Poetry Blogs (2019, circus)
She didn't use you
But you did have a use
You didn't lose her
But you tightened her noose
Too cowardly to step off your stool;
Not a lion,
She is but a cub
It's your call
behind that curtain,
Friday 11th January 2019 12:05 am
On a high wire she balances with
strong legs - a sturdy foundation.
Big toes grip the metal string
feeling her way along the fine line.
In moments of uncertainty, legs shake
as balance compromised, waving
steady arms straight out, knowing if
she fails, the safety net will wrap secure.
Sky Dancer isn’t scared of the landing,
she’s terrified of the fall......
Sunday 29th July 2018 7:30 pm
Masters too lenient
All in bursts
Not for lessons
But for dominance
To be asserted
Wisdom onto deaf ears
Desensitized to morbidness
Anything could be entertainment
Onto thick skin
On the lazy
For who will listen
Friday 30th March 2018 4:43 pm
An Idola, who deserves the persecution that comes with
the eyes of a hungry audience.
The Lion greedily roars, depraved in hunger and gifted with I, the sacrafice.
Big Top mentality, the bigger the crowd the thirstier for bile, that drips into the cotton candy machine.
I have crossed my eyes with x's, until I could be accused of a clown's facade.
Friday 28th July 2017 3:01 am
Like Mr Bo...
my heart jangles
when your smile
misses your eyes.
The face of a clown
soft shoe shuffling
through my soul.
White hands clasped.
The generous frill
framing your mask,
flutters like a wing
across the circus tent
of my broken heart.
Funny shoes walk strong,
confidently skirting around
landmines of feeling
clothed in ...
Wednesday 15th March 2017 4:58 pm
"You'll be safe, I promise", reassured his mum.
“But its not you who’ll end up sat on your bum!”
A conversation they’d had most every week
but it didn’t make his knees feel any less weak.
“Now come along, Harry, stop messing about,
go finish your homework whilst I clean up this house.
The show doesn’t start till the end of the week
and all this chatter is making me Squeak...
Tuesday 19th May 2015 10:56 pm
That Which Autumn Leaves
The clowns were funny in the ring,
as they joked and tumbled and fell -
but in the camp, after the show,
they made our young lives hell.
Still in their masks of garish paint
and drunk on Vodka shots,
they cut and bruised and beat us,
hatching cruel, twisted plots.
I never saw the demons
lurking safe behind the masks
Tuesday 14th May 2013 11:50 am