Feast your eyes, ladies and gents,
on the spotlight, high up in the circus tent.
We cross our fingers, hoping, in our fright,
our hero stays on the tightrope tonight.
Wait, that man's sixty-six years old,
and he has nary a muscle to behold.
He doesn't not look so very brave
as he gives the crowd a sheepish wave.
His cholesterol is on a slippery slope -
too much butter, and he falls off the rope.
One more sweet? Oops, his sugar level!
Who offered it? It was the devil.
He's between a hard place and a rock.
Watch as he tries to put on his sock.
He's taking quite the frightening risk
of herniating another disc.
He climbs into his car with confusion.
All this traffic could lead to one more contusion.
The thought raises the pressure of his blood.
Oh my, will he fall down with a thud?
An impact of that intensity
would spell trouble with his bone density.
Each step he takes is filled with fear
as he clings to his health so dear.
Feast your eyes, ladies and gents,
on the spotlight, high up in the circus tent.
We cross our fingers, hoping, in our fright,
all of us on this tightrope tonight.
I prayed hard for Jill to be a wife- first
and a first lady, second.
I prayed for her to finally let him rest.
I prayed for the sad donkey parade to come to an end.
I'm pretty sure he's stepping away.
Not because of divine intervention,
but because his decline was lime-lit.
The polls to the circus tent were collapsing...
Rest easy, old man; I wish your last days
to be filled with endless tranquility.
(Far away from the cackle of clowns).
Days filled with long, overdue dignity.
meet my muse Trixie.
I want to draw.
she wants to play in the Thesaurus.
Trixie is a freebooter, marauder, pirate, she plans to win.
I sketch a monkey, elephant and acrobat.
I am in circus mode.
Trixie slams her green eyes over the big book.
she is persnickety, determined, and forceful.
fat blue Thesaurus is a harpy; she flips open.
I stare at these words - deaden, anesthetized, stupefy.
write them down! Trixie demands.
she is more trouble than a gewgaw, trinket or knickknack.
I avert my eyes, not wanting to play with words
now drawing a circus tent, and a popcorn box.
red and white striped popcorn box has arms and legs.
he sticks out his tongue in maniacal cartoon laughter.
Trixie flips some pages of this dreaded book.
gleaming, sparkling, glistening stand out.
magnify, enlarge and amplify bite me on the left arm.
I am not writing right now! I tell her.
she sticks out her tongue.
eager to work on a magnum opus, creative masterpiece.
I can hardly work on the giraffe.
curious I am to read words where she is pointing
lionize, glorify, elevate
vanish, disappear, dissolve
I begin drawing a lion, trying to break my muse's spell.
In stoic carnival, emotions juggle,
laughter somersaults on a tightrope of reason.
Epictetus, ringmaster, dons a clown's nose,
philosophy as whimsical sideshow.
Stoicism, circus tent of paradox,
where the lion tamer wrestles inner beasts.
The trapeze of fate swings on absurdity,
as three Moirai perform an acrobatic feat.
Seneca's stoic beard, a magical illusion,
transforms into a confetti-spewing waterfall.
Cynicism rides a unicycle of cosmic irony,
while Zeno's paradox becomes a funhouse mirror.
In a carnival of wisdom turned wild,
stoicism pirouettes on the edge of the bizarre.
Life's absurdities, the grand finale,
a cosmic joke echoing in stoic guffaws.
The joker had the most fabulous fashions around
So many things were striped, no solids were found.
He was wearing polka dots and had flower stickers too.
Clothing of every gorgeous color, shade and hue.
A miniature elephant was doing a circus trick.
Showing off next to his circus tent so thick.
The joker and beast gave each other a friendly nod.
Just another wonderful day in the land of Vaude.
THE CIRCUS
Circus- tent was bought from the town.
Owner was renowned Mr. Brown.
He appointed two funny clowns.
Guys were named as ‘ Noun’ and ‘Pronoun’.
Jack - Jill went to circus show on Sun down.
Jack put on shiny silver crown.
Jill wore glossy green gown.
Clowns made faces and frowned.
05/27/23
meet my muse Trixie.
I want to draw.
she wants to play in the Thesaurus.
Trixie is a freebooter, marauder, pirate, she plans to win.
I sketch a monkey, elephant and acrobat.
I am in circus mode.
Trixie slams her green eyes over the big book.
she is persnickety, determined, and forceful.
fat blue Thesaurus is a harpy; she flips open.
I stare at these words - deaden, anesthetized, stupefy.
write them down! Trixie demands.
she is more trouble than a gewgaw, trinket or knickknack.
I avert my eyes, not wanting to play with words
now drawing a circus tent, and a popcorn box.
red and white striped popcorn box has arms and legs.
he sticks out his tongue in maniacal cartoon laughter.
Trixie flips some pages of this dreaded book.
gleaming, sparkling, glistening stand out.
magnify, enlarge and amplify bite me on the left arm.
I am not writing right now! I tell her.
she sticks out her tongue.
eager to work on a magnum opus, creative masterpiece.
I can hardly work on the giraffe.
curious I am to read words where she is pointing
lionize, glorify, elevate
vanish, disappear, dissolve
I begin drawing a lion, trying to break my muse's spell.
I want a topsy flopsy circus cake, the four-year-old said.
I had no idea how to create this, so I brought grandma in for a consult.
I’ll do it, she said. It’s a challenge. I’ll add all sorts of red.
His favorite color, she stated, it will be beautiful beyond a fault.
The cake was lovely, best of all, made by one of his favorite people.
It was whimsical, crazy, wild, colorful, and all sorts of kinds of fun.
I love the way this circus tent falls over, and it has lost it’s steeple!
You get to make all of the birthday cakes until he turns twenty-one.
The Chinese dragon was filling up the sky
I stared as he travelled, faster than most clouds
He bumped into a lamb and a frog; they scooted.
Grayer now, he makes a viable storm cloud
I marvel at his swiftness to getting somewhere
His ability to change the dynamics of the sky
He is recruiting other clouds now,
He has turned them into a flying gray circus tent
Within ten minutes, the sky is deepening her darkness.
I search for my umbrella, anticipating the rain we need
Alas, the clouds move to the west, giving another state rain.
I am left with a blue sky, thinking of the Chinese dragon.
The Chinese dragon was filling up the sky
I stared as he travelled, faster than most clouds
He bumped into a lamb and a frog; they scooted.
Grayer now, he makes a viable storm cloud
I marvel at his swiftness to getting somewhere
His ability to change the dynamics of the sky
He is recruiting other clouds now,
He has turned them into a flying gray circus tent
Within ten minutes, the sky is deepening her darkness.
I search for my umbrella, anticipating the rain we need
Alas, the clouds move to the west, giving another state rain.
I am left with a blue sky, thinking of the Chinese dragon.
I’m just a free-range wino on the lam,
A low-rent resident of any circus tent
Accepts me as the reprobate I am.
I don’t speak Texan and I don’t intend to,
But I’ll pretend to be a rodeo clown.
I’ve got a box of bad intentions.
Gonna drink that vino down.
In vino veritas.
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
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
The monopolistic idea of a ninety centimetre circus tent is a mere chamber of commerce in a tea cup. Tea cups hold many cakes but cannot yet manufacture great pies or quiches. Whichever the way is the home? Whichever way the bell rings. Ding dong then. Run run run. Supper is being served. One crumb and a sliver of cheese. Great. Now sweep. Eating ecstatically every even effort. And a large dollup of tea swings from the high branches at this time of here. Thud then. Monarchial moons move. And a dish of sour cream claps. Good. Now that was the latest from the p y q reporting from zone r. Z
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
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