"greasepaint" poems
I wonder if they ever heard
The noise that people made
Watching them up on the screen
Until the final credits fade
Did anybody tell them
Thanks for what you did
For just a while you took me back
And made me feel just like a kid
Once the greasepaint was washed off
And the curtains had come down
Did they know the magic that they made
Still filtered through the town
Acting like we wanted to
Up there upon the screen
They filled the world with laughter
You know just what I mean
Most of them are gone now
Very few that we would know
Acetates and ashes
Are all they have to show
If we took the time to tell them
Thank you for the laughter
Would they ever hear us...
Those who have come after
The mantle never passed
The best are long now dead
The ones who worked in silence
With words seen but not said
The names are not all famous
Some are never known
But, we owe them for the laughter
In the movies that were shown
We'd remember lines that they said
And we'd think of them and smile
They took us out of where we were
If just for a short while
Think of your favorite actor
Who you watched and always laughed
Whether slapstick or through word play
They all chose to share their craft
I will not list my favorites here
The list may never end
But, to them I'd just say thank you
A message I must send
I wonder if the next time
Or even the next time after
If they would ever hear us
tell them Thank you for the laughter
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 12:20 AM UTC
Waiting for the theatre.
Not the greasepaint and glitter kind,
The scary scalpel suction kind.
My costume an open backed frump sack,
Out of it,
Tripping on tranqs.
Thirsty, nervous, needy for love,
Searching in strange places
Reaching out to unknown faces,
Will anyone care if I never come back?
Counting the minutes
In blood pressure increments,
I dig the sedation
Please
Give me some for the rest of this year?
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 6:34 AM UTC
I miss Buffalo Bill and Jersey Lil'
Jesse James among other names
Like Hopalong and Big John Wayne
Cooper,Cagney and,
What's that Indians name?
Oh yes
Cochise.
The man of war, the man of peace.
Jimmy Dean and Johnny Ray
Otis,Sammy and Doris day all yesterday
And yet
I bet there's no one quite like them
Not like Borgnine,Heston or Glen Ford.
Rememeber West and Ward
The caped crusaders
Or Roy Thinnes and the Martian Invaders?
I miss them all
The magic of the casting call and Lucille Ball.
Where did they go?
Moved on no doubt to another show and more greasepaint
Ain't life dull Without it full
Of these great stars.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 4:32 AM UTC
they said the clown was sorrow-shaped.
so I looped up in greasepaint—
swallowed a sunbeam,
coughed out a smirk,
and called the ache comedy.
somebody whispered
i fear the bruise.
nah,
i catalogue it.
line breaks for scars,
syntax for shame,
run the hurt through a voice modulator
’til even god can’t tell if i’m praying or riffing.
i’m not dodging the wreckage.
i just built a couch in it.
named the crater: “home?”
drank laughter from a cracked thermos
and kept warm in the glow of a rerun i never starred in.
i’ll play the ghost
if the script pays in quiet.
but don’t staple my name to your healing
and call it holy.
the truth?
clowns rot too.
some nights
i wanna peel off the latex,
lose the joke,
shave the wig,
and just exist—
not perform pain
in a dialect
you can quote later.
May 30, 2025
May 30, 2025 at 5:44 AM UTC
It was an opera in that everybody had grown fat
every movement was stylized and expositional
the faintest grin
the miniscule teardrop
even an emotion that barely registered came out over-inflated;
encircled in greasepaint, underscored by full orchestration, embellished by stiff and grandiose choreography.
It was an opera in that we yawned,
shifting in our seats, checking our watches, yearning for the curtain call.
It was an opera, but it was mostly life
in that it had no final act, ending or closure.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
What do you expect from me?
Am I your entertaining clown?
Am I always supposed to clicked on
When your friends come around?
Am I here for your enjoyment?
Am I here to make you laugh?
Do you want me for my company?
Or am I just on your staff?
