"clownish" poems
**We are a funny lot
As in, seriously… we delve into ‘funny’ a lot
Very rarely does a day go by
That I don’t come across something that cracks my funny bone…
Or as a Kenyan would put it ‘makes me just die!’
Body bag
The Kenyan
This specimen of human is always quick and capable of ridiculing anyone’s apparent "swag"
Everyone gets a turn here… so do not huff when you’re ‘it’
There must be a reason you joined this dissing game… this unique Kenyan version of ‘tag’
Just remember
The rules are simple, really
Keep it above the belt, unless upon exception...
They also clearly allow one to feign concession
Yes, these rules highly encourage strategic deception
Kind of like what our politicians do before the main election
But also if you paint a target on your back… you will get shot at...
By everyone… and I mean everyone
I haven’t seen anyone do that and elude the social media firing squad yet
Computers and phones in this case, acting as the internet's version of the bayonet
And watch closely if you’re ‘it’… for the inevitable, the friends that will stab you in the back
It’s bound to happen, as much as this may ****
The memes will come by the truck load… in what may seem like a self driven truck…
With a life of its own
Just ask Susan Mirfat
The most recently owned!
We’re a funny lot I tell you
Loose cannons almost
Our leaders’ shenanigans, our parents’ semantics and our own clownish antics…
Prove that despite…
How mature as a country we've become…
We’re still all just a bunch of children, inside.**
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
I'm the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Just like the Cheshire cat, someday I will suddenly leave, but the artificial warmth of my smile, that phony, clownish curve, the kind you see on miserably sad people and villains in Disney movies, will remain behind as an ironic remnant. I am the girl you see in the photograph from some party someplace or some picnic in the park, the one who is in fact soon to be gone. When you look at the picture again, I want to assure you, I will no longer be there. I will be erased from history, like a traitor in the Soviet Union. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
Give me words
Until they mean nothing
Wrap me in their meaninglessness
Until I feel nothing
The only thing that's real
Is your energy
The way you walk with
Uneven footsteps and laugh
Too often at unsaid jokes
Shakes my core
I'm coming undone
Too much weight to carry
I am changed
People notice
Intelligence breeds anxiety
Or is it ignorance?
Which one overtakes me?
Which energy
chooses me?
Clings like a shadow to my back?
Claws and controls me?
Maybe I'll find what I'm looking for
In New Orleans' haunted
Purple gold walls
Streets slick with death
Drenched in a
Clownish haze,
Maybe I'll weep there,
Let it soak
I drank all your shame while I was
Sleeping
You left greasy fingerprints down
My back and they
Spread across my stomach like
Wildfire, my branches
Split like black veins cursed
Coursing with black blood
Evil
What voice speaks inside of me
Now?
She says I've lived in too many places
Too many energies have made love to me
Where is my identity?
Which voice do I know is mine?
An unsung chorus:
Bathe in salt, she says
Cleanse yourself in sunlight
Stay alone
So why am I so afraid to be alone?
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
Verbiage
Sagacious humans would concur
Salacious verbiage is trenchant
Verdant language withers a guileless soul
Hubristic linguists deem limpid oratory irksome
A Didactic, petulant, boorish, garrulous, nefarious, obtuse, and insolent
Overtone is not my intent
Puckish, risible, mannered, jocular, antic, and adroit
Reverberations I am manifesting
TRANSLATION
Words
Smart people would agree
Healthy words are sharp
Unripe words die naive spirits
Self-confident word users find simple language annoying
Moral instruction, rude, insensitivity, wordy, wicked, blunt, and contemptuous
Feelings are not my purpose
Impish (silly), laughable, artificial, playful, clownish, and clever
Reactions I'm hoping to create
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:15 PM UTC
Lilies of the Valley line a possibility path
They're pushing and poking their way through
Each crack of pavement endues the math
Of lumpish lubberly feet, leaving too few
How I wholeheartedly wish them all well
And pray the clownish tip-toe around
For bright lil' bells by their own can't tell
Who might impose their sacrosanct ground
So step lightly dear wandering and happy neighbor
For Spring be for Lillies of the Valley, hard labor
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 8:28 PM UTC
A barrel cast of porcelain I bear
A white-furred bull upon my waist reclines
The alabaster eggshell buried there
A hollow suffocated by design
I am, by ring, the oldest living tree
With form bereft of grace or limber charm
A prairie pale rolls forth atop my knees
Of silent waves composed into my arms
But ring and ring again supplants my will
As heat with yeast and dough will slowly swell
A tabby cat loved lazy, sweet and still
A sleeping pulse within a clownish shell
The valley miles above my buried chest
A place where, lying still, his head may rest
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
1.
