"cirque" poems
~ Ode to Joy ~
White gold ambassador
canine past eight
soul seekers ascend
(from cirque to seven)
to peak
to peak
to peak
Saddlerock spearhead
ptarmigan
and flute
Christmas trees
in winter glades
over dusted crystal scape
Fissile (eiger) sanction
open shale and tusk
indiscriminate members
roll the bluffs
and ice falls
above the
north face steep
Dead silent dawn
breathless, bitter cold
the beating hearts
and brahmas
warm the spirit
of pakalolo
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
(This poem doesn't belong to me. The rightful owner is the author Darren Shan who wrote the Demonata and the Cirque du Freak book series. This poem is from his first book of the Demonata book series: Lord Loss.)
Lord loss sows all the sorrows of the world, lord loss seeds the grief starched trees
In the center of the web lowly lord loss bows his head
Mangled hands, naked eyes
Fanged snakes his soul line
Curled inside like texture sin
****** curdle sheets for skin
In the center of the web vile lord loss torments the dead
Over strands of red, lord loss crawls
Dispensing pain, despising all
Shuns friends, nurtures foes
Ravages hope, breeds woe
Drinks moons, devours suns
Twirls his thumbs till the reaper comes
In the center of the web Lush Lord Loss is all that is left.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 12:19 PM UTC
Evening shimmers wet with Autumn rain
It's sheen reflectors, mirrors, eyes
Of cavorting shadows amongst the fey
Like city tinsil this Samhain night,
Oh how lovely colors celebrate
With ghostly kin & youthful lights...
With cirque painted skins and facade
Of candied ghoulish grins,
How sweet & innocent the haunted highs
Infects each home, "trick'r'treat" of hymns.
Laughter like All's been forgiven,
All seems right, again...
Though hidden faces - forgotten sins,
Speak sie la vie this holiday,
With carved pumpkins, witches' cry,
Screams are as illusion as the fright,
This Samhain even tide .
It's all babes and monsters ball
This hallowed eve
This Samhain night
Tra la li, tra la lay
Then tomorrow is Hop tu naa...
The days after for all our saints...
Come the winter will be white,
As the ghosts this Samhain night.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC
Evening shimmers wet with Autumn rain
It's sheen reflectors, mirrors, eyes
Of cavorting shadows amongst the fey
Like city tinsil this Samhain night,
Oh how lovely colors celebrate
With ghostly kin & youthful lights...
With cirque painted skins and facade
Of candied ghoulish grins,
How sweet & innocent the haunted highs
Infects each home, "trick'r'treat" of hymns.
Laughter like All's been forgiven,
All seems right, again...
Though hidden faces - forgotten sins,
Speak sie la vie this holiday,
With carved pumpkins, witches' cry,
Screams are as illusion as the fright,
This Samhain even tide .
It's all babes and monsters ball
This hallowed eve
This Samhain night
Tra la li, tra la lay
Then tomorrow is Hop tu naa...
The days after for all our saints...
Come the winter will be white,
As the ghosts this Samhain night.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
scuttling across the valley,
the trench was deep and steep
scorching heat of the dry sun,
dried blemishes on the weathered skin.
Settling along the rocky facades,
hackneyed by the haunting past.
Sleepless nights of the perching predators,
Hibernating in aloof worlds .
Stymied by the wind in the barren land ,
Harnessed by the futile fears.
Simone Melchoir of the sinking ship ,
would not you go down with the fault.
Shunning away from natures affection ,
for every rose does share its thorn .
Sunny ends are reached ,
when the raging ravines fade away.
Slithering away the swirling serpent ,
The sun lurks in the brewing storm .
Sanctity of the witheld winds ,
sapping away the deathly darkness.
Serene air of the seraphic angel,
brought the plighting dreams to the refugees repose
Smelting ores and melting poles,
brimming with brightness the cradled cirque .
Summons of the exalted virtue ,
To burn the lizard and fly away like the phoenix
Succumbing to the wilderness,
to soaring heights and rising spirits .
