will this matter in one year?
the backdrop of a full life
i watch the movements of the conductor
as he weaves between the instruments
and the house lights struggle to follow him
he knocks into a french horn
and there is a moment of giddiness
a moment of anger
there is an exchange of words, beyond banter
and luckily, they are not overheard
over the optimal acoustics and architectural splendor
the jacket needs to be readjusted
and a handkerchief is revealed from the inside pocket
as he wipes his brow and continues
continues to stare at the horn player
and the battle ends with the conductor
finding his way to the podium
the bloke playing the triangle whispers to the horn bloke,
"simply disengage, don't make eye contact,
and remove yourself from the situation."
the conductor turns, under the stage overhang
and mouths to the horn, "let's dance."
he smiles, then returns and his bow is made
put 'that's all folks' on his gravestone
Have you seen a better fool like me?
A dimwitted dreary buffoon like me?
Buffoonery has its limits, ridiculous,
But for me it's monotonous.
I never change,
I'm always the same, It's such a shallow shame!
Yes, I am the one to blame.
I see politeness wearing
A fancy pair of friendship earrings.
Who does that? An acrobat, a bubbly brat!
Who thinks that a polite chat
Is a friendship, this and that.
Then when people change
And they cut me out of their range,
I feel sadly strange.
When am I going to learn
And stop feeling the burn,
Stop making politeness turn
Into a glib friendship that's not even worth an earn.
Buffoon's bubbly balloon
Should be popped,
Buffoon should be stopped.
I am an open book,
Oops, a buffoon brook,
It's time for a new look,
And get myself off the hook.
The spotlight flashes with a funny flair
on the sagged dress of a meek man on stage.
A miniature crimson cold sun shines stuck
on his puckered porcelain face of forced smile.
An animated caricature captured
in the frame of a comical frail figure,
tramps in inertia round and round
the circus arena to amuse awhile.
The sprightly body swivels in reflex
with the flexed shuffle of acrobatics,
as the sleight of supple hands performs
the perfect act of jugglery.
The labored buffoonery performed
by the funny fragile clown of lost soul,
falls flat as flakes of stale joke
on the silent spectators.
Before the neon lights go out
in the last show and the curtain falls,
the slapsticks peel slowly
the paint off his sweaty face.
The unmasked face trenches the trail of tears,
he has long shed un-noticed.
He leaves the stage singing a song,
the lyric written by his broken heart.
The uproar of laughter at long last
explodes with claps in the gallery.
The applause hails the clown,
left to live the comedy of hollow life.
"Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak" - As You Like It (Shakespeare), Act 3, Scene 2
A woman ….magical creation of the Omnipotent!
Not only she thinks,
She expresses her emotions
In the most powerful way!
She is the inexplicable creature
Nature has created so far….
She has a mind, she has a heart,
She has the best oratory device!
Man, you can not stop a woman
From speaking her mind,
Especially when she gets infuriated
With the buffoonery around!
I wonder how addled your brain has to be
to want to suffer the slinging insults of buffoonery
Tv news showing how cartoonery
reality has become
Each reporter is up to tomfoolery as they
dig to the bottom to find something newsworthy
like a skeleton hanging in the closet of your nursery
Or a pirate lover with scurvy
What a pervy
They will dig and dig until they find your sin
If you didn’t do it they will make it up
Like, way back when he was only ten,
his great grandfather once stole a watermelon from Farmer Ben.
His dad found out and made him
work it off in chores
made him promise not to do it again
but that won’t make the evening
news because sensationalism is the only values
that matter to us all.
‘Faced with a fight I don’t back down’,
He, blowing last trumpet his own,
PM and Party Head,
Somewhat misty eyed, said
With heavy head on losing crown.
______________________
Happenings|08.01.2025|
Poet’s Note: Prime Minister for ten long years Justin Trudeau had to finally ‘back down’ despite all his bravado. But he himself was responsible for the loss of popularity with his immature behaviour and policies. Trump called him governor of 51st State of USA and he took it with a smug smile. Xi of China once gave him a one-to-one dressing down and he could muster little defence. His troubles with India are well known. And to top it all, he is disowned by his own party and people of Canada. No wonder, Justin Trudeau is just out-- a handsome yet vapid man who failed to do justice to his famous last name. It was in India, his first trip that proved a turning point in perception of his personality (more than his inviting a convicted terrorist to his entourage, it was his general buffoonery).
This tide of civil despair.
This sacrificed isle.
This meandering foolish way.
This sniffy institute of lies.
This backward way forwards.
This conceited entitlement.
This insanity in living sight.
This free fall into oblivion.
This elitist disdain for the lower ranks.
This self righteous pompous buffoonery.
This murdering establishment .
This unchecked, accepted corruption.
