“Ride, ride the carousel; reach for the brass ring—life is a circular thing." (Julie Andrews)
The calliope sings through twilight’s hush,
a drunken waltz of pipes gone slightly lush.
The carousel spins ghosts in gilded light~
each rider swears they’re flying, in their rush.
Clowns have shed their greasepaint grins by dawn,
their hollow eyes still laughing, though withdrawn.
The carnival packs up its aching bones,
but the carousel? It's never quite gone.
A ribbon lost, a child’s shoe in the hay,
the scent of sugar clinging to the fray.
Ticket vendors count their silver lies,
while horses dream of galloping away.
Tents collapse like sighs into the dust,
yet something lingers—rusted chains, a trust
that when the moon hangs fat and low once more,
the music will return. And so it must.
If you enjoyed this poem, you may want to read its companion memoir vignette posted on Poetry Soup: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/carousel_of_memories_13583
A feeling that the room is spinning
especially with specific head movements
Bout of dizziness
don't look up, down or to the side
- just straight ahead
I loved carousels when I was a kid
One step, one goal
grab a door frame or a chair
Vertigo... hits the labyrinth in the inner ear
My crystals ran wild
finally the diamonds are where they should be
I don't like carousels anymore
as embers glow on wintry nights
candy canes and x-mas lights
truth gives way to summer’s steam
carousels and caramel cream
what fancy leads me on to dream
of sugar plums in frozen cream
O, free me from this August's blight
encase the world in beams of light
They rise and sparkle and crackle,
Shaming the nakedness of the skies
And the city, with one frightful flame of
Youth,
Burning with the zest of
Seasonal lore.
At Christmas, they salute the days
Creamed by snow and sleet,
Thrusting in us the wisdom of
Global ceremonies.
They are the lightning of Yuletide —
Lightning unaccompanied by rain.
Shaped in balls and spears, and lean
Fragments of flagrant colours,
They are armed with their own thunder —
Thunder that speaks volumes and calms the rage in
Frenetic dogs.
They are coloured paints splashed lavishly across the broadest
Canvas ever —black and seamless
We see through their lens, the running dusts
Of sparks,
The dancing circus of sky-circuits
And the happy wars waged on the frontiers
Of seasons.
They strobe around the cold earth.
New Year’s Eve is riddled with conundrums,
Waking sleepy souls to sneeze up details of
A frazzled year.
The heavens are lit up lavishly,
Electrified to stupor,
Reminding us of choirs that chorus to the tunes
Of life everlasting.
Carousels ride through our minds, young now,
Old tomorrow,
With sparks that shine this moment
And dim the next.
Such is life.
when elixir of moon drips wine
into the crystal goblet of magic
this late night beguiles my skin, reeling
on a Friday parade of lights;
my hips oh so beckon, swaggering to and fro...
impossible to deny this playgroud of fancy
of a soul flitting in. and out of supple thoughts
when my imagination dangles
on anklets of stars
as naked rhythm grows, my free will abides
to sip the juice of this wondrous ambrosia...
and goddess Isis wheels into the forest
with neon banners,
spinning dream--like fables in my heart
tingling flesh against trickles of time,
where seahorses ride on carousels
where ' a crimson sky breaks the distant shore'
and vivid thoughts spill like silver rain:
in a tower of daydreams or night walks,
visions are spun without question.
,How seasons and weather change
the way I shiver pleasantly from their
anonymous ways---
daring in the heated blisters of
summer's flesh, then
mysterious through winter's ghost...
There's no way to measure each
and every cycle's radiance--- I don't know
why they are equal in lush revelries,
untamed yet graceful
along pendulums of time.
Still, I thrive, fumble, and journey once
again to relish the ambrosial interludes
within their galaxy ...without counting
the viscous sunsets of fall
or spring time carousels:
I gaze experientially
at life's moments kinetic as brushed winds --
tuck them as magical spells and then
begin yet another awakening
before plucked midnight shuts down...
drained of emotion
idly-mouthed words
raised fists with no punch
meanings vacuous, blurred
carousels of zombies
stare through his soul
nor silver nor copper
winged horses of gold
Whistles, bells, and wonderous sights,
Brilliant kaleidoscopic lights.
The pageantry always sells,
Bright Carnivals and Carousels.
Parents watch their children ride,
Reminds them of the child inside.
Round and round and round they go,
The Tilt-A-Whirl completes the show.
In a seat made just for two,
The Ferris Wheel's amazing view.
Sweethearts in a state of bliss,
Sharing a romantic kiss.
Toddlers with their legs so bandy,
Stuck on sticky cotton candy.
Funnel cakes to fill the belly,
Doughnuts stuffed with fruited jelly.
The challenge after many tries,
Perchance to win a fluffy prize.
Smiles, shouts, and all the laughter,
Crowds always get just what they're after.
As the night begins to wane,
All movement like a weathervane.
