"barkers" poems
The posters said tomorrow
At eleven on the dot
The Mishkin Brothers Circus
Would be here ....on this spot
There would be no carnival or midway
Just one tent and three rings
And all of the excitement
That a good old circus brings
There would be elephants and lions
Trapeze artists overhead
Dancing dogs and ponies
And zebras painted red
Clowns of all description
Answering to just one man
In the center of the circle
Was Mishkin brother....Dan
He'd run the show for twenty years
Gone from town to town to town
In one day they would get set up
And in two, they'd tear it down
One day to show the locals
The circus still was an event
With magic, form the Barnum Days
All housed inside one tent
The sideshow barkers and their geeks
Were not with this fine group
Dan Mishkin had assembled
Only the finest circus troup
From Russia he had jugglers
Knife throwers, just the best
******** riders from Decatur
Along with all the rest
Fourteen trucks and trailers
Pulled into town the night before
Breaking ground once they arrived
Working right through until four
Just old time entertainment
No travelling gypsy band was this
It was the Mishkin Brothers Circus
It was something not to miss
The show was started promptly
At twelve o'clock, like the sign said
A parade of all the players
And the zebras painted red
Two shows and it was over
The whole routine began anew
The field was once more empty
Gone was the Mishkin rolling zoo
A year from now, we'd see the signs
And we'd all go to the tent
To see the Mishkin Brothers Circus
The best money ever spent
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
We, the people of this country, in your eyes are:
babblers, bachelors, bafflers, baiters, barkers,
beakers, beaters, brawlers, blamers, beggars,
bloaters, bloopers, bombers, boozers, blunders,
bruisers, bafflers, bluffers, burglars and burners.
That's why you feel compelled to keep your foot on our heads
keep us down, put us down, push us down
subjugate us, belittle us, berate us.
We, the people of this country, in our eyes are:
butlers, bouncers, bakers, buyers, barbers,
cake-makers, delivery-takers, cocktail-shakers,
taxi drivers, cancer survivors, employers and hirers,
music makers, entertainers, window washers, foster takers,
plasterers, carpenters, scaffolders, sparks and builders,
boxers, carers, coaches, tailors, shoe makers,
designers, illustrators, multi-language facilitators,
dog walkers, dog trainers, bikers and cycle couriers,
doctors and nurses and all the emergency services.
We are the People, the reason you are where you are now
you sometimes forget that we exist as people, somehow
locked in your ivory towers with gold plated showers
and MP expenses and investment banker pretenses
this is not theater, its real life drama, its not just a bluff
its time to stand up
and say enough is enough.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
the rat ******* has been re-purposed
(conscripted in a somewhat fodder task)
brandishing irons
and quarter lines
coiled and unwavering
insidious and cunning
pent up and fired
in his dripping shoes
and peel back skin
wheel bug and hookworm
are stolid in his wake
(all bursting grossly at the buckle!)
the heel on task;
slithering and rogue
merciless and coy
resolute and contemptuous
with his cotton mat
and quick ready quill
pungi and clapper
raise the clever snake
(croker sacks and wicker backs
dot the gasoline rainbow)
carnival barkers and kraken
(lewd in the distance)
taunting and vile
with their red beakers
and deep purple hearts
cicada and louse
high on alert
(ready to wreak havoc in the hog wallows)
the perverse cornered rat
snapping and soiled
foaming and inflamed
lurking and primed
inside his carefully crafted plan
easels and cover alls
suit this jackal well
(keefer’s little helper or so they'd say)
pickers running rough shod
all stirring up the stench
***** and conkeys
poised
and ready
to lime this cornered slug
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 10:57 PM UTC
my cat bit my earphones
i am a person who commutes everyday with my earphones on. i listen to music and i dance to it. doing what seem to be small jerks to the public but a series of big and grand moves in my head. i was a dancer.
but my cat bit my earphones.
i hum the tunes ever so softly only to find out the stares from the people i ignored the whole ride, could hear me. i was a singer.
a silent performer.
for the audience of none.
and yes, my cat bit my earphones.
i am a person who can’t live without it. i listen to music and i zone in. i cancel all the thoughts in my head and just be. in the midst of beats, melodies, harmonies, and lyrics i was at peace. the maximum volume became my version of quiet.
and yet my cat bit my earphones.
the cheapskate in me stops me everyday from buying a new pair even if in exchange i’d have to embrace a new kind of quiet.
the quiet shared by the people i commute with:
the roaring engines, the horns of cars following no beat at all, the shouting of the barkers and conductors rapping with no flow. i hear everything. i was a listener.
a loud performance
for the audience of one.
all because my cat bit my earphones.
i blame my cat everyday for this punishment. i love my cat but sometimes i wish she could pay for it or even apologize for that matter. but i have no choice but to continue my everyday commute without my earphones.