This sad, pathetic reality.
This England.
You skulked down the hidden backstreets of rationality,
peering through the keyholes of human decency,
and crawled in through the sewers of thought,
to whisper your name to the unsuspecting innocent,
filling them with the fear of discontented oppression.
“We are America, So up Yours!” was your battle cry
and the naive jump aboard your pretentious parade.
Fake news…
Fake hair…
FAKE TRUTH!
Maybe we should have ‘read HIS lips’.
Wall them out, or wall us in…that is the question.
Oh yes, my dear friend William,
we are truly suffering the slings and arrows,
of outrageous buffoonery.
Do we now take up arms and light the battle fires of resistance?
Or do we sleep…
Perchance to dream.
Be careful what you dream for.
Written 3/10/2017
Part - I
O bright star! Where have thou gone?
For thy beams are needed again,
To warm thy followers’ lives forlorn.
Few robbed breads thou baked, most sans gain.
Till thy rise, it was densely dark,
Large folks were made rotten by cliques,
Thou shown them seamless spark,
Instilling fire in once meek cheeks.
Ramparts of Varna thou steadfastly confronted,
Blisters on humanity thou laboriously removed,
Wounds of thy fearful society thee operated,
Thee enshrined golden verses healed and proved.
Dismantled demonic edifices resurrecting everywhere,
Buffoonery gets accolades nowadays. Won’t thee be there?
Thy place is the North Star that world has verified,
Bhau prays thee help thy breed get timely 'Modi'fied.
The poison that praises the phantoms of people
shall also kill the kind kin off kilter.
Be obliged to bless base bums with brevity and brawls of buffoonery
and suck the souls of the saints who sip the sweet sap of swine.
Once more I twist the tale of tempting tempestuous teas that taste of thought and torment,
and whip the wills with woe for one and all aware for my entire enjoyment.
The spotlight flashes fun on the sagged garb
An animated caricature in comical human figure
With miniature red sun stuck on the porcelain nose
Tramps around the circus pitch making silly jokes.
The nimble body turns in flexed acrobatic moves
Sleight of hands performs the perfect jugglery act
But the labored buffoonery of the fragile jester
Falls flat as peels of stale joke on silent spectators.
Before the neon lights go out in the last show
The slapsticks strip the paint off his sweaty face
Uncovering the trail of tears he has secretly cried
He sings a song on the lyric of his broken heart.
The urn of contained laughter explodes in the gallery
The applause hails Tatters, the grotesque clown of pathos.
_______________
January 6, 2023
Contest : Tatters
Sponsored by : Mystic Rose Rose
Leslie Neilson
Straight faced reveals a pun
But what surely made him squirrely
They wouldn't stop calling him Shirley
Leslie Neilson
Armed with wit and naked gun
Genius buffoonery unparalleled
Save for what Peter Seller's Clueso upheld
Leslie Neilson
Dracula loving it as a dead one
Giving Renfield insect currency
And causing Mel brooks an emeRRRgency
Leslie Neilson
A parody on the run
Of spoofery not wrongfully accused
Only keeping us hysterically amused
Hope you know your Leslie Neilson movies for clearance, Clarence.
Roger, Roger.
The spotlight flashes funny flair
on the showy sagged dress,
miniature crimson cold sun stuck
on the puckered porcelain face.
An animated caricature captured
in comical frail human figure,
tramps round and round
the circus arena to amuse.
The sprightly body swivels
in flexed shuffle of acrobatics,
sleight of supple hands performs
the perfect act of jugglery,
but the labored buffoonery
of the funny fragile joker,
falls flat as flakes of stale joke
on the silent spectators.
Before the neon lights go out
in the last show and the curtain falls,
the slapsticks peel slowly
the paint off his sweaty face,
unmask the trail of tears
he has long shed un-noticed.
He leaves the stage singing a song,
the lyric written by his broken heart.
The uproar of laughter at long last
explodes with claps in the gallery,
the applause hails the joker,
left to live the comedy of life.
____________________
September 15, 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Contest
This tide of civil despair, this sacrificed isle.
This meandering foolish way.
This sniffy institute of lies.
This backward way forwards.
This conceited entitlement.
This insanity in living sight.
This free fall into oblivion.
This barking at the moon.
This elitist disdain for the lower ranks.
This self righteous pompous buffoonery.
This murdering establishment.
This unchecked, accepted corruption.
This sad, pathetic reality.
This England.
Karma-Life's Ultimate Avenger
I never get this one.........though it's
results are delightful and uproarious fun!
Mankind with its paltry pretense of perfection, like fools,
step in a manhole,whilst going in the wrong direction!
Egg on their face, is such a great delight to me.
Pride, vanity and ignorance~ Divine, magnificent, buffoonery!
11-20-2020
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