Cirque de Soliel

 

Coins fell from the sun--

I ate one and lived in darkness for a year.

I said to the sun, "I can never trust you again."

A peach appeared in my hand.

I hired a cook who worked in dough and ash.

I fed bread to my dogs and lived on the last.

Magpies fell from the sun--

they mated in my mirror and made eggs out of glass.

My cook killed the birds, my dogs killed the cook

and married me off to an eight-winged ghost.

My house has a thousand turrets and attics.

The sun rises pink and sets red, automatic.

I put a coin inside a peach like a pit.

There's a ghost inside my skull in a nest.

My dogs fuss and tear and bury the rest

in my heart with my hopes and such similar shit.

_______________

for Word Garden Word List--Kindred

Music: Jackson C. Frank My Name Is Carnival 

Episodes of Sea and Sky

 

Often,

I sleep on a tightwire

with a balancing pole

rising

falling

like a pair of oars.

Often,

I am busy organizing,

counting, ordering

items

that only

exist in my dreams.

High,

wearing shoes with grooved soles

making my way to a 15th floor window

all  I 

so want

is to get it all down 

on paper and set in boxes.

Awake,

it all reduces in an instant

to pointless nonsense.

Ah me.

Impossible

and silly besides. Sometimes,

someone loved me--they're gone too.

Often,

this splitting of my mind

is like an updraft out of my everyday skin.

My useless

looping tasks

give me purpose, and comfort

and favored faces alongside.

Often,

morning makes off

with these impossible pufferies

and I

rise

but it feels like falling

very fast, from height.

_______

for Word Garden Word List--Let the Right One In. 

 

Music: Bronson Know Me

Word Garden Word List--The Circus In Winter

 

Hello mes anges, It is time once again for your weekly Word Garden Word List! This time our source is The Circus In Winter, by Cathy Day

It's a collection of interwoven short stories about circus people in the off season and spans from long ago to contemporary times. I adored it and urge you to check it out! Though the stories may be set among carnies and such, they are chock full of home truths. 

What we do here is to use at least 3 of the 20 words provided in a new original poem of our own. It need have nothing to do with circuses, but you get an extra squeeze of the Bozo nose if it does. Then just link up, visit others, and take a victory lap standing up on horseback in a sequined costume, arms spread dramatically as the audience cheers with wild abandon!

And now, in the center ring, your List!

ash

baseball

bauble

charm

circus

clowns

Cole Porter

cookies

elephant

incident

miffed

misery

Oldsmobile

papier-mâché

Podunk

popping

spokesperson

trapeze

wig

Winnebago

Poets

 

--function best inside of ambulances,

whether driving or

receiving the EMT's fist on their heart as the sirens sing.

--must always be admitted only to hospitals with gardens,

preferably in some Spanish-speaking

hotbox of stucco-and-tile Catholic gin confusion.

--operate in a fog as reluctant circus cannon balls,

making door knockers of their own bones

and entering-and-breaking every secret heart in mid-air.

--arrive at the wedding of themselves to themselves

reciting vows from codebooks

once the property of some demolished poet-angel (body never recovered.)

--have no hero except the homunculus oracle

who keeps them awake all night

weaving flowers around their ears, lit and inextinguishable. 

--translate that thing you always felt but couldn't say,

wear codex clothing

and trespass the afterlife with a Gladstone bag and a talking bird,

in failing health, strong as vinegar, needed but not wanted in all 50 states.

_________

Georia O'keefe

for Word Garden Word List--The Legacy of Ladysmith

and shared with The Sunday Muse # 247.

image at top: BLOOMS by Anna Shuleit.

image at bottom: Charlotte Gainsbourg

Music: Paulo Nutini Iron Sky (utterly amazing)

Bio

All she wanted was 

pretty horses with feather plumes,

standing balanced on their backs

as they circle the moon.

All she wanted was

Christmas morning and fruit on a plate,

candied stollen sliced and served,

rising early to start sleeping late. 

Now, visit her where

cornball Napoleons roam the rooms

spouting blather in poetry's place

while staff cup the pills and count the spoons.

______

for Word Garden Word List--Ferlighetti. 

Attraction

 WordCrafter word list: Property/ Bizarre / Mercury / Melancholy / Indigo / Light / Languish / Purity / Thirst

Purity may be found

secreted behind that borrowed rib

a little southwest of the heart.

It uses serrated light

from the #39 bus,

its lit numbers visible only to those bleeding.

