Yellow Clown Blues

Clowns always break me;

I see beneath the grease paint and rubber nose.

Your mask doesn’t work with me either,

no one’s does.

I carry the world’s

sorrow around my neck,

anger in my throat,

fear under my shoulder blades,

bilious, pressing,

threatening at any moment
to bubble through

in lavish sobs.

Image: The Circus with the Yellow Clown by Marc Chagall

This is written for The Mag where you will find many wonderful responses to the image provided by Tess Kincaid.  

Back Waters

Step out the door and back in time

to Grafton when I’m only nine,

beyond the lonely the cul-de-sac

the river ran along the back 
                         of our lot line.

A magic place to be a child

where wizards, trolls and faeries wild

kept hid amid the river banks,

and exploits worth the scolds and spanks
                         always beguiled.

So out that door and back in time

to Grafton when I’m only nine,

beyond the lonely cul-de-sac.

But unable to venture back, 
                         memory’s sublime.  

Image by R. Stainforth, River Irwell

This poem was inspired by the image of the River Irwell found at The Mag which looks so very much like the Milwaukee River that went past my childhood home.  The form called called Florette comes from IGRT.  And if you follow each of these links you will be in for treat. Very briefly though, the form consists of  Rhyme scheme: a, a, a, b, b/a; Syllable count: 8, 8, 8,12 

(fourth line has an internal rhyme of b on syllable 8, with the final rhyme a.  And the poem should consist of two or more stanzas.  

xxxxxxxa

xxxxxxxa

xxxxxxxb

xxxxxxxbxxxa

Moon Light

Planting moon

fills the sky tonight

(of course size matters)

And you come

so close…

I can feel you

pulling me out,

pulling me under,

rolling the blood in my veins

like waves on a beach-

crashing, ebbing.

Is there a tide chart?

Can you plot my crescendo?

Note: The moon will officially become full Saturday, May 5 at 11:35 p.m. EDT. And because this month's full moon coincides with the moon's perigee (closest approach to Earth) it will also be the year's biggest.  The moon will swing in 221,802 miles (356,955 kilometers) from our planet, offering skywatchers a spectacular view of an extra-big, extra-bright moon. Source: SPACE.com

Planting moon a  Native American name given to the moon in May.  Source: www.farmersalmanca.com

Image by: jefferywestover.com (2011 Supermoon)

A Better Offer

Offer

 it up they say;

offer your suffering

to the Lord for the sins of all.

But why would God want all that suffering?

Instead, why not offer up joy,

or a big belly laugh?

That’s a better

offer!

Image from edparton.com

As a kid when anything went wrong I was told this.  Is it just a Catholic thing?  This offering is actually for G-Man though, who is feeling bad enough to not host his usual FF55.  Hope you're laughing again soon!

Tangle (reading)

There is more

than sex and death,

black and white

There is

the smooth, firm curve of grey,

with infinite points along

the cusp

This is where we live –

in the tangle

amid agony that may

(at any moment)

 reveal

bliss

Here is my poem Tangle read by Avril Yospa.  Enjoy!


A Note: This poem has been posted earlier on my blog, here but when my friend with the lovely voice agreed to record it for me I decided to re-post it.  This was originally a Magpie Tale along with an absurd Top Ten List back in February.

On the Bus

One day in seventh grade

Robin made the mistake

of wearing white pants.

Her jacket wasn’t long enough to cover

the small, but spreading, red spot

on the seat of those white, white pants

as she got on the bus.

We weren't friends,
but there was no animosity between us.
Two boys snickered

and I turned away,

embarrassed for her.

It was only 7:15.

She had a long day ahead.

……..

I watched her get on the bus

to go home,

same white pants,

jacket tied at her waist.

She kept her head up,

as she walked toward

the back

staring defiantly,

not looking left or right,

not meeting my eyes.

She sat alone,

turned to stone,

as the taunts ricocheted off her.

Image: Red Roofs by Marc Chagall, 1954

I still remember this true-to-my-less-than-trustworthy-memory vividly.  I still feel so sorry and embarrassed for the 12 year old girl I sort-of knew.  And I still feel bad that I was too afraid to speak out on her behalf.  I hope she doesn't remember this as well as I do.  The writing prompt that brought this memory back to me can be found at The Mag.  The poem, along with many others, can also be found at dVerse open link night.

Another Triolet

I lower the shutters behind my eyes

so no one can see what’s missing,

blindly beguiled by a clever disguise.

I lower the shutters behind my eyes

and hold your attention between my thighs

with wine, cabaret and kissing.

I lower the shutters behind my eyes

so no one can see what’s missing.




This triolet is exactly 55 words, so I offer it to FF55 where G-man offers, and asks for 55 words about anything at all.  The triolet is a short poem of eight line with only two rhymes used throughout.  The first line is repeated in the fourth and seventh lines; the second line is repeated in the final line.  This gives a deceptively simple appearance: ABaAbAB, where capital letters indicate repeated lines.