Tomorrow when the day begins,
The Carnival begins again.
Empty carousels, windswept,
Echoes of pattering feet fading away in the dirge-like wind, mourning like doves.
Empty swings in the park, a waning sun looks mournfully at the little eddies of sand here and there:
All lacking the soft peals of laughter, the chuckles of the innocent...
Where have all the children gone?
The yolk-coloured sun, sour tasting,
signalling the end of a long, dreary day. The fluttering, whimpering,
weary limbs creaking,
the end of an era, only reminiscences of vigour
when hoary white was inky black...
Why, have all the children gone?
December is the coolest month
Or the coldest month in some countries
Bring the toys, bring the candies
Grab a jacket, grab a coat and wear pajamas
At night. Stay away from the labyrinth
Get a Christmas tree to decorate
December is the jolliest month of the year
This is the winter month to go from fête to fête
Ride, ride the carousels
Ring, ring the bells
Beat the drums and blow the trumpets, cheer
Cheer and sing Christmas Carols to celebrate
The birth of Jesus Christ
Let it snow, let it snow
Smile and paint a rainbow
Be happy, be enticed
Have a very merry Christmas
Peace on Earth! Peace alas!
Copyright © December 2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Pink flamingos prance with Hooper cranes
high above a vaulted mall ceiling,
a China-blue sky paints fluff upon stucco clouds.
I hold your hand playing hide and seek,
intimate inmates in our open cage,
we are concealed inside a crowd of glitter tramps.
There are rampant plaster angels,
there are neon rainbow fountains,
there are screaming cherubs.
Eyes mob shop windows.
I lose you in the crush and crowd.
Jewelry dazzles on blue velvet carousels.
Spied you on the edge of a mirror,
you’re seeking my fractured reflection
yet too many fake diamonds impede.
Murals crumble under a thronging press,
exit doors spin, spun by a midday sun
no one but I can see the ghost riders.
Found you under a plastic palm.
I thought you carried a child in your arms -
it was just my love that you held so tight.
She has a rainbow tongue, he told us as he kept walking.
I did not want to hear any more, but he could not stop talking.
She speaks of unicorns, candies, carousels and stars oh so bright!
And what she can do with this tongue is amazing, she is a delight.
Now I knew I did not want to hear more, but I kept listening.
CONFECTION Laraine Kentridge Lasdon
Everything I am seems to belong to someone else
Everything I am seems to be someone else
Imagine a memory mirror
framed with pearlescent medallions
painted with miniature portraits of apples,
ginger toffee, and glutinous gummies.
Day and night the mirror reflects
blue-green fields or star-filled skies,
ferris wheels and carousels,
and a young girl
alone, insubstantial,
dressed in spun cotton candy,
sweet, hoping to be liked
in her fairy floss robe.
The glass shatters
my reflection, shifting light,
mirror image wounds,
blood flowing backwards.
I pull thin sharp shards
from the shattered glass
with my bare hands
rendering all semblance,
remembrance, unreliable.
I smile a satirical smile,
a baroque smile of a girl
of a girl who accepts stories
of familial gatherings, embraces
that were never for her.
Everything I am belongs to me
Everything I seem to be, I am
There is no mirror.
Flawed Masquerade Carnival
Upon the midway of imperfection,
The traveling human circus, “illusion” of perfection,
A masquerading “mask,” in carnival unmasked,
Lies “cracked” in equinox
Like “torn” tickets discarded in the sawdust of dreams
As the “façade” crashes down into “flawed” fragments
To scatter splinters in wild spinning carousels
Flinging away the costumes of sideshows
All exposed wearing nothing but transparent truth.
Bathed in dignity
Integrity rises up shaking off ballyhooed dust
Shuts out the carney’s “broken” come-ons,
Taunts and barkers no longer entice,
Clothed in capes woven of calypso sunlight
Scarred arms, no longer concealed,
Reach out to clasp thundering pure moonbeams
Discarding charade’s ragged camouflage
And the “imperfect” circus moves on to another town.
6-21-21
Contest: Flawed
Sponsor: Constance La France
Prompt words: flawed, mask, broken, cracked, façade, torn, illusion, imperfect
Transports of hereafter
pass one leaf to unclasped heaps.
Flirty winds rearrange the hedgerow plumage,
wisp in gentle whispers.
Chipping sparrows play hid and seek
with a watery sunlight.
Business is flourishing for the snuffling groundhog.
It’s the narrow part of the day,
a shoaling light ripples where squirrels dart.
A Blue Jay raps his usual rib-digging oldie.
Felicity flutters the loose and drifting:
the soft green carousels of evening,
the pirouette and circumvolve promenading.
Leaf bundles are ransacked by delving voles
but gently.
Seeing all this
I paint the hedgerow again with this eventide wash,
watch it all spun into dusk
from these owl bright eyes.
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