Donald John Trump
Just sits on his ****
As his deplorables feast
On whatever he tweets
2.
Donald John Trump
Is wicked and plump
But not nice and fat
Just more an ******
3.
Donald John Trump
Has a **** that's a stump
Women won't take him to bed
So he grabs their ******* instead
4.
Donald John Trump
Owns a golden sewage pump
Except it can't keep pace
With all the **** from his face
5.
Donald John Trump
Is a cancerous lump
On America's nose
That really must go
6.
Donald John Trump
Never gets a fist bump
His hands are so small
We can't find them at all
7.
Donald John Trump
Is a foul putrid clump
Who makes us quite sick
Bragging about the size of his ****
8.
Donald John Trump
Really likes to ****
Women without their consent
And he'll never repent
9.
Donald John Trump
Is a mean old grump
Who tells people they're stupid
But we know who the fool is
10.
Donald John Trump
It'd be best if he jumped
From the top of his tower
Since he's always so glower
11.
Donald John Trump
Is a dim witted chump
Whose head is quite large
Though Russia put him charge
12.
Donald John Trump
Likes to take a dump
On hookers while snorting blow
Many people are saying so
13.
Donald John Trump
Is in a terrible slump
He can't even enjoy his throne
Because the press won't leave him alone
14.
Donald John Trump
Only wants to flump
In a chair with women kneeling
After a long hard day of stealing
15.
Donald John Trump
His voice makes a crump
Like the sound of an engine
Or last breath of a dying pigeon
16.
Donald John Trump
Would never date a frump
Just nines and tens
Preferably ones who're quite dim
17.
Donald John Trump
Has just a cold swampy sump
But unlike humans no heart in his chest
He still says it's the best
18.
Donald John Trump
Is a clownish orange schlump
Who said he'd make America great
But just stoked up a lot of hate
19.
Donald John Trump
Always gives a nasty thump
To anyone who disagrees
Or gives facts to counter lies he believes
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
Face stung by depersonalization, caked and gobbed
makeup so eyes of two can tower anonymous.
Round and round, makeup descended, blood runneth
cold...blood runneth warm.
Clown's base rigor mortis white contrasted by pools
of blood-red.
Upturned lips to smile, downturned eyes to cry.
Nose...of a consummate drunk, or irritated swell of
tissue-happy crying.
****** motion spent in a capering given to the clown's
colorful daemon.
Bloated aerodynamic garb giving the birthday-suit
room to free fall the roles it was cast in.
Clown...pinch...perfect...overdone, multicolored
burning bush wig at home...ever at home with clownish
head.
O clown--built by laughing tracks, and the hollow of
broken peanut shells.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Ignore the roses' glory, lass -
for this purpose you were born!
****** princess - you are needed
to catch the elusive unicorn!
I stumble as if to music -
for I know the sordid truth.
That abstract love burns brightly -
in the hearts of maiden youth.
I’m a secretly broken angel -
so this magic I can’t perform.
I was seduced by boyish powers -
by clownish fumbling I was transformed.
I’ve been avoiding hateful mirrors -
for unwelcome truths they seem to know.
I can but join this dull adventure
and a hunting we will go.
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 1:06 PM UTC
WE ALL LAUGH IN THE SAME LANGUAGE
"We live between
two fires. . ."
he tells the cameras
"...the misery of going
the misery of staying..."
The camera cuts
to his daughter
seriously playing
locked inside her self.
They are refugees
from TV land
their harsh reality
living behind the glass
that separates them
from us.
Suddenly there is an invasion
of clowns.
The man in the navy blue suit
broken top hat & polka dot tie
is sowing laughter
in the barren lands of their minds
his buffooning reaping
a bumper crop in minutes.
The clownish figure of fun
gathering delighted applause
from those who never thought
they could laugh again.
They hula hoop crazily through the camps
juggle and pratfall with the reality of war.
