Long Barkers Poems
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My daddy, he gave me a silver dime
For to fetch him a bucket of cider.
My mama, she tended the laundry line,
With a big wicker basket beside her.
I took a hard left at the barber pole
And I walked past a drunk by the deli.
He was likely reliving his throw-away years
In some dark nightmare’s underbelly.
The Ferris wheel is frozen in place
By the exotic dancer’s cherry tree.
The sideshows provided the usual freaks,
Teasing gut brain and muscle memory.
An ascot wearing yacht rock commodore
Come ashore for his usual wage:
A pickpocket imperialist strutting the boards
On his chosen colonial stage.
He came from some tiny Alpine principate
After stealing a movie star’s roadster.
Just know for a fact that it weren’t Lichtenstein,
It was really Lichtenstein’s monster.
He has black labs, brewskis, and bluebirds
Neatly baked into his trendy man bun.
For when a little dab ‘ll do ya, as they say,
Who needs all that greasy kid stuff?
He’s just another two-bit clown
We see his pants fall halfway down.
There’s no understanding really what he did.
He claims he played marbles with the Sundance Kid
And the barkers lined the midway
From the high bridge to the gateway,
As I marveled at the wonders I saw
In this place they call Carnival Town.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
A SUCKER BORN EVERY MINUTE
Chariton Iowa has a carnival every Fourth of July
The entire town flocks up there to watch them set up
They are open for business in a few hours
Ferris wheel, merry-go-round, tilt-a-whirl
The true magic happens in the evening
sky is lit by neon lights fancier than a sheriff’s topper
ambiance is mystical and magical
you can hear the screams of carnival riders
wonderful smells fill the air – funnel cakes and caramel apples
lines waiting for them as long as a box car
everyone chattering together, for this is a small town
two or three people carry large pink or blue teddy bears
barkers try to entice me to spend my money
I know better than to give up everything on the “maybe” wins
I am heading for the Ferris wheel and tilt-a-whirl
the merry-go-round is for the little ones. They are giggling
Strangely, the carnival in the evening is ten times more magical
Because of the sky? The crowd? The emphasis on the bright lights?
No idea, but it always seems like a dream come true, a fairy land
Something to cherish until the next Fourth of July
She sneaks into town
In the middle of the night;
Sets up before daybreak.
Her colors blind the town square.
Her barkers have games set up before the crowd arrives.
Her fantastic rides take two tickets;
Most kids lament they only have ten.
Some get replenished by their parents.
Others do not.
She smiles as she hears the two-year olds
screeching with delight on her multi-painted ponies.
She gloats that the mommies and daddies are willing to
stay in line for an hour.
The joy she brings is unparalleled; her bosom swells
with the knowledge that her enthusiasm has turned yet
another small middle earth town upside down.
She knows the inhabitants all look forward to her hot,
salted pretzels and cotton candy and depend upon her every year.
There are bicycle parades, and floats to honor her arrival.
She lures them into her tents, where they see crazy, unexpected miracles.
These folk talk about her for a whole year, glorying in being
held upside down for what seemed like hours snapped tightly
in one of her two ha-ha terrifying roller coasters,
Expounding on tales gleaned from her bowels.
She sneaks out as quietly as she sneaked in.
Taking her joy and colors with her, hoping to
be back another year.
Written 12/02/2018 Contest: Early December 2018
Sponsor: Brian Strand
A hypnotic effect is possessed by this gadget
It could even lead to a syndrome called pagets
Bent over and private its user spellbound
But unsocial and rude to all those around
Multiple noises are deftly emitted
With buttons to press and assets unlimited
Texts dispensed and news accessed
Leaving conversation to certain death
Ring tones abound in public spaces
Phone chat like barkers in public places
photos and selfies posted here and there
All manner of games to further ensnare
Thus putting the user in greater peril
When mobile phones become a menace
To drivers and walkers all absorbed
A selfish misuse to be abhorred
And a blight when the charger is mislaid
And constant debit to be repaid
This amazing gadget should remain in pocket
Until really needed, then out of the closet
The flags are waving brightly,
hypnotizing the naive,
they shimmer like carnival balloons.
There are merry andrews waltzing,
to the themes of marching bands,
they’re camouflaged to blend in with the moon.
The party’s getting started,
so we better get in line
- the wind is breathing something like a sigh.
The smell of cotton candy
drowns out the barkers script,
and multicolored lights announce the mood.
There’s rain off in the distance
- you can feel on your skin
- the children refuse to stay in line.
Dogs are barking somewhere,
and lanterns dance like birds
- there’s nothing left to do but step in time,
two, three, four.
The tent is Chinese silk,
as silver as a coin
- acrobats take tickets with their lips.
The sawdust smells like bacon,
and the seats are way too small,
but the crowd is pushing in
because red rain is falling.