**** my cat bit my earphones.
the thoughts i can’t mute when i commute now screams loudly begging me to listen. begging me to write them down. begging me to finally piece together all the words i know will make sense when given time. i am a writer.
i just can’t help myself but think that my cat bit my earphones.
now i am a person who commutes everyday without my earphones on. i listen to my head and i feel it. putting together ideas and emotions that may seem unpolished to me but could be something great to the public once heard. i am an artist.
a performer.
for the audience, i’m the one.
all because my cat bit my earphones.
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 5:02 AM UTC
Cookies in the oven, grass mowed, petrol, permanent markers
her hair.
Flowers, lavender and roses, wet dogs, even the barkers,
her hair.
Dinner ready, bacon barbecue, onions sizzling, fresh soup
her hair.
My sweat, my tears,
her hair, my fears,
morning dew, honey,
misty sunrise
hers.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
*Cossack Cowboys
Riding Llamas
That they dress
In pink pajamas
Teeny boppers
Blowing bubbles
Biker chicks
Causing trouble
Nuns in Habits
Punks in chains
One or two
Of the deranged
Rubbing Buddha belly
Cravers
And the band
Harvey Danger
David Bowie
Elton John
Both of them
With Spacesuits on
Vegetarians
Eating chicken
Love it fried
Finger licking
In a line to
Meet and greet Obama
Now I wish
I'd brought my Mama
On the T.V.
Slicing, Dicing
Infomercials
Are enlightening
Lindsey Lohan
There's more trouble
Send the Police
On the double
Michael Jackson
With his monkey
Chandelier
Swinging junkies
Bottle Rocket
Ridding crickets
Dolly Parton
Doing dishes
Tubs of Crisco
Set for wrestling
Bee Gees do be
Disco dancing
With Bruce Jenner
Wearing makeup
Dolly's kitchen
Filled with soap suds
Rubber band
Bumper babies
Call me odd
Don't call me crazy
Shooting stars
Carry Uzis
Washed up stars
Drink beer in Koozies
Donnie Osmond
Singing show tunes
As Marie blows
Animal balloons
Circus Barkers
And their Minions
Waylon left us
Shooter Jennings
Heidi Klum
Without makeup
To say the least
She looks a bit rough
American flags
As rainbow banners
Peal, scratch, and sniff
Talking bananas
Hookha smoking
Manatees
Oh yea...
and then there's me
These are just a few of the things that lean
On the lamp post of my dreams*
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
Spicy aromas
Cobbled streets and loud barkers
Mysterious people
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 5:42 AM UTC
The fuselage must gleam
in a pink Pacific sunset
at 29000 feet
inside, I am brought puffed cellophane pouches of tamarind by attendant ladies and men
and a sanitary case wraps my pillow.
Bangkok’s taxis are driven by a man with bones for a neck on cracked
roads that vanish into blind ways.
Later a child – spying left – pulls me through a curtained door into an ante-room to
sell me cling-wrapped copies of Japanese slasher movies. “Cheap!”
Flies circle a mound of meat spiked to a vending cart -- “special for you.”
A sea of mopeds rumble up the road and chase me between parked cars
Tattered hunks of plastic bag blow past off the beach.
At night gut rot infects the air, and I walk in brown puddled streets.
The tar sky smothers above the neon and the barkers and the *** for $10. This last part was in the guidebook.
A woman sits, cloaked in a shawl, selling women’s apparel, all arranged on pale and chalky mannequins, angled at attention.
They wear the rouge of the truth-telling jester.
Their mouths are gaping, smiling, lurid, laughing, howling. Eyes wide, piercing and empty, excited.
They look like me. And I look away.
The woman’s throat moves. Or does she chuckle?
“For you.”
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 11:14 PM UTC
Alphabetically articulated habitats
For unsophisticated acrobats
Tilt sideways to the beat of the drum
Stuck in a fine daze at the bottom of a bottle of ***
Fast crying circus barkers warn of long winded fortunes
As slant eyed on lookers BOO and gnash there teeth
"Gentle men, Gentle men", the filthy little man cries
"Let me dine with your daughters for just one night
And I promise you eternal fortune"
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
Lakewood Fairgrounds in '68 , Southeastern Fair has come again , in awe at every turn , magical , mystery , in view of Atlanta......
Caramel apples , cotton candy , corn dogs and dill pickles ........
Natural wonders and clowns on stilts , barbecue sandwiches and licorice whips .......
******* jacks and carnival music , a haunted house and fireworks at night , Ferris wheel , merry go round ,ring rubber ducks for a prize..
Milk cows and barkers , horses pulling wagons , popcorn and milk duds , Cocoa Cola and peanut brittle !! .........................
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
Neither Ghost
nor Father
nor a Sun
But still a 3-in-1,
with a flash of lightning
laying
scarred between
them eyes
All together
yet always alone
Standing behind a dais
on Zoom
invoking with the one good 20/20 between them,
broadcasting words into being,
manifesting Hitlerian spells
to bewitch and
to squander
the True Tales
of a Plummeting Icarus Struck Down
wingless
(but not forgotten)
by some transcendental debasement.