Swanking in the soothing winds,
the phoenix looked down on the plundering valley.
Scorning at the downtrodden spirits,
The fraternity of the Desert lizard
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:23 AM UTC
instrumental
dreamer
time free
to sight see
wide
down
corybantic
oval
perimeter
shedding
tiers
in a garden
of angels
sprinkled
with pine cones
at the border of
void and Vaud
cantons
of meltwater cirque
les petites Fauconnières
the inner basin
of my outer reaches
I am
your
visitor
I am
your
audience
let's
stop
for snow
and polar cap
songs
where things
are still run by the natural elements
instrumental dreamer
not by algorithms
not by advancement
Feb 10, 2022
Feb 10, 2022 at 10:19 AM UTC
Where did the circus go?
Not like the Del Mar fair
Or the Barnum and Bailey skinny cow version
I want someplace nasty
A bit sticky
Someplace that picks up and leaves
before you have time to go get your watch back
All that’s left is a lot
Full of trash and ride screws
Because the rush to leave was more important
than safety
It’s a place most days now
I wish I could run away to
Slap on fake **** and be the bearded lady
Or warts and green paint and be frog man
Be something along the lines of
Homemade make believe
Be happy believing that
This other place doesn’t have things
Like rent
And car payments
And work that ***** you harder than your own girlfriend will
And don’t tell me cirque de solei is hiring
That’s not a circus
That’s people in costumes dancing and flying around on stages
They had to go to school to do that
You don’t need school to join the circus
You just need the desire to leave
Before anyone notices you’re gone
Maybe leave behind a sticky mess
And take with you something valuable
Like a watch
Or money from the purse on the counter
Or someone’s heart
Maybe I could be tattoo man
Or the ***** Mouthed Poet
And freestyle psalms that ache behind a glass window
That you have to pay a quarter to see through
And another quarter to listen
Or I could be a wax statue of Jesus
The one that if you stare at long enough
You see him breathing
Enough to restore faith in the make believe
That keeps us going
Let me be your side show
Let me be your fortune teller
Let me be the dark room in that back
Only the men are allowed into
Women and children this way
Let me be the ***** talk of town
And leave before the lynching
Let me leave in the night like a piper
With the promise
That I will give you the life you’ve always wanted
If you leave behind all you’ve ever been
Remember him?
He joined the circus?
Where’d the circus go?
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
Jamming jellyfish
Top-Me
((Giddy App Seahorse))
The horseradish on
my lap______
The jolly Jelly
Gefilte Fish
Little help from my friends
How we click the laptop
One dent to Deceive me
The Rock and Rolling
Stomach his smoke went
Like *** Cheese)
he leaves me
The spicy tongue map
Z-Top Zany Chilli Pepper____
your # tap dance tap
Italian top of
the cheese designer skirt
The outskirts of Naples
Her sweet dimples, please
The Islands of Sicily
So many Cheese forms
Terms of Endearment
Mama Mia Murano-Positano
Her lips of Romano Cheese
(To Top Me) Challenge me
Cheese doesn't mix
with cappuccino,
she's the Capri
Ala Denti
Cheese Wiz chair
Mediterranean Wines
Bear men doing low
sips of time
the grisly(Z) pour
The car smelled like
Flight (Top Me) Swiss air
Meet Dominique
How it went La Cirque
Anti Christ Devil Red-bed
cheese mystique
SOS to their notes
PS the junk car in
Midas the makeover
Make-up artist counter
Clinique
I could paint over your hood
Creamy mind put at ease
He's so displeased
New castle disease
Mingling social disease
She's so infectious
ZZ- Top me rock me
Eyes bloodshot you got me
And nevertheless
With twelve and V
V- Vamps tramps
and 14 karats
The French Lieutenant
Mistress Brie with heavy
bite teeth like garnets
Cher turning back time
The burlesque striptease
Come back little Sheba
Z Top Queen of Sheba
I know it's coming soon____?