The light goes on, and I'm on stage
Regardless where we are
I'm the center of attention
I'm a bug trapped in your jar
When I'm quiet you ignore me
When I'm on, you're by my side
I am just another plaything
Being taken for a ride?
I'm funny when I need to be
But, that's by your request
I'm a puppet on your little stage
When I'm on, I'm at my best
I hide behind my greasepaint
Wearing masks through out the day
But, when the footlights shine
And I'm in front, that's when I come to play
Am I funny just to please you?
Or am I really pleasing me?
The doorbell rang, your friends are here
Another show for free.
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 6:44 PM UTC
I killed a man in my sleep last night.
strange albino maskface
cueball head coated in alabaster
greasepaint of a clown
skin white as the sharpened teeth
tearing through a bloodred slit of mouth
that wound the only color in his face
he was keeping me there
in the darkred room with no windows
holding me there in fear
terrorizing me
torturing me
delighting in it
consuming my fear like a drug
lusting after my pain
pleasuring himself with it
It had been a very bad day for me.
but then he brought Her in
so She could see what he had done
witness the mess he was making of me
brought Her in so I could see
the pain and the fear twisting Her beauty
but then he lost himself
in his lust and hunger for our degradation
he leaned down
face to "face"
pressed his sickening skin to mine
to whisper in my ear
all the things he was about to do to Her
He shouldn't have.
my hands were on his head
fists closed around ears
and pulled
thumbs went into eyes
and sank
and his bloodred mouth opened in glorious tortured screaming
my teeth clamped down
tearing into his bottom lip
with everything i had
i pushed and pulled and tore and ruined
eyeballs popped wet and cold like rotten grapes
ears gave in came off ripping strips of cheek revealing bone
lip tore down down down over chin and neck and red flowed free
free as i felt
free as i now was
as we now were
and i looked to Her
worried for us both
for so many things
and I saw Her
standing shocked
and there was no more fear in Her eyes
and there was no more love in Her smile
there was only the dumbfounded awe
of the newly awakened
all i felt
was justified
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC
Here lies a painted doll
Broken by a lifetime of twirling
In front of cameras.
Playing the dream woman
Who existed only in the mind of a man
She first danced to the music,
Then made music dance to her.
To and fro went the tango
Until greasepaint turned into warpaint
To fight the creeping vines of age.
The news ticker doesn’t care for
How she lived … her death, if sensational, is fine
But ever the professional,
She strikes the best pose to
Suit the lighting,
Even in death.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 7:45 AM UTC
A restrained ahem
echoes into the night
without even the edge of an eyebrow raised
the tentative gesture
fails to interrupt business
as usual
no mass exposed
to the fat con and filial misdirection
while on the stage
the hamfisted prestidigitator
sweats so profusely
that the greasepaint nearly shifts
May 1, 2021
May 1, 2021 at 5:43 AM UTC
Shadowboxing with a dead man as a massacre stills
Fingerdancing to smoke & mirror the masses
Whistling frantic in the gathering dark to steady the ranks
Faith trumps facts
A strong man acts
Greasepaint thick
Growing cracks
A flailing will can kick up sparks
Keep squeezing shills
Catch easy marks
Throw enough show & something will stick
That's shitbusiness!
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 4:19 PM UTC
Sometimes it's there where it should be and sometimes it's totally *******
immortal?
well I went through some portal and ended up here, but I don't know exactly where here is or should be,
there are shadows that mill all around me
mystifying and
satisfying in a curious kind of way.
But it's greasepaint. ain't it?
we're
in the limelight for the
opening night.
The opposite end to the opposite end
is the end we always begin at,
that
I try to hold onto
as forces repel me
so they attract me
and then I am back here,
where's here at?
like a riddle in a riddle
something to fiddle with
to give life
and then we're there
where?
this is deja'
I've been there before
why am I here again and
what for?
if I should answer what could be your question,
is this how it would be?
or sometimes
when
where's where it should be,
what would be the point?
I'm going to sleep on it
and
revolve around the sun a bit
to see
if I get warmer.
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC