Standing at mirror,
I look into the image of a clown.
Hair, long with red pigtails.
Face, adorned with hearts scribed on cheeks.
Nose, small but having sparkling glow.

Standing at mirror
I gaze at
red lips, that pucker testing a silly grin.
Colorful dress that sways with many layers.

I look knowing
crazy mannerisms
or jokes are ready to jump out
at a moments notice.

Bell rings against mind.
It's time to get in my clown mobile
to ride the waves of cars to my destination.

A playing field
where it's open season
for clown-merriment to fill hearts  
Open season for kids
of all ages to gather,
as I collect hugs and smiles
for my road back home.

He stares into space
And wonders aloud:

"Why does that clown
Follow me around?"

His teacher glares at him
A glare so fierce it burns
He wishes he'd stayed in bed
Her ugly face turns red

The boy screams again
The clown forever dead

In my heart a naughty kid resides
Playing hide n seek on a riverside
Cautiously making castles on the sand
As he never worries about the barren lands
One fine day the river is gone
The little boy's heart is just torn
Suddenly his face has lost the glow
As he now know he has to grow
Shaken awake from his peaceful nights
He is made to run to great heights
Slow and steady he is keeping up the pace
With no smile and a fake face
In the big crowd he is starting to drown
He acts as if he is a clown
Finally he sense that he've been conned
And now he is tired of this stupid bond
He lifts up his head with a ray of hope
And discovers that he needs to run to catch the rope
While listening to a melancholy song
He realizes what is right and what is wrong
Everyone is bounded with limitations and a chain
What he needs to do is keep running to gain
Someday soon he will have a house on the biggest tree
When finally he would have set himself free

Oh words, a vile pit of clay to be formed for each guest they meet.
Shall our digits press upon them in this way or that as a creaght
Of thoughtless claws within a lying dainty love of the gravest making.
Let not these words be the reason that we are forsaken.

I form out of the clay a form of an empty skull.
Yet has not this skull a tongue in its hull
Like a politician who drowns out the emptiness of its head?
One whose reach would circumvent God himself - as if the almighty were dead.

But my skull says NO! Good morning my sweet Lord!
Thou, my most highest idea, have mercy on this – my gourd
And tell us how to oust these screeching clowns.
I see the good book inside this face, tubes of you and other pointless nouns.

A Politicians’ speech - as empty as an empty skull full of worms
Whose bone is worthless to all but its breeding.
Watch them – never listen – watch their tongue as it squirms.
These people only see words as how they can be used to be misleading.

How absolute this knave is who speaks from a card.
An invocation made not by pure thoughts but infiltrated by lard
Greasing the mind into inclusion with nothing but simple sounds.
With hair and makeup and clothing – and the empty skull - they are the clowns.