All Tight claustrophobic
The tight squeeze
Him speaking
Mandarin Oranges
The British Colony
Unique Chinese languages
Her hills, San Francisco
Jack Nicholson
Comedy of China town
The American Women
Smile cheese at the Disco
The food Cantonese
style
Z muscles Hercules
Joan Rivers
Fashion Police
The Cheese of Portuguese
Its the meat market
With his nifty thrifty Neice
All Socrates
(Gromet and Cheese)
Those Brooklyn
workers
The Falcon Matese____*
More cheese Z-Top
Who could ever top
The string cheese
Silken strings became
to rest, I rest my cheese
What cheese fascinates you
Tell me?
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
her fantasy fulfilled
she guides him by pack-horse
up the craggy mountain trail
restrained by his inexperience
their destination above
her beloved secret valley
river far below, a faded blue memory
spying snow-coned peaks beyond
she fights the urge, for his sake,
to gee her horse the last few feet
almost there, past the jagged rocks
gap's a beckoning finger now
welcoming her home
so many years of separation
the valley bursts upon them
a composite of wondrous sights
compelling her to bring him
quickly through to hallowed ground
how many times she had returned
alone
she turns to him, a stranger here
only he deserves her secret place
watching his face
seeing elation and her radiance
mirrored simultaneously in his eyes
an expanse of horizon
mountain, aspen, florid fields, and water
nature's precious jewels adorn the vista
dressed with utmost care
to steal the unsuspecting heart
she leads him into the meadow
overlooking the turquoise cirque
cool waters in which she bathed
naked and contented
when last she'd journeyed here
meadow flowers cloak
the blanket she spreads for him
her fantasy fulfilled
his body framed against the sky
-limitless as their love- and
boundless beauty in this valley
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
I had forgotten the way to the hut that I had traveled to so many times,
so many days. So many moons, I would say. But no one marks moons anymore, except hunters. And I am not one of them. Nor a gatherer.
I listen to old men tell how they felled the stags. I do not believe them.
I am a wayfarer, to use the archaic words I used to love, the words
I had forgotten, the words of time in eternity, the words of orange leaves
on towering pin oaks, the words of circles of shadows settling on Gavarnie, of snowfall in the Pyrénées. Sever Spain from the Continent.
I had lost the language of the ***** spray-painted sheep scampering
over gray-bouldered cirques on mountaintops, boulders turning into mountains in the shadows, in the fog, in drifts of snow. There are no words for this now. Bleating sheep drown them out, and yapping dogs.
There are no words for the radiance of transcendence. “Climb higher,”
I hear them say. Higher into the haze of clouds. Cirque: circle, circus. Acrobatics on hillsides, balancing acts on rockslides, skimming streams in hard-toed boots. I had forgotten the way to the words, far behind me.
I have come to a gate, a steep stile in shadow. No sheep can pass. Nothing looks familiar; nothing looks strange. I saunter in a cloud
of unknowing. I had known the words: worn, smooth as stone unscuffed by hard-toed boots, slick as snowmelt. Slide from France into Spain.
This is the path of Santiago de Compostela, the route of St. James, who said, “Do not be double-minded, brethren.” I cannot remember if I have been double-minded in my travels. I had forgotten the way. If the words do not come, which mind sees the threshold; which mind circles the fog?
What passes, what begins when we travel? I do not look backward.
The way lies ahead, waiting, wandering away from the words. Splotches
of lichen sprout orange and green. “Go no higher for safety.” No higher.
They do not mention exile or ecstasy or the straight path of radiance.
