Funny Man

 

He used to send onlookers wild

When doing his impressions;

Was known to smash a gross of plates

During his late night sessions.

 

He did not like the audience;

He hated every second.

He used to cry himself to sleep

As fame and money beckoned.

 

His routines dated far too fast;

His jokes fell over the edge.

Washed up and tight, he would be found

Underneath a neighbour’s hedge.

 

Now bedded down in rented rooms,

Half the night he walks the streets.

He turns his head and looks away

From passers-by that he meets.

 

Long since has the curtain come down;

The laughter has turned to chill.

The silence dares not speak its name;

The critics prepare the kill.

◄ Cold Fiction

Our distant friend (Remembering Nobby Stiles) ►

Comments

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trevor homer

Sat 31st Oct 2020 14:56

Its ironic that so many funny men live tragi-comic lives. I can imagine the fear of constantly having to make people laugh must be the most daunting of all for performers. Wonderfully interpreted. Thanks

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Stephen Gospage

Fri 30th Oct 2020 17:11

Thanks to Philipos, Greg, Rose, Brian and John for the much appreciated comments, and to everyone for the likes.

Yes, the decline of the funny man or woman (or indeed any performer) can be very hard to watch. Sometimes comedians simply go out of fashion but often their own personal weaknesses hasten their demise. One thinks of the sad end of the likes of Tony Hancock or Peter Cook. It would be nice if genius could reward such people better.

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John Coopey

Fri 30th Oct 2020 09:54

I heard the sound
Of a clown
Who cried in the alley.
Very evocative, Stephen.

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Brian Maryon

Thu 29th Oct 2020 23:40

Well written Stephen...a tale that describes every performer's fear of losing their relevance.

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Rose Casserley

Thu 29th Oct 2020 21:43

Quite a moving piece Stephen, well done!






Rose 💋

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Greg Freeman

Thu 29th Oct 2020 21:36

Tears of a clown. Good work, Stephen.

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Philipos

Thu 29th Oct 2020 16:49



So readable - so poignant. 👍

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