"ringleader" poems
elephants stomp with stone-laden feet
back and forth, back and forth,
creating cracks in my already-battered skull,
weakening the very foundations of my sanity.
their trumpeting echoes through cold corridors
flooding my thought capacity to the brim.
a tightrope walker stretches me, thin -
i feel the shifting pressure of her nimble feet
treading the territories of my weathered frame,
back and forth, back and forth,
my skin reddens beneath the incessant crossing
as the sinew within me starts to atrophy.
in my chest cavity there is a ring of fire,
manipulating my lungs and feeble heart to mere ash.
two golden eyes seen beyond the flames,
ready to leap through them - without the
inconvenience of fear weighing down his agile paws,
both capable and likely to tear my veins to shreds.
a grisly strongman has my bones in his grip.
he smiles malevolently, gloating his strength over me,
squeezing the life from my cartilage - awaiting the snap.
i am cognizant of the sound, but i won't flinch.
next, the imminent collapse of my vertebrae -
i feel them crumble to dust. he laughs.
but it is in the pit of my stomach the ringleader sits -
commanding me into subsidence with every crack of his whip.
i want to meet his eyes but he only averts my gaze.
his twisted circus nearly through, the audience begins to dissipate.
i stare through the blurred smoke, desperate for his visage -
when i see on one of his faded lapels, the embroidery spells out your name.
-m.f.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
Even to an untrained eye
One can spot layers of foundation
Caked into her face
Is she a victim
Of some historical imperative?
Is she caged
In some arbitrary matrix?
Some fun-house of mirrors
While a mustachioed ringleader
Overcharges, shouting
“Come one, come all, bedazzled spectator
Behold, the distorted woman
Transmogrifying before your eyes!”
Or maybe she’s just vain
Or betwixt the two
Somewhere, a boy drops a sixpence
It rattles in the dusky jar
As he enters the dark show
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC
*Not so long ago
in this land of Poetry
you see
I was Used, Abused
and Misused
and like that wasn't
enough
I was then Stripped, Ripped
and Flipped
Stomped, Cursed
and Kicked
And finally,
Finally when I thought
they were done with me
Well this ringleader,
Mr. So and So
His pride
must've been really sore
Not exactly sure why though
Anyway
He wasn't satisfied
Until he gave me more*
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 6:53 PM UTC
Behind the disguise
there is a circus of lies
hidden within your eyes
wistful flurry of desires
flowing colours and playing with fire
juggling all the stories you liar
liar liar pants on fire
fighting through the barriers you build
I'm coming to burn down this field
this field of dreams
gotta build it first
and they will come
they'll come
the circus will come
the ringleader you are
you play with fire
careful, you might burn down what is dire
in dire need of being said
watch where you tread
youre walking a tightrope
but youve helped me see what i wrote
i wrote in chalk what i was
but now i carve in stone
youve made me see
youve made me find me
maybe ill run away with your circus
because now ive found my purpose
thankyou for helping me
even though about the change, i was nervous
I now see my purpose
its to run away with your circus
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 10:23 PM UTC
My dear, it rained last night
And I remember
The alleviated rise into
Lush sobs and lavish emotions
The way your dilatation relieves
Every worry and anxiety
But sometimes when we speak
A violent lie radiates
And last night you were naught
But an alienated virile sot
A view unholy I omit
