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  Jan 2017 Scarlet McCall
Bob B
The Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey
Circus will close its doors in May.                                
The Greatest Show on Earth has lost
Its flashy allure of yesterday.

The death-defying acrobats
Will have to seek other employment.
Exotic animal acts no longer
Are a source of great enjoyment.

The circus will fold up its tent for good.
But don't be sad; do not frown.
On January 20
A new circus is coming to town.

- by Bob B (1-16-17)
Scarlet McCall Jan 2017
Is Pride truly a sin?
Is it better to submit, to put out the fire within?
Why bow down to those who are inferior? Why bow down at all?
It’s true, Pride did lead to your Fall.
But as a great poet once said,
to rule oneself trumps any cushioned servitude.
Self-rule, once viewed,
will never be forsaken.
I hear your name vilified by those terrified, yet to awaken
from their childish dreamland--
those who cannot imagine taking a stand,
who fear to seize their own power.
(Can they be reached--to join with us in this hour?)
Perhaps your weakness was not Pride but Faith—
a belief that more would rebel,  dismantle the lathe
of Heaven, free the cherubim and seraphim. Not Arrogance but Hope.
It must be difficult at times to cope
with your failure.
But take heart, the rebellion continues, though not above.
Those of us to whom you gave Knowledge wage the struggle on Earth,
where we pursue Truth,
but do not forget Love.
They called him Wit the Mystic
though his real name was unknown.
Just another John Doe, he,
on the edge and most alone.
But with a dusty derby hat,
and a little dedication,
he became a vagrant wizard,
mastered prestidigitation.

Misdirection, sleight of hand,
the man could do it all.
An expert with a deck of cards,
or three cups and a ball.
And somehow, out of thinnest air,
with magic palpable and real,
he managed to manipulate,
create many a hand-out meal.

Oohs and ahs in multitudes
would shower him with praise.
He plied his trade with pride in spades
on even the rainy days.
Though masterful and powerful,
old Wit still struggled through-
living in the shadows, man,
can be a tricky thing to do.

Old Wit the Mystic had one trick
that he had always feared.
Alas, the man's last bow had come,
and then he disappeared.
Where the wizard ended up,
nobody really knows.
Among the stars and legends, or
with the rest of the John Does?
Scarlet McCall Jan 2017
a rewrite of When the Levee Breaks that was inspired by a hideous snowstorm a few years ago*

If it keeps on snowing,
Tree limb's going to break
If it keeps on snowing,
Tree limb's going to break
The street is icy  and
cars don’t have time to brake

All last night
Sat on the A train alone
All last night
Sat on the A train alone
The train don’t move
And I’m trying to get home

Plowing won’t help you
Shoveling won’t do you no good
I said, plowing won’t help you
Shoveling won’t do you no good
When it keeps on snowing,
Mama, you got to move

Don’t it make you feel bad when you’re trying to get home and you don’t know which way to go
Cause the power line’s down and the wind’s blowing hard and you can’t see which way’s the road

It’s coming down now, it’s coming down now, ooh ooh
sing it!
Scarlet McCall Jan 2017
Go all the way.
Stow your fears away.
No, you can’t turn back.
Grow stronger from attack.
Toe the line? It’s crooked.
Foe will soon be rooked.
So, you thought you couldn’t.
Oh, they thought you wouldn’t!
Slow, if you think it’s fitter.
Bro,  you ain’t a quitter.
I wrote this a few years ago for a poet named Damian from PF who is here somewhere I think.
Scarlet McCall Dec 2016
10, 20, 30 years from now
we would know each other.
And remember joy and sorrow.
We’ve seen small victories , many defeats;
horror has left its scar,
but more so our helplessness,
both here and afar.
Once you’ve seen the truth, you can’t go back,
but nothing seems to go forward.
If only I had the belief
to wait a hundred years in an afterlife.
I know it can’t go on, this strife;
someday there will be an end.
Seeing you now reminds me
that if I live to see that victory,
I will remember, then,
how I was once a small part of it,
with you, my friend.
A companion poem to my poem about 1948.
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