Long Amusement Poems
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Not an amusement park in sight
So, we headed to the mountains
No bumper cars, roller coasters,
Spinning cups, or dancing fountains
We diligently searched
For something to stimulate our hype
At last we spotted a
Near perpendicular metal irrigation pipe
Without a pod, a seat, or even some grease
The tube had way too much drag
A quick search of our backpacks
Revealed an empty beef jerky bag
I volunteered to go first and
Attempt our unusual ride
The others cheered and stepped back
To get a better look at our very long slide
I scrambled on the drain, carefully sat down …
And shot off like a bullet
It hurt so bad when I landed
For a year, I could barely even sit on a toilet
Have I been too long at the fair?
by Michael R. Burch
Have I been too long at the fair?
The summer has faded,
the leaves have turned brown;
the Ferris wheel teeters . . .
not up, yet not down.
Have I been too long at the fair?
This is one of my earliest poems, written around age 15 when my family was living with my grandfather in his house on Chilton Street, within walking distance of the Nashville fairgrounds. I remember walking to the fairgrounds, stopping at a Dairy Queen along the way, and swimming at a public pool. I believe the Ferris wheel only operated during the state fair, so my “educated guess” is that this poem was written during the 1973 state fair, or shortly thereafter. I remember watching people hanging suspended in mid-air, waiting for carnies to deposit them safely on terra firma again, neither all the way up nor all the way down. Keywords/Tags: Fair, State Fair, Amusement, Amusements, Carny, Carnies, Ferris Wheel, Roller Coaster, Leaves, Dangling, Suspended, Fall, Falling, Limbo, Big Top, Big Show, Circus, Carnival, Sideshow, Gypsy, Gypsies, Summer, Autumn, Child, Childhood
Each longs to obtain
fifteen minutes of fame.
Pawns in play,
simpleton on display.
Farcical amusement
from slapstick humans.
Spectacles in a petri dish,
slaves to their lavishments.
Analyzed and watched—
spare no expense… at what cost?
A muse for their “entertainment,”
to be the fodder at their "banquet."
Plans to steal, kill, and destroy—
bartering your soul to deploy.
Creating the pandemonium;
whence comes regurgitated solutions?
Governed by the unseen legion,
sheeple blinded by fabricated freedom.
That fifteen minutes of wantingness
now seeks solitude… and will find none.
Was I forged in the crucible of fate,
To be a vessel for sorrow's endless weight?
Was I crafted to weep in solitude's dark night,
A solitary figure, lost in unrelenting light?
Am I but a pawn in the game of life,
A fleeting amusement, a moment's trivial strife?
Was I created to be a mere whisper, unheard and unseen,
A forgotten whisper, lost in the din of humanity's scheme?
My days are shrouded in a veil of tears,
A perpetual sorrow that dries my eyes and sears.
I kneel, a supplicant, hands clasped in fervent prayer,
Yet the heavens remain silent, unmoved by my despair.
Oh, the crushing weight of existence's cruel design,
A life of suffering, where pain is my sole companion, my heart's rhyme.
I scan the faces of others, searching for a glimpse of hope,
A fleeting smile, a moment's respite from this endless scope.
But alas, their joy only serves to underscore my plight,
A stark reminder of the happiness that's denied to me, a life without light.
I wonder, was I born to be a martyr to pain,
A perpetual outsider, forever trapped in this desolate terrain?
How do I convey the depth of my anguish, my heart's cry,
That the universe might take notice, and respond, "I hear you, I see you, I am here"?
I've knocked, I've pleaded, I've waited, but the door remains closed,
And I am left to wonder, was I created to suffer, forever exposed?
The songbird
Free from being caged
Her melody is beautiful
Because she is no longer afraid
She doesn't sing for your amusement
The songbird does not sing for fame
Oh, she sings for love
Because it can not be tamed
Born wild
Songbirds of all types and colors
Fathers
Brothers
Sisters
Mothers
Beauty deserves to be set free, and
She honored everyone
When that sweet relief
Of freedom hit her wings
When she flew away for the first time
It was a spectacle to see
She perched and landed
Upon a giant sequoia tree
She held no resentment
And the only matter that
She was now captured by
Was her new profound view
The songbird has love in her heart
And that's one thing you can't steal
The music in her voice
Obstructed my fear, she
Began to guide me with her remedy and
I assented, with my mind now clear
It was incredible
The power echoing through her
The enchantment that she showed
Admiring her strength
Tiny in form but beautiful in design
Reminding me that love conquers all
I could feel my sorrows, turn into hope
I had burst with senses of a budding flower, ready to grow
Oh, how hearing her..
Through my layers
She peeled
Oh, how my encounter with her..
Made me feel
Like a songbird, too
It's dead December, we're getting nowhere, ready
for vaccine like a starving tribe shoved from behind
under the bridge, kicking some dust along the way.
A hand holds my arm, hoarse voices coaxes
Life's swindler races to the moon, go to its amusement park!
Is this real or my imagination, girls with mini-skirts, open blouses
giggling by the shore, tossing their suntanned bodies around.
A warm breeze adds to their childish delight. A mother duck's teaching
its toddler how to swim, and kids swarming the ice cream bicyclist
who demands them to line up but they rush forward screaming, falling.
