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"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
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Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
The day the circus came to town
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
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52
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.
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Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
Another Angry Voice
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
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May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 10:57 PM UTC
Rat *******
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.
0
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 5:02 AM UTC
my cat bit my earphones
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.
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23
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.
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Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
Smell
*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*
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Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
Leaning On The Lamp Post Of My Dreams
Spicy aromas Cobbled streets and loud barkers Mysterious people
0
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 5:42 AM UTC
Remembering Istanbul (Haiku)
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.”
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Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 11:14 PM UTC
Leavings
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"
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Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
ABC
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 !! .........................
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Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
Friday Night Memories
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!'"
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Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 12:33 PM UTC
LONG NIGHT'S JOURNEY INTO DAY
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
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Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 11:50 AM UTC
Cool Zone
*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*
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Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
The Fair
*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*
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Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 10:55 AM UTC
Returned to Start ....
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
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Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC
Bloom In The Rain
*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* ......
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Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 12:48 PM UTC
Red Holidays .....
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.
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Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 7:27 AM UTC
the fair