The cirque circles my words in mountain shadows. I must unlearn
the art of travel, adrift in broken fields of stone. I had forgotten the way to the hut. Rocks obscure the path. Light ensures the path leads upward. Nothing is lost. Words hold their weight. Stags dance above me in fog.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 3:19 PM UTC
Lexical littorals illiterate foal
Talus and cirque shore and shoal
Iconoclast anarchy vortex knoll
****** matrix vertex peak
Semantic regalia flux and seek
Torrid allusions own and keep
Dichotomy paradox surge and swell
Primordial integumence purge and fell
Contiguity confluence dirge and knell
Reliquiae requiem show and tell
Accession assertion deliberative need
Transcendent ascension expiate seed
Subordinate ancillary exigency deed
Subliminal subjunctive sensorium seethe
Uxorious usury detinue blithe
Contiguous currency decimate tithe
Tractive proximity critical lithe
Delusory phantasm futurity kithe
Alacritous tactile acuity interstice
Accidence ambience resonance quipy pith
Scenario synopsis resilience gist
Endergonic protensive progressiveness rift
Prestissimo preterite retroactive gift
Poignant puissance piquant myth
Fable fantasticate legend list
Preternatural gesticulate proclivity pith
Propensity assimilate diabolical mist
********** fornicate zooidal mist
Parenthetical erudite erumpence fist
Quiescent gossamer lecherous wrist
Militant mercenary actuator aorist
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
In twilight sleep,
thoughts out of control,
images take hold.
Viewed against the canvass of blackness,
dead people dance
with succubi an incubuses.
Tiny gymnasts
balance on sharp edged swords
in le cirque du soleil
under a moonless sky.
Grimm’s tales
of baked children
and hungry wolves
play out. On a runway
starving women show
the latest fashions in cardinal red.
The Grinch stole my green silk Balenciaga gown.
Gave it to the frog prince.
Sleeping beauty is just a ******
She had too much of all of it.
Hermes glass slippers are sold
Only too few and deserving Cinderellas,
trophy wives of mummified kings.
What they really deserve is not on the menu.
Just le plat du jour of ortolans.
The three pigs are out of breath,
Not enough air for a blow job.
Rose colored glasses take on a nasty
hue of watered down blood.
Bottle green is not la couleur du jour,
rather that bile color
with a tint of pus yellow.
There is a storm brewing,
A tsunami rising,
the earth shakes,
Volcano red lava
licks down the mountain.
Destiny?
Fate?
Apocalypse?
A voice whispers:
put up a shield, a bright canvass.
Paint with bold rounded strokes
in earthen tones. Mold vessels
to hold the morning dew.
Catch rays of sun
in a glass glockenspiel.
Hum the world, sing life.
Touch, feel, be alive.
A ray of sun sneaks through the blinds.
Dust dances in a shaft of light.
I am safe, for another day.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 6:25 PM UTC
Jumping, bouncing and swinging from tree to tree
In a sparse forest just outside a village on the outskirts of Antananarivo
They adapt to the changes flung at them and strive to survive
On the ground a troop leaps sideways side by side in a straight line
What a comical spectacle
However solemn their purpose, they must find a home
The little one abaft of the line
Takes one last glimpse at the home he leaves behind
Oh it’s up in flames now and bulldozers knock down his trees
Beyond, just yonder
Over a hill further down south, the prospect is in sight
A new forest with new opportunities
It’s denser; it hasn't caught the eye of encroaching villagers
They forge on towards it in that spectacular procession
High up in the trees they mark their territory
Males call out to females and they howl in response
The young ones frolic in the underbrush
They mate, they eat, they thrive
Another forced migration
There they go again in that sideways march
More deforestation for infrastructure
There must be leeway for civilization one way or the other
One must wonder now
What future lies in store for these that have no place in government?
Their trails fade away from the Malagasy ecosystem
Their lives hang in a balance at the brink of extinction
Will our grandchildren ever get to appreciate
The extraordinary feats of agility they display
The gymnastics they perform from day to day
On the trees and on the ground in the jungle everyday
Ostentations of dramatic optical presentations
In their furry coats of monochromatic patterns
Perhaps they will disappear and my son’s sons may only get to
Read about them in the has been list of the annals of history
At this rate since erecting urban jungles
Of tar roads and skyscrapers is the order of the day
They might even be able to catch an obscure image of the lemur
In the form of a costumed trapezist mimicking one
Or a twisting contortionist in The Cirque Du Soleil
Nellie Nkosi
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
Let me make you wonder why
You'd scream any other name.