I stumble on a diaper and run to the ocean to clean, that's where the senior
boys hang out and, occasionally, a boat approaches and some hands wave
at the crowd. The sun stares them down, the sand swallows their long shadow, and the tide swings them back and forth, showing traces
of oil slick. Sunburned, I jump over a dune, a crumpled book drops from my pocket, Sonnets of Love, a bearded old man picks it up and reads
It's a sunlight in the darkness, and its name is love. O love, you cook no more fervent. Do not fry my feelings on a cold grill! Is love the only thing that keeps us apart? Yes darling. Thanks heaven.
He's calm and peaceful with a contemplative face speaking generations,
life whirls before him like a movie reel in an outdoor cinema, maybe he was a
forest firefighter, who jumped from the planes to put out the smoke, or worked at a convenient store, where he got his supply of cigarette, or a bus driver who always greeted you with a cheery smile. He points to a woman slumped to a chair, "that's my lady, used to be quite a gal, but is now just happy to be around." I shudder when I think of the moment, when death
keeps them apart. Before that happens, he must thank her again for her many kindnesses.
Written: August 05, 2023
Put Yourself in Their Shoes Poetry Contest Sponsor- Eve Roper
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In the realm of dawn, where hope does reside,
We eagerly anticipate the forthcoming day.
With hearts ablaze, our spirits do confide,
In the radiant glow that lights our way.
Amidst the fields, where laughter abounds,
Goats and poultry prance with playful glee.
Their antics, a source of amusement profound,
In this realm of joy, where harm flees,
As the sun rises, painting the sky with gold,
We stand ready to harvest the flourishing wheat.
With hands strong and hearts steadfastly bold,
Seeking our livelihood with an unwavering beat
In this realm, our purpose is clear.
To bolster those we love in danger and despair.
Through toil and sweat, we hold them dear.
And find satisfaction in showing we care.
We work the land, our bodies in motion,
Balancing moil and recreation embrace,
Maintaining echt health, a lifelong devotion,
In this realm of dawn, where hope finds its place,
With dutiful hands, we carry the weight of hay.
Symbolic of the burdens we bear in life,
But with love and grace, we find a way.
To ease each other's load and strife.
It's sad to say but we're pathetic today; cuz we're
childishly crying at the crib
We're screaming, and shouting and drooling at the mouth.
I swear we all need bibs.
Tear stained faces contorted and grimly unsorted; that
mindfully should be hid.
Aren't shunned in rooms to rid, but in plain sight and
"unrightfully" out in the mid
Where ration should be; with raw emotions stand we __
boldly in its stead.
To act with restraint would've actually been noble, but
a tantrum is what we did.
"But Takers are forsakers, and giving to those fakers
can be more than givers can take"!
We are not amusement for you to play with___ but of those
you should not toy or kid.
Good riddance to you and an unhappy farewell is the one
true thing we could bid.
Hit the door; for you're neither friend nor foe, but
merely unfinished poorly formed dough.
We had good notion to be in high motion; and completely
out of rears.
What happened today was uncalled for, and the absurdity
of all my years.
I never thought that something of this sort could bring
on such bouts of tears.
Yet gracious enough it's limit draws near, as warm
thoughts do appear.
Out from the wonderful voice of cheer; and all its
other peers.
To beckon us__ bring on those smiles and lift those tight
wrinkled chins.
As this day closes and comes to an end, we can't let
gloom and sorrows win.
But be inclined to bide our time with better things
__in mind.
So Let us calm our nerves and think of all thats'
preserved __as the crackers and red wine is served.
Alas! we settled us down and had a second go round
til we uttered not a sound.
What gotten into us; must have gone stir crazy,
or completely out of our heads.
To be hooping, hollering, and galloping like horses
up here; crying at the crib.
Revival meetin's are nearly passe' in this day and age,
But when I was a kid they were then all the rage!
Mom made us kids attend whether we wanted to or not.
I must admit they provided entertainment that I've never forgot!
Invitations were sent to everyone in the local surrounds,
Invitin' folks for week long meetin's with dinner on the grounds.
To hear the visitin' parson declare the Good News to the fold;
That eternal message of love heralded to generations untold!
Animated preachers from the rostrum did scream and yell,
Proclaimin' an immediate choice betwixt heaven and hell!
Thumpin' the pulpit scarin' the devil out of you,
Without kneelin' at the altar or even leavin' your pew!
My Mom, bless her soul, ever in a state of agitation,
Urged us to approach the Throne of Grace for our salvation!
Times too many to recall I was led by my ear to the altar,
But, alas, I usually fell from grace - my faith seemed to falter!
Though I look back on those times with some bemusement,
For at the time they provided my sibs and me with some amusement,
I'm forever grateful to straight and narrow paths we were directed,
To help plod life's treacherous bourne and cope with the unexpected!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Painted horses leaping, faster and faster,
I hold on tightly as my tangled hair is flying.
A sweet carnival memory of a childhood summer.
Painted horses leaping!
The amusement park is twirling and whirling,
of this horse, I alone, am the master!
Father is holding me, to keep me from falling.
My dappled horse is quite a leaper!
The Merry Go Round is now gently slowing.
"Can I ride it again, please father?
Painted horses leaping!
_______________________________
August 16, 2013
Poetry/Rhyme/Painted Horses Leaping
Copyright Protected, ID 08-499-404-16
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France