Mercury stepped on your kindness

and pawned his pride

for three dollars and a rolled bandage.

Melancholy Jane saw it all,

handed the driver a bible

full of indigo blues and lighter fluid,

Said, "Home, James,"

in your voice she had recorded under her tongue

like a password.

I hid purity in my messenger bag,

an inherited property, a ball and chain

made from beer tabs and lipstick.

All I want now is to languish famously,

pull poems out of top hats

and remember the bizarre attraction

you keep by the roadside

for marks and suckers

you turn to perfection on the wheel of your kiss.

_______

Think Fast

 

We come from clouds

and end in dirt.

In the time between,

a reeling dance,

a disappearing interval

where

panic

and 

ecstasy

look very much the same.

_____

for Sunday Muse #121 

Cirque du Folle

There are other things we can do
in this time of dead clocks.

We can interview the air, jammed with blackbirds.
We can discard our clock-lungs,
turn our hearts to fragrant bowers. 

We can tightrope, half-awake
over the roofs of our old loves,

and fall into chimneys like bones into limbs,
fantastically existent, howling, dumbfounded.
_____

poem #5 of my 39 in 39 days.

for Friday 55 at Verse Escape, hosted by the incredibly fab Hedgewitch O' The Wilds.

Do What You Can

After a storm knocked over the circus, Tom Thumb watched Boris the Strong Man set his Royal Carriage right side up again and said,

"Fuck you anyway. I can't even handle cutlery if it is too heavy. House cats bump against me and I'm on the damn floor. When the storm came, I had to climb inside a steamer trunk and pull it closed over my head so I wouldn't be carried on the wind to Cleveland or Des Moines like a damn leaf. So to hell with you, Boris. You could take Yankee Stadium and toss it in the Atlantic if you felt like it."

"Zees upsets you," said Boris, who was not really Boris but rather a Frenchman named Marcel L'Amoreaux. "I tell you some-sing mon ami. When I see zee tight rope walker smile and she scoop you up, zat make me so jealous! She not do that ever avec moi. So, Le fuck to you aussi."

Then they were both sad. 

After a minute, Boris clapped a huge paw across Tom Thumb's little fairy-ass shoulders, but with care. "Leesun, my fren. In life, we all do what we can do." Raising a finger importantly, he added (from beneath his impressive mustache), "What we don' do ees do what we can't do. Dat shit make you fou. Crazy. So fug dat. Like, I never gonna be tightrope walker, eh? So why I worry bout dat? I don'. And you should not be the worrying about lifting heavy sheet. So don'." 

Tom Thumb started laughing so hard that he fell over on the ground and rolled there in merriment like a drunken pill bug. "You! A tightrope walker!" And then the real tightrope walker came by and, smiling her gorgeous smile, scooped Tom up and love-mugged him with noisy kisses.

Boris watched them as they moved toward the breakfast tent. He shrugged, then looked up at the sky, wondering if he could lift it if he really tried.
_______

Written for Words To Live By at Real Toads but my link was deleted for not being poetry.

I don't now recall who the wise soul was who said it to me, but they said, "Do what you can, not what you can't." I must say this to myself twice a week, and it lets me feel good about the cans and not fret about the can'ts. 

Of Course Of Course

They'd come a long way just to see him, these believers.
"Everybody has done us dirt--
taken our shop, our church, our children right off of our laps."

They'd hung on for a long time,
getting angrier every year.
"Where are we supposed live?
What has happened to the world, while we were working?
Who are these strangers?
Does anybody care how we feel?"

All they ever got was:

Look certainly at the end of the day freedom constitution committee values God tradition questions concerns contribution stand for investigation thorough Americans protect promise taxes statement position this office bluh-blah bluh-blah bluh-blah. 

So they voted for someone else.

They'd come a long way just to see him, these believers,
only to find the barn door closed
and Wilbur under investigation and under house arrest.

They can hear him talking (and talking and talking),
but he's turned the wrong way, this equine head in the bed of state,
just a new horse's ass doing all the speechifying now.
___________

for Camera FLASH! at Toads.

 
 

Because A Thing Is Not Real

Jus because a thing is snot real is no reason
to toss Baby out wit bath water, rye?
What snot got fins
my have wings, and looka you wit boph feet in lead boots.

Am I not serious jus cus
I fye sunflower in either han when I wan?
Can feel stem, face, yello starburss unda my touch,
sun hot on my skin,
and looka you wit all da fax, cand feel a thing
Who got tye fo dah?

