Best Circus Tent Poems
When my time is done and I am finally laid to rest
I don’t want to be recalled as one who lived life depressed
So as I wrote my will, I chose to leave an instruction
That laughing gas be inhaled by all those at the function
No mournful eulogies will a pastor have to invent
For my funeral will be held under a circus tent
When dozens of clowns emerge from the tiny Volkswagen
Reams of my silly limericks Bozo will be dragin’
And as they’re read aloud, family and friends who knew me best
Will say, “She had a sense of humor, this we can attest.”
Mimes will mimic me trying to write the world’s best novel
As my corpse hangs from the trapeze, surely they will marvel
Laughter will ensue as they shoot me from the cannon
Flying high in my demise across the great Grand Canyon
All the children will smile and there’ll be no tears allowed
So no one will ever remember me as a “dark cloud”
There are people who seem to take life way too seriously
When I meet my Maker, don’t view this as a tragedy
Dad called me his “happy girl,” so let me go out that way
I want to leave them laughing as I reach my judgment day
Date: Written March 26, 2011, entered in contest December 11, 2018
Contest Name: Make Me Actually LOL Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
IF I WERE AN ELEPHANT
If I were an elephant I'd remember all kinds of things
like where to find juicy trees and nice cold springs.
I'd jump in the water and roll in the mud.
And I'd spray my trainer named Bud.
It would be such fun to splash and blow my trunk,
maybe blow a tune.
I'd remember each note.
And I'd like to take a ride in a boat.
We'd sail and I'd wave to the kids on the shore.
They would be amazed at my talent
and shout for more.
And I'd use my big ears to fly.
I'd take off and hit the sky.
I'd fly above the circus tent
and everyone would see
how smoothly I can swoop down
over the trees.
But I'm not an elephant.
I'm stuck on the ground.
I can't blow a sound.
And I don't like mud.
But I do like water and I know I should
go back to the circus and see my friend, Bud.
Copyright: Dec. 10, 2016
Suddenly from somewhere
A street urchin-
An untamed bird of the wider sky
Dropped down
Into the circus tent
Before him was unfurled
Scenes eerie….awesome!!
Roaring lions and tigers,
Gibbering baboons, caravans of camels,
Animal tamers and acrobats,
Artists balancing on poles
Swinging from bars to trapeziums
Pliant girls with plastic limbs
And pouting breasts,
Walking on tight ropes.
A strange world,
Peopled with beasts and men!
His face, painted white and red
In motley dress, he was arrayed
And a tall tapering cap, placed
On his forcibly tonsured head
He hardly knew what it all meant.
He heard the bells ringing
And it was time for the show
He was told
He would henceforth be a clown
And should make people laugh
A thousand sunsets passed him by
He forgot the familiar alleys of the streets
Lost sight of the endless pathways of the sky
In a world –
So populous- so empty,
He buried him
In the hidden caverns of himself
Nursing a hundred bruises
Inflicted by Time’s sharp razors
Often he was reminded-
“You should make others laugh”
He did make people laugh
While a fountain of tears lay frozen
In the slivers of his broken heart!!
Jan.7. 2023
~ Placed Fourth~
Tatters Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mystic Rose Rose
my eyes tried to tell you
golden and round the setting sun peeks
over sloping mountaintops
while cobalt shadows inch into the rust-brown crevices
like a silent blanket smothering the light of day
the moon will be full
or so they say on the six o’clock weather report
there is no sign of rain until the clouds reappear
and the ring around the moon squeezes harder
you wanted to see the rising moon after sunset
and i laid both at your feet
while watching your wide-eyed innocence
as if the circus tent was filled with elephants
it was the only show in town
until i hugged you just before you cried
and we talked all through the rising of the moon
about old songs and dead poets
i searched for words to comfort you
but it was darker than the moon could illumine
and my words were thin as tin foil
though my eyes tried to tell you
tolbert
Suspended with roses, a garter and courage.
Her wispy white costume blows in the breeze.
Silky vibrations as she sways her bodice —
the Rapunzel-princess of the swinging trapeze.
Brunette hair and outfit bound with pearls and lace.
High with Magellanic clouds, marvelous outlander of earth.
Slender fingers wrapped around the seraphic twine.
Daughter of the heavens, from the day a trouper gave birth.
One...two...three, the excitement sounds, the air surfeits
about like maddening faerie dust. The open sky burns
with eccentric flame - crowd applauding like cherry bombs.
The darling of the sky, entices every cent she earns.
This rapturous virgin makes love to the dawn.
Her stupendous feat goes on and on, drawing
in oohs and ahhs...the climax as her knees
hang vaingloriously from the seat, outlawing
the silver and gold wings that flutter about
outside the circus tent, as this beauty shines
upside-down like an albinotic bat, frenetically
stirring the breeze… waving from the vines.
