Long Barkers Poems
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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!
jalapeno peppers
parading their truth proudly
making the fried tortilla laugh
oranges and the brightest azure blues
the sizzle of a skillet
my mouth salivates
strumming of a banjo
bluegrass music and cotton candy
my food hot against its cardboard sleeve
glitzy pink neon lights
smell of hot popcorn
laughter from all over the midway
Iowa state fair magic
carnival barkers screaming for my attention
fireworks will start in an hour
reading of my palm
her eyes are wizened
I am intrigued, her predictions magical
enjoying this day
in an innocent way
excitement extraordinaire
alive at fifteen
flirted at by sixteen
memory that still makes me smile at sixty-eight
Written: July 30, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
************
The carnival dazzles—
mirific mosaics of midway magic
woven with whimsical calls from barkers
who strut boldly on boards
slick with popcorn oil and neon promises.
I, the aficionado of the absurd,
immerse myself in spectacle masquerading as
celebration,
a Falstaffian extravaganza,
a sockdolager of strobe-lit sensation,
where circus rages as horology gone amok—
clockwork chaos camouflaged as joy.
Here, even dyspnea dances:
lungs tight from laughter,
feet blistered on the boards
where the locals jive
to tunes sung in xenoglossia tones—
languages lost or learned
in the jamboree of jest.
We picnic beneath paper moons
and eat Easter-colored candy
as if Lent were long forgotten—
in this nefarious fair,
Time adumbrates indulgence.
I stumble past scantling booths
where prizes lean akin to broken teeth
and prayers cast unanswered
in the apiary buzz of sugar-rushed view.
One iconoclast offers nepenthe in a cup
with carbonation and broken fortunes—
And in that moment,
an epiphany unfolds as a palimpsest,
laughter scrawled over ancient pain,
glee grafted onto grief.
There is no paucity of pain here,
only its parody—
a meritorious mimicry
for those who can bear the weight
and yet select the lighter path.
A temporary guest of the night,
I own nothing,
but borrow every flicker of joy—
every flick of flame from the festival's fire,
every tune from the gala laughter.
Even illeism fades in festal light,
where I am not the observer,
but the observed,
not just the poet,
but the poem itself,
drawn toward this lodestone of longing.
And at last, beneath Ferris wheel stars,
I whisper into the abyss—
a cognate cry to the cosmos
_The feast is fleeting
but oh, how glorious
the festival finished?
. *a*
. * *true*
. to be happiness
. filled to *** blithe
. brim * float* /
. / in the blue /
. / **sky* /
. / / / rise
. / / / balloon
. / / rise
. / / /
. / /
. /
. /
. ****** /
. *************** /
blot out, oh blot out the sun in the sky
fill it with rainbow, carnival prize..... ***
weep not, oh weep not, my child LOOK HIGH... in the*
for all that is goodness does come from the sky..... the arms of
*a warm
wind
whose puffed out cheeks give babies grins /
barkers balloons loose from the fiesta /
flying to? Flying toward?? /
it's anyones guess /
********
**********
.
Contest: Happiness is a Balloon
Poet: D. Guzzi
7/18/11
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
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.
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
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
Late 1940s England
the square
was packed
& the high street full
meat&veg seemed plentiful
market barkers
drew the queues
with jokes
impromptu
shoppers filed
neat& formal
in sainsburys greggs
& home colonial
the bacon slicer
shuttled back& forth
rashers scaled
in halves&fourths
bread mealed smooth&strong
butter patted shaped oblong
cheese cut with twangy wire
toasted later on an open fire
ham sliced from the bone
spuds bagged weighed in stones
tea from open square tins
packet-served with a welcome grin
'woollies' snackbar smells
'elevenses' hunger time to quell
one mug of ovaltine must'nt dally
so shortcut thru' market alley
where auctioneers tones rise&fall
above the sheep&cattle stalls
then off homewards at a trot
last pennies spent in feaseys sweetshop
on the train bridge 'spotted' numbers new
waited whilst the 'cutler' raced thru'
along pebble brook time to climb a tree
on this day shopping was made coupon-free