"All shall be well, and all shall be well
and all manner of thing shall be well.”
their antics seem to tell. . .
Maybe there will be laughter
after all
after all
we all laugh in the same language.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
I grabbed her fawning hands to mine
And we danced on the dish of the moon
Serenaded by a loon's rollicking tune
That could not keep up with
Our loud passion cries
Echoing hill to hill
Back and forth In and out
Crescendoing into ecstatic shouts
Easing us finally to love's little death
Nearly out of breath
As we watched the jokey sun rising in the west
And how our tired kisses
Were flying off our lips
Into the clownish banditry of the wind's harsh riffs
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
have you ever gotten a love letter?
you told me you were a ******
when it was midnight and we sat at the docks
surrounded by boats and ocean
you had never even kissed a girl,
so I advised
and guided your clumsy, clownish hands
up my raincoat and under my tank top.
this is my letter
i love the way your eyes squint when you smile
i love the way your hands shyly move around
i love when you give up and agree with me
i love how you made me take the long way home so you could walk with me more
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
Elizabeth Wortzel
I'm the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Just like the Cheshire cat, someday I will suddenly leave, but the artificial warmth of my smile, that phony, clownish curve, the kind you see on miserably sad people and villains in Disney movies, will remain behind as an ironic remnant. I am the girl you see in the photograph from some party someplace or some picnic in the park, the one who is in fact soon to be gone. When you look at the picture again, I want to assure you, I will no longer be there. I will be erased from history, like a traitor in the Soviet Union. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible...
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
I need to meet you.
The one that has something in common with me.
It might be physical.
It could be emotional.
As long as it something you have in common with me
Any type interest we share.
Can only be something better for us.
Many has found love this way.
I need to meet you.
Meet you now.
Who knows?
You might come to know my clownish side.
The side I always trying to hide.
Which comes in very handy sometimes.
Only if you come around.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 5:14 PM UTC
Time is a faucet being slowly opened until the trickle becomes a torrent.
Time is flying by and we’ve been growing together
into one...
You are to me
My everything, True Love,
Filling me with glee,
Ordained by One above
Audaciously you leapt
Into my longing life
And though your mother wept
Steadfast, you quelled her strife
I, kneeling in the leaves
You, in that clownish-dress
Your acquiescence thrilled me
When you uttered, simply, “Yes.”
And now, like melting candles
Our beings intertwine
You hold me by the handles
I drink your kiss like wine…
It’s of the finest vintage
This kiss of yours, so fine
Each lip expressly minted
To snugly fit with mine
The mountains stretch toward heaven
Sky lies down with sea
The Lord has blessed a fallen being
And you are all to me
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
.
Is simply a way of insulting yourself
Showing you are as impotent as those
Clownish buffoons running
For president
...
.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
I wonder if you ever got the help you said you needed
maybe she became your help. your patch. Your cold turkey.
she made you believe the toxins you put in would be better once they came out,
these habits stunt your growth, and you may be as high as cherry trees but internally you're rotting away due to the harsh chemicals suffocating you, the pressure to be something you're not breathing down your neck - release this image and crack that mirror you've been afraid to look into.
Face yourself
help yourself
She is a **** entangled in your roots, roots that lead to a greater, greener being.
A relationship not so symbiotic has you fooled down to your clownish feet
I would feel sorry for you but there is no room to
I hope you get the help you need
water yourself and stop looking into the fire - it dries you out
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 10:33 AM UTC
I painted them red,
(read: Clownish)
Cherry-dipped and ripe
For your taking.
I hoped that you'd find them,
A beacon amongst black. And
Worm your way into them -
Warm, wet, writhing.
But I think I was too green, too naive,
So stunted that if you squeezed me -
With heavy hands - I would burst.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 3:28 PM UTC
Dare any swain escape his youth intact,
Soon after the fringe of courage will discolour into fade,
Until one day the pause,
The morning mirror, the tics and taunts,
Who is this clumsy old man his story will complain.
His bruise of reputation echoes back as tease,
The slope and sag of masculine decline,
Is journaled in the bloom of brown blotch on his hands,
The tattered skin, the oaf and clownish frown,
The aberrant fur in ears and nose,
The quitter’s curve now cues to crooked spine,
There is no bath, no rub, nor miracle devine,
From here on in he culls and manages decline.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 7:56 AM UTC