Elephants turn like dancers,
and trumpet to the night
- the sound shakes the world like my alarm.
Another ho-hum morning,
soon the sky will tell a lie,
- that lemon light has something to proclaim.
My bags are packed for boredom,
the trip will last all day,
- there’s nothing left to do but step in time,
two, three, four.
We celebrate by slipping color into every glimpse and cranny
Our town square is ready for celebration, transformed into magic-ville
Excitement prances out of stranger’s smiles, joy leaps over herself.
It’s the annual fiesta, a carnival, a celebration that we are alive.
The sizzle of meat on a grill delights my tongue. I salivate.
Pork? Beef? Chicken? Maybe all three.
Too early to eat, still I am hopeful.
Carnival rides the same as last year, barkers exuding enthusiasm.
A bare midriff walks toward me on the body of a beautiful girl.
A scream captures my attention from the giant teddy bears.
Loud laughter of a happy child assures me all is well, just excitement.
Funnel cakes! Cotton candy in blue and pink. Ice cream on a stick.
What to do first? I greet people with pure happiness.
Festival has begun!
I watch carnival of carnivals quickly unfold
intense barkers are yelling as if their large bears are gold
seeing ultimate thin man and fat lady never gets old
fortune tellers are so unique, they’ve created their mold
tickets are being traded, fought over, bought and sold.
elaborate stories are being bandied about in the cold.
silver is crossing palms, upsells are extremely bold.
acrobats are doing tricks with agile bodies that fold.
from the tilt-a-whirl ride an old man just fell and rolled.
kewpie dolls nod from their shelves inside the fold.
merry-go-round horses are touched up with gold.
old women are wearing minks, flashing that they're stolled.
carnival of carnivals is a treat that never gets old.
cotton candy is pink and puffy, spun right out of gold.
tickets are being traded, fought over, bought and sold.
traveling from town to town, her tales quickly unfold.
A hypnotic effect is possessed by this gadget
It could even lead to a syndrome called pagets
Bent over and private its user spellbound
But unsocial and rude to all those around
Multiple noises are deftly emitted
With buttons to press and assets unlimited
Texts dispensed and news accessed
Leaving conversation to certain death
Ring tones abound in public spaces
Phone chat like barkers in public places
photos and selfies posted here and there
All manner of games to further ensnare
Thus putting the user in greater peril
When mobile phones become a menace
To drivers and walkers all absorbed
A selfish misuse to be abhorred
And a blight when the charger is mislaid
And constant debit to be repaid
This amazing gadget should remain in pocket
Until really needed, then out of the closet
My Fourth of July memories are firmly intact.
We always got together with my aunt and uncle.
Which meant our cousins, and we had so much fun.
The day was about picnics, watermelon, carnival, parade.
Fireworks of course; and we always wore a new outfit.
In red, white and blue. Decorated our bikes with streamers.
Also red, white and blue. So much excitement, the town bristled.
You could hear people laughing on every block. Small town Iowa.
Everyone neighbored. We ran between the houses playing games.
The children were all outside, the cooking was already done.
We had hot dogs, hamburgers, baked beans, and watermelon.
Ice cream floats made with root beer; a scrumptious day.
We looked forward to all of it every year. The parade started at nine.
Everyone was up town, on the square. Lawn chairs all over the place.
Old people parked, waiting for their great grands to ride or dance past.
Everyone was moving; singing. Fourth of July was summer’s Christmas.
Prizes, popcorn, funnel cakes, cotton candy in two or three colors.
The carnival barkers were goosing up the excitement, assuring us of a win.
We usually wasted a lot of money trying for the big teddy bears.
Tilt-a-whirl, merry-go-round, pony rides, and Loop-De-Plane! Once a year!
The fourth of July! It was also my Daddy’s favorite holiday.
It was the one day of the year all of his high school buddies came back to visit.
He spent hours up town talking to them and laughing like he never did any other time.
We all sat on blankets and watched the fireworks at the park at nine p.m.
There is nothing in the world that makes me smile any harder
Or want to bring back a memory any harder than my childhood memories
of Chariton, Iowa on the Fourth of July!
I’m tired of the teeter-totter polemics
that pass for profundity.
I’m tired of the see-saw tug of war,
the streaming regurgitation on every channel.
Yes, I’m weary of the predictable posturing,
the vapid, barren landscapes of the oligarchy.
I am groggy in the dull fog of capitalist pretense,
the plutocratic hubris sold by carnival barkers.
I am worn down by the endless banal chatter,
the mindless daily clutter flooding all our
electronic screens, all our senses.
Scientists in a million years will
try to decipher our primitive etchings.
Our digital scribble will remain.
Will they recognize our AI ventriloquism?
Will they distinguish us from chimpanzees?
I don’t have answers in my advancing years.
I’ll find cozy books and trees instead,
while we still have them.