Got lotsa say, in words my own chose seff, 
dun mean ain't got the Queen's English at my disposal dependin
wut planet spin unda me at any gibbon moment, babe.
_______

Remember Me To Julian

Remember me to Julian McNickelbaker,
the high-wire equestrian from Trash Dump, Wisconsin.
If you're ever in Trash Dump,
having landed via sea plane with a load of 

Supplies in the middle of a hundred-year flood,
make sure to look for Julian.
Check his trailer at the mobile home park.
(Ask Judy, at the rental office, which one is Julian's.)
Scout out Super Burger and Sunview Lanes,
where I once beat him at bowling 154-132.

Stand for a moment inside the post office,
and check the photograph I gave you against those on the wall. 
And, of course, go out to the horse boarder,
and look there--look around--look up!
If you brought an apple, toss it as high as you can.

Julian McNickelbaker was the foremost high-wire equestrian
in the southern Wisconsin division for seven years running.
You should have seen the "wires" we used,
which were actually a weave of tungsten, New England hemp, and local sod.
You could have walked an African elephant out there,
with bowling balls in a bag on his back. 

I said--while balancing on one foot, 50 feet in the air, on horseback,
in front of a crowd of almost two thousand--
"I love you, Julian McNickelbaker," and I did, at that moment.
But later, he was angry, disappointed, 
and I wanted a drink rather badly but was 10 years sober,
and too proud to have to face anybody after.

I left that night, on a Greyhound bus,headed to Racine.
I didn't see a horse again for days, just cows,
and I stayed right on the ground like skittish schoolgirl. 
For years after, I suffered from vertigo and impetigo,
slept with no one and read about ten thousand trash novels.
But Racine boasts many splendors.

Tiring, at last, of Petrifying Springs Park,
I made my way to Wind Point Lighthouse.
It has a light bulb inside a Fresnel lens, placed there by angels
or the Parks Department or some other soul weary of shadows.
The keeper, who does not operate the light (it's automated),
and is there mostly to foil graffiti artists,

Approached me and confiscated my can of spray paint.
She could see that I was having a "moment."
"Do you want to go bowling?" she asked me. 
Gosh, it had been a long time.
"Yes. I'd like that," I said. I stopped staring at my shoes then,
tilted my head back and gawped, 
all the way up the spiral stairs to the top of the light.
_________

 

Between Angels and Elephants

Between angels and elephants,
sparrows atop the tent poles
and tigers on two-foot stools,

is the acrobat.
Not bird, nor magician,
she starts in sawdust,
but circuses have ladders.

Every act involves a first time
and a thousandth.
Smell the blood and popcorn;
believe it matters what you do--

the merest sparrow is one part angel;
women and tigers...two.
_____

Exactly sixty words for Mama Zen's "Words Count."

Image: "Circus Girl Smokes While Rehearsing Her Stunts", Nina Leen 1949. 

The picture made me think of the film Wings Of Desire ("Der Himmel Uber Berlin") in which two angels wander post-war Berlin. One of them falls in love with a circus trapeze artist, and wishes to become mortal so that they can be together. Because of copyright restrictions, I can't post the trailer on the blog, and so I provide a link HERE. It will open in a new window, so you don't have to leave this page in order to view it.

Eddie and Sylvia

Eddie is fucked up again.
He is supposed to be mucking out the stalls, 
but there is a problem, the same problem as always--

The elephant shit looks like an old man's giant brown head,
the straw in it the hair, the shovel so handy!
He bashes at it with all his might, then runs for his wagon, and his pen.

Later, he is sorry.
Sylvia has him sitting in a trough, naked, red-eyed,
and she is tenderly washing away the last specks of dung from his face.
"You are a genius, Eddie," she says softly.
She wrings out the cloth, folds it neatly and lays it over the trough's edge.
"It's a brilliant story."

Eddie stays sober for a week.
Looking at the elephant shit, he sees Mount Olympus;
the straw in it is wings! Wings of the Immortals!
Thinking of his late mother, and of the women in whom he finds her kindness,
he throws down his shovel and runs for his wagon and his pen.

"Fuckin' ay, Eddie!" the crew boss roars, gesturing vaguely with his cigar.
"Can't you just shovel shit like I pay ya t'do?"
He can't.
He burns with shame and promises to do better,
but all the while he resents this cretin, this imbecile and his petty concerns!

Soon, Eddie is fucked up again.
Sylvia comes around to the animal trailers to try to soothe him.
Last time, she found him asleep in the tiger's cage;
she lifted his head from the cat's rough tongue and placed it upon her bosom.
This time, she finds him staring at elephant shit, his shovel forgotten.

"What is it, Eddie?" she asks, her voice betraying her worry.
"The birds!" he points, agitated and trembling.
Sure enough, crows are feasting on the droppings. 
He is still thinking about the Immortals. "Pallas! A bust of Pallas!" he cries.
"Eddie? Are you sure you're all right?"

But he is gone, off to his wagon and his pen.
This time, the crew boss will fire him, 
and the hopelessness of it all, the futility of Eddie's brilliance and her love,
sinks into her bones like sickness. 
"I'll be in the kitchen," she calls after his back, but she knows

by the time he comes looking for her she'll be gone.
_____ 

for Ella's very cool challenge at Real Toads. Combine a favorite poet with a circus setting.

Ta Da

You might think,
"Who's running this circus anyway?"
Oh baby, I know
that every midget wants to be an equestrienne,
but they have their own horseshit to deal with,
when the manager's assistant comes around
with ideas, after the show.

Look, I know it all seems random and hopeless at times,
but there are things you can depend on.
Doesn't Candy Cathy get hosed at every performance?
Kicked in her oversized pants?
Doesn't she always have to run after the little clown car
when her seventeen pals drive off without her?
And yet, she smiles.
Okay, I don't really like her, either.

But still.
The ringmaster doesn't send the peanut vendor out onto the high wire.
They don't trot out the ticket taker and say,
"Here, juggle these bowling pins while swallowing a flaming sword."
There aren't enough lozenges in the world, for that.
Similarly, you never see The Flying McFarquhars sweeping the stalls.
See where I'm going with this?

You're out there doing what you do, because you can.
Who's gonna take your place? Me?
I would, I really would, except that
you never want to swap and go train the tigers.
Chickennn, b-b-bawk!
Oh, don't start with that face, 
can you picture me as the contortionist?
There isn't enough Aleve in the world for that.

Besides,
it was seeing you do your golliwog act that made me fall for you.
No fooling. No net!
Those faces out there may look like just so many cream pie targets,
but they are watching you.
Little girls go home and dream of being you,
not some dumb equestrienne.
So trot your happy ass out there. Yes, again.
Let the show go on, here tonight,
then on to who-knows-where 
by blind faith
by Jiminy
by daylight.
__________ 
 

The Ghost of The Midway

The ghost of the midway
is weighted
like a milk bottle,
stacked
like a sucker's game,
but no one can see her
so it doesn't matter anyway.

One night in July,
she fell from the Ferris wheel--
jumped
or was pushed,
and might only have been sleeping--
dreaming--
except that her body,
like a corn dog wrapper,
blew away
while the rest of her stayed.

The ghost of the midway
cannot get a grip,
cannot tuck little useless gloves
in her sash as irony or accent.
You could trust her, 
you could tell her--
knock her over 
with a feather--
but she is gray and gone to embers,
a holiday no one remembers;

so if you reach for her hand, dreamy fool,
like last year's fair
it won't 
and can never
be there.
_____

for grapeling's word list. I used fall (fell), grip and glove(s).

 
 

ringmistress

Nobody told me it was Cirque de Soleil in here.
When I was five,
every time I closed my eyes,
colors, creatures, patterns, movement.

Mama, you saw the vacuum cleaner,
or me staring out the window.
I saw my head exploding behind my eyelids.

All any adult ever told me was
pay attention
apply yourself
stop daydreaming and listen.

To what?
To the ghost-man nobody else seems to know about?
He followed me halfway up the stairs.
He chased me out of the basement.
He lived next to the water softener,
but could also come upstairs.

To the voices I hear when I'm tired?
Men, women, chattering away in snatches about nothing.
Or, to you?
To my brother?
I soak up your anger, your confusion, your frustration,
till I can't tell what is mine and what isn't.
"Why are sitting in here by yourself?"
Jesus Christ.

There is a difference between a trained tiger and one that's loose.
Nobody told me it was Ringling Brothers in here,
or that it isn't the same for everyone.
I grew up a little stunned, overwhelmed, spinning in the storm.
Now I call down the thunder,
and people say, "I want to spend an hour inside your head."

No you don't. 
The circus is permanently in town,
the gate is open,
and while they are used to me, and willing to perform,
my tigers don't know you,
and I can't be responsible for what they might do to a noob.

_______

for mag #219