Let me prove to you that
There's no fun in being tame.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 6:45 PM UTC
Siachen
At the savage, indigo sky,
draped in snow, claw the mountains high.
By the cirque, a base, sheltered 'neath,
his gun sings the ballad of death.
A field of kash, in autumn swirl,
the dark braid of that village girl.
Mother's white, unwavering faith,
his gun sings the ballad of death.
Skin burns through the synthetic girth,
frozen blood inseminates earth.
Echo of loss shudders his breath,
his gun sings the ballad of death.
At the savage, indigo sky,
his gun sings the ballad of death.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:04 AM UTC
I feel the warmth of the pool between the underbelly
of my eyeball and the lashes long enough to
graze my cheekbones
It takes all the strength I have left not to force their
sisters to greet them
For if this meeting takes place, my weakness will
be broadcasted
A live performance by the liquid Cirque Du Soleil
As the freaks tumble down my cheeks
So to avoid this showcase
my freaks contort themselves to stay in their
warm bed
And I try my hardest not to blink.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 9:01 PM UTC
Monochromatic scene was displayed
Within the darkness of night
Where they built the tents
and held the game of fate
For them to finally met,
to cross each other's paths
As they roamed around the circus
The smell of caramels
also the scent of daydreams
Filled their minds and hearts
With warmth and hopes
Blurry images moved pass them
As the carousel drove them into dizziness
of an overwhelming feeling
Which was dangerous
For them to endure
Golden flames illuminating
While they took a dance
under the moonlight
Though they realize
That their feelings were eternal enigmas
Which would take lifetime to solve
But they also know
The hidden secrets
About the silver linings
Holding every possible dreams
Filled with rays of happiness
Within the night circus
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC
my origami,
a thin line of sunshine and a private war.
the nucleus of an extinct thought, gathering believers
on the outskirts of nearby.
the wrong thing...
a more dead husk than a fresh ****
or a new joke.
[ my long night. the covetous murk of a bright lie. ]
my only calling,
the mute jawbone of an expert hermit.
determined to offend ought
but the sermon
as the enclave denies. the right thing.
a more rapturous con
than a new deal
or old smoke.
a song's blight. luxurious cirque...
denial
and out
lights.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 3:27 PM UTC
Political system
Bred off disagreement
And those instigating change
Only do so out of hatred
People just regurgitate
Networked Ignorance
Align yourself
With the Great Jumbo
Or the all Knowing Ass
What a circus act
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
If I am going to die,
I am going to die victorious
nestled deep in the rotten ribcage of the fever that keeps me afloat.
Observed from a distance,
philanthropist mercenary,
In reality,
banal tragedy shared with countless generations.
Words leave long ****** marks wherever they fall,
Drenched in war paint
fit to **** the nonsense from your ***** heart,
Are you interested in a manufactured personality?
Nothing but the lies to live for,
I do not exist when I am not observed.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
The only noise is a departing train
when I wake to daylight at eight o'clock.
The slow white edges darkness back in vain,
groping the averageness of the city block.
I know for certain, yet feel half-unsure,
life will always go on --
what about after I'm dead and gone?
Unfounded conviction beginning to blur,
I step outside to steady rain
Confronting an inarticulate pain:
most go unescorted to the grave.
All day long I try pushing back the thought,
try focusing on my tedious work,
but truest fear -- what was and now is not --
deepens like a glacial cirque.
Certainty's fickleness falls far away
as momentary happiness
from nowhere, more or less,
solidifies into one more day.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
Steam, Heat, sweltering mechanisms at work,
cogs, collected, combined, creating copper cirque,
wheels rotating, furnaces incinerating, gears moving at busy speed,
circulating, building, crafting, machines making what we need,
Tubes pump Scarlet Liquid, contraptions clank and ratchets clink,
as I ponder - what all the parts do, one requires to think.
Parts seldom give up, nor contraptions shirking,
but this wonder, marvel, machine, is the human body working.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 1:27 PM UTC