavanaugh, who draws on the bardic traditions of his Irish ancestors. They listen to the stories, the rhythm, the consonance and cadence and feel something deep inside.

"People look to poets, consciously or not, to be the voice of their times," Kavanaugh said. "Poets are a little more centered in our hearts and tuned into the nuances of life. Even if it seems unapproachable on the page, everyone loves a poem that's written for them, or about them."

Four students approached and began talking to Kavanaugh. After a short discussion, Dasara Beta, Adrian Zaragoza, Emmalina Huning and Juliet Rand decided on their prompt: "Rekindling." The Smith Corona keys started clacking.

The students at nearby Curtis Institute of Music (a trumpeter, pianist, violinist and vocalist, respectively) said their appreciation for poetry stems from their love of music.

"We use poetry all the time in our art," Rand said. The poem Kavanaugh produced, then read aloud, was met by their cheers, claps and shouts of "Bravo!"

The group left with their poem, headed back to their classes. Kavanaugh was asked if it pains him, even a little, to see his poems carried away, their future uncertain, their essence possibly lost forever.

Sometimes he takes photos of poems to keep a little piece of them, he said, or he'll take a line he loves and rework it into another piece. But the poet − who also engages in environmental activism and green space advocacy − knows the ethereal nature of poetry is part of its charm.

"I write a poem, I recite it and I let it go," he said. "I hope it goes out in the world, plants a seed and grows."

Reach Phaedra Trethan at [email protected], @wordsbyphaedra on X and @by_phaedra on Threads.