Admire as 'They yet She' reel a bit,
employing a well-worn
tactical maneuver,
now, getting steady,
holding on ever tighter
to the wood.
These my w.c.fieldsian barkers
who share a predestined
and enflambed
yet glorious
lavender-tinged
third eye,
with little specks of gold,
surrounding...
Inspired,
Transported,
'They yet She' look to be pinning it down
This very specific Message
from the Heavens,
straight.
'They yet She' are converging
and this should be
your takeaway
So kind of pay attention,
Please.
"'The Lord sayeth unto me
that all Men are Fools,
given to wanton callowness'
To which i reply:
'If only they would look
into the cavity,
and reach deeply and far-flung
to grasp, or rather,
to treasure
just one of a myriad of
interchangeable
divine possibilities
For within the obscurity
rests
The Glory
of All
or Nothing
and back again
for Eternity;
the Eight laying down
to rest,
tired.
And so ends The Lesson.'
To which the Lord replied
'Well done U!'
and better still,
'They yet She' intoned,
satisfied
with a sly, flyaway wink
'I know!'"
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 12:33 PM UTC
The grass and brush grow high.....
below the the rusted rails in the sky
Fate sealed, the aged red paint peels
on the sides of the House of Mirrors
Roller Coaster cars splay in disarray
ruined faded horses found flounder
At angles on the Merry go Round
the wind in silent breeze the only sound
The bit of broken light bulb glass reflected
By the sun, faint echos of fun from the past
the click clack click clack of the coaster tracks
cars at the peak speed in curves and swerves
Drifting thoughts of yesterdays dreams.....
with side show prizes, kids laugh and scream
As carnival barkers shout out their routines
Sun blazing the fun of yesterdays scene
Although nothing but a mere memory
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 11:50 AM UTC
*Pitiful October sunbeam
Warm nutmeg concoctions
Visible morning tide breath , cherry cheekbones ,
gas lamps , golden leaves o'er cobblestone
Silvered gardens , blue eyes hold pine grove
reflections , knitted scarves , Fair- day candy apple
obsessions
Magenta Dusk , harvest time orb , funnel cake
wisp in the fleeting , western Sun
Barkers , musicians , cider and ale
The windy pull of nights clutter , the Autumn wail*
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
*Copious birdsong with candor along the windward lake shoreline
Natures electricity demanding conduit at the forest divide
Chipper 'Wrensong' , curious Ravens speak of the morn , rollicking gray tree barkers , southbound 'honkers' ride the blind of Autumn sun , diamond piedmont dew dabbled with new-day spices of black pepper , sage and English tea cinnamon
Brown cathead biscuits , warm sorghum syrup and peach butter breakfast
Cattle call bell tones crack the solitude , the thunder of hooves embellish the shine of rolling pasture , of thick spearmint beside gravel roads , steam collecting along quiet pecan groves , o'er fertile fields at rest*
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 10:55 AM UTC
Brim me to the top
So I can take a view
Now don't you stop
I honestly need you
From the dirt road
To the barkers gate
You carry a great load
Hurry now, we are already late
Fresh bakes and cakes
And many more pies
So delicious, it kept me awake
To shuush the hungry flies
I am my mom's little ridding hood
Delivering bakes everyday
Going home, as day was good
In my cart, on my way
I'll pick fresh white flowers
For it makes my mum glow bright
She works for hours
When I am sleep at night
I love her immensely
For she is my world
I bore her intentionally
Whenever I get called
Her grace is like no other
Like a bloom in the rain
I do not have a father
But I am well versed with her pain...
©sim
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC
*Candy apples are the stuff of fairy tales sold by Carnival barkers in pin striped coat -tails , for artist dreaming out loud , for Kings and Queens with simple Honeysuckle Crowns
To first time lovers that nervously hold hands , to zany conductors striking up the band
The flavor inviting calliope music on Riverboats Sundays , Saturday mornings at the Zoo , laughing at the Monkeys* ......
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 12:48 PM UTC
The flags are waving brightly,
hypnotizing the naive,
they shimmer like carnival balloons.
There are merry andrews waltzing,
to the themes of marching bands,
they’re camouflaged to blend in with the moon.
The party’s getting started,
so we better get in line
- the wind is breathing something like a sigh.
The smell of cotton candy
drowns out the barkers script,
and multicolored lights announce the mood.
There’s rain off in the distance
- you can feel on your skin
- the children refuse to stay in line.
Dogs are barking somewhere,
and lanterns dance like birds
- there’s nothing left to do but step in time,
two, three, four.
The tent is Chinese silk,
as silver as a coin
- acrobats take tickets with their lips.
The sawdust smells like bacon,
and the seats are way too small,
but the crowd is pushing in
because red rain is falling.
Elephants turn like dancers,
and trumpet to the night
- the sound shakes the world like my alarm.
Another ho-hum morning,
soon the sky will tell a lie,
- that lemon light has something to proclaim.
My bags are packed for boredom,
the trip will last all day,
- there’s nothing left to do but step in time,
two, three, four.
Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 7:27 AM UTC