7/29/2019
Her spouse wise or unwise, who can tell. Does he dream in midnight hues? Oh why doesn’t he wake up, or at least spit out that last sleeping pill. He might choke on it. The still of the night rattled by the movement of the boundary, like a lion’s hungry stomach. The moon roars creating goosebumps, pricks upon tender white skin. She barely breathes. Did anyone leave snacks inside this circus tent… Please...please...please. Helplessly she lies as the khaki quavers, heart frantic. She’s never thought herself mad, but like in a Poe story, the tell-tale… She imagines the lion with reflective eyes, baring full gums, toying with her...this is no cuddly kitten. Would her full-sandman spouse wake up, wonder where she’d gone, as the kindly sunlight blinded him to the truth. The truth is she would kill him, if only he’d open his eyes. Could she forgive him… At long last, darts race toward the roaming moon...she imagines that ghastly animal tumbling underneath the skirt, landing at her feet, swirling dust, an incomplete thought as the ferocious tongue lolligags onto her bag. Her husband smiles and turns over satisfied as he kisses his dream wife, moaning with pleasure; danger the last thing on his mind, as the hunters drag away the predator whose smell lingers in the morning coffee, the cigarette’s ash, the wife’s nostrils. And all the community can do the next morning is make fun of the snoring gun, the gray-haired spoon, and midnight adventure.
the pile of gumdrops
sparkle like dew for kitty
here kitty...kitty
11/2/2020
I was not in the mood for fishing
though i brought all the gear and
Settled into my comfortable mode
Of tranquil bliss by the edge of the pool
But you being the older wiser trout
Stirred the stillness of the pool
Your proud fin cutting the surface
Like a sharpened tool waning and listing
Your tail following as you flung yourself
Like a trapeze artist with an invisible swing
The tree branches hung low overhead
Like a circus tent and i with a front rose seats
Watched in awe and surprise
As if every fish scale glittering in the sun
Was a diamond and with your final splash
As you arched your torso and disappeared
Beneath the blanket of water I cried
Tears of joy of love tears of joy of loss
And tears of joy of being serenaded by
A voiceless wise old trout
SUMMER HEAT AND HUMIDITY
UNDER A COOL AND SHADY TREE
REMMINISCING THE DAY'S EVENTS
UNDER THE BIG TOP OF THE CIRCUS TENT
COLORFUL FACE'S OF SILLY CLOWNS
ACROBATS FLYING HIGH ABOVE GROUND
LITTLE DOGS AND BIG ONE'S TOO
A FUNNY CLOWN WITH REAL BIG SHOES
ELEPHANTS TIGERS EVEN A LION
A SCARY CLOWN KEPT BABIES CRYING
LITTLE KIDS, BIG KIDS
WE CALL THEM ADULTS
WERE HAVING A BLAST
WATCHING SUMMERSAULTS
ROLLING AND TUMBLING
JUMPING THROUGH HOOPS
A CUTE LITTLE CLOWN
WAS SHOVELING POOP
LOVED THE VOICE
OF THE DAPER RING MASTER
WHO KEPT EVERYTHING GOING
AND AVOIDED DISASTER
The elephant is in the room,
In fact the entire house,
But nobody really addresses its presence,
Or the damage it represents.
It’s not clearly seen,
Like a ghost wondering about,
The feelings may be present,
But nobody seems to drag it out.
When will this elephant leave,
Or is it permanently there to stay,
Like a bad nightmare,
That never goes away.
Is it even possible,
To send the elephant on it’s way,
To make room in this home,
For another person to stay.
Or will this always be,
The elephant's circus tent,
Where its memory lives alone,
With no room for another to roam.
There should be such joy in this home,
Yet sadness seems to lurks about,
Creating this dark cloud,
That prevents the sun from fully coming out.
How does one permanently banish the elephant,
So it’s negative presence does not return,
To allow the space for love to grow,
And the sun to fully glow.
The elephant must be hunted down,
One must stand up to it and show strength,
That the elephant might know its time is done,
And turn tail and run.
So now it’s time to face that elephant,
And all that it entails,
To send it on it’s way,
So that the sun will shine brighter,
Each and every day.
Form:
It's already hard enough to say anything accurately
without further obfuscating and camouflaging the soul.
The faces in the funeral pews are impassive, impatient
and the dead woman cares not what's said, isn't even present.
The poet gets innumerable do-overs, it's one of man's wonders,
revises his vision of his mother and plays her piano, posthumously.
Why not say it simply? Hers was a comity and a tragedy.
As are ours. And perform the history that surrounds us.
Are caskets boats? The ship of death rides Charon's waves
or perhaps on that solitary day you happily kayak to the huckleberries.
Is the deeper sadness incomplete achievement or never to have tried?
Any attempt to decide this question for others is to badly behave.
The pablum of Christianity, esp. the Catholics, re the after life
must be rejected. It's necessary. To be replaced by community,
perfection of the human project, nature's intelligent partner.
Dusty, sadly habitable houses along the funeral route, shapeless
people crossing themselves when ambulances or hearses pass.
I wanted to describe the sweetness of her life, how she was part
of the problem and part of the solution. How love and evolution
are passed like loaves from person to person down the generations.
Find the humor in the cholera. When my father died
he waved like a surfer riding a wave or a clown riding
an elephant out the circus tent. Mom follows the same law.
The many ways a spear can pierce a warrior's jawbone or armor.
Mimes at my Funeral
When my time is done and I am finally laid to rest
I don’t want to be recalled as one who lived life depressed
So as I wrote my will, I chose to leave some instructions
That laughing gas be inhaled by all those at the function
No mournful eulogies will a pastor have to invent
For my funeral will be held under a circus tent
When dozens of clowns emerge from the tiny Volkswagen
Reams of my silly limericks Bozo will be dragin’
And as they’re read aloud, family and friends who knew me best
Will say, “She had a sense of humor, this we can attest.”
Mimes will mimic me trying to write the world’s best novel
As my corpse hangs from the trapeze, surely they will marvel
Laughter will ensue as they shoot me from the cannon
Flying high in my demise across the great Grand Canyon
All the children will smile and there’ll be no tears allowed
So no one will ever remember me as a “dark cloud”
There are people who seem to take life way too seriously
When I meet my Maker, don’t view this as a tragedy
Dad called me his “happy girl,” so let me go out that way
I want to leave them laughing as I reach my judgment day
I chose this poem because it captures the way Aunt Carolyn lives her life. Always the prankster, she adds laughter to all family gatherings. And those “silly limericks” are favorites among family members. We tend to take death too seriously. We can’t do anything about it, so why not live it up here and in the hereafter. I’ll let you know if we find her in the Grand Canyon.
UNDER THE RED UMBRELLA
Under the red umbrella, sheltered in our rainy day nest,
my coal black heel lifts — our oneness beats in my chest.
Handsome in his dark suit, like an iron I press close —
my full-bodied lips a crimson shade, now our his, I suppose.
He calls me his wild Paris rose on these streets of shimmering gold.
The blush rushes to my cheeks and eyes — to him I’m sold.
Between the french kisses...ooh la la...we make lover’s jokes.
The circus tent of our wide-brimmed umbrella drips and soaks.
His fingers, like rain, touch my face, lift my chin, make me see him.
In turn my eyes dive into his, our green and blues take a swim,
turning teal as we ponder marriage with a family, life and love.
Vulnerable, I feel my nakedness as I remove my black silk gloves.
Under this unforgettable crimson cloud, we no longer hide,
except from the prying eyes of Paris la ville des lumières pride
My red dress clings, its waist slim, its curves vivacious — not shy.
Together two orphans stay dry — our passionate fire will not die.
11/3/2018
The Red Umbrella Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Eve Roper
Paris la ville des lumières - Pa ree la veel day loo me air - Paris the city of lights
(Approximate pronunciation, apologies to the French)
Of cotton candy and candy apple’s crunch
I remember the circus tent and dusk
The smells of donkeys and elephant dung
And heady smells of smoke that hung
In the air almost suspended
Up in the air trapezists flew
Catch and grab as we sat with gasp
Trumpets blared and clowns blew hooters
At the man that was shot from a cannon
The man with the red jacket boomed and joked
As bored fathers sat and smoked
Our eyes were wide with wonder
At the horses run and elephant’s thunder
The thrill and glee of young blood pumping
Through our young veins as dogs were jumping
And the smells and tastes and colours merged
Into memories and dreams and golden moments
As we sit and reminisce, wondering why the past was bliss
Whilst the now was dry and dusty, crusty with rigid thoughts
What we lost was more than the circus
What we lost was our sense of wonder
As the age trampled us with its relentless thunder
As we stuck our head’s in life’s lion’s mouth
Our sense of fun just slipped away
Like the circus tent was packed away
And the site is empty now, silent and cold
Even the elephant dung is dried and old
But all is not lost, all is not gone, ride after the circus, find the tent
Find the wonder in candy canes bent
Find the life and the love and the smells
Find the children with their gasps and their yells
As they live on in wonder, jumping to cannon shot’s thunder
Shouting at clowns and clapping for dogs
In awe and wonder
Daniel Human
21 September 2014
I need words-
Good words-
Words as voluminous
As a circus tent
That comes with a zipper
So that I can envelop myself
In their resplendent expanse,
Seal myself in,
And still have enough space
To dream
You wonder how my day was spent?
I snuck into a circus tent;
to take a peek was my intent.
I'm glad I went, I'm glad I went.
A mustached girl from Bogata
looked like my uncle's mom-in-law,
her body though contained no flaw -
not that I saw, not that I saw.
A guy I saw was so tattooed
such artistry I'd never viewed
he liked women I would conclude,
most of them nude, most of them nude.
The strong man lifted heavy weights
A juggler tossed up clubs and plates.
By dallying I tempt the fates
cus mommy waits, cus mommy waits.
June 12, 2015