Send in the. . . O Never Mind. . .

 

—Poetry by Lynn White,
Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain

 

 

BRINGING ON THE CLOWNS

I always found them creepy
the circus clowns
I watched as a child.
They never made me laugh
or even smile.
My uncle ‘clowned around,’ they said
and he was funny.
A boy in my class was often described
as ‘a bit of a clown’
and he was funny.
But the circus clowns
with the fake smiles and tears
painted on their made-up faces
strutting their stuff around the ring,
falling off ladders,
failing to juggle
or walk a tight rope,
throwing water
over each other
posing and posturing
in between antics,
they weren’t funny,
just scarily strange.
And now the clowns are free,
they’ve moved outside the Big Top
the whole world is their circus now.
‘Send in the clowns’ cried the audience
and they came on to the stage
but no one is laughing.
It’s no laughing matter.



(First pub. in Red Weather, 2020)

 

 

 

 

PUPPETS


The puppets are drowning now
their useful time has passed.
They were always made
to become shadows
to be discarded
by the string pullers
when the audience was sated.
The glove puppets and sock puppets
are floating away
already
tumbling like clowns
in the waves
and soon
even the shadow puppets will vanish
maybe then
the puppeteers will reveal themselves
put their power on display
temporarily.
For soon it will be time
for them to change
their shape
and re-emerge
to find new clowns,

new clowns to seduce the audience.



(First pub. in Flora Fiction Literary Magazine,
Spring 2020)

 

 

 

RED ALERT

It’s not enough to take to the streets
one million
two million
it still needs more.

It’s not enough to sign your name
three million
four million
it still needs more.

It’s not enough to cast your vote
nine million
ten million
think of a number million
it still needs more.

It’s never enough
the clowns still will have more.


(First pub. in New Verse News, 12/14/19)

 

 

 

UNIFORMS

What shall I be,
soldier, sailor,
clown, maybe.
Grey suit, or blue,
tailored jacket, short skirt.
Hippie, maybe.
Now there’s a uniform!
Everyone different,
not conforming.

But, wearing the same
signs,
the signifiers,
of nonconformity.
The badges
that identify those
waving the flag,
or burning it.


Beads and bangles,
shell suits, jeans,
leggings, jeggings, posh frocks,
taking us to our comfort zone,
Finding for us the warmth we crave.

A part or apart. 


Perhaps we are all figments
as made up and tailored as the
uniform we choose.
Even when we change,
it’s hard
not to
choose a uniform.


(First pub. in Literary Yard, October 2017)

 

 

 

 

ROUND AND ROUND


Round and round,
go the gaudy horses
trotting
cantering
round and round
the small sawdust ring
with the Ring Master in control
holding his whip close
making sure
the show goes on.

Round and round they go,
with a bareback rider
glamorous
smiling
swaying
on a rump,
but the smiles are fading now
and the once-bright horses
drab and disheveled now
hoping for the clowns
to give them a break
they’re staggering
lurching
round and round
their treadmill.

Round and round.
Round and round.
Just one more revolution
and they'll be ready.
Ready
to bite the hands
that refused to feed them.

Round and round.
Round and round.
Only one more revolution,
to sharpen up the teeth.
Round and round,
just one more revolution.

What a circus.


(First pub. in California Quarterly, 2022)

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:

All people are sad clowns. That’s the key to comedy—and it’s a buffer against reality.

—Bob Odenkirk

___________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Lynn White for using her fine poetry to clown around with us today!

 

 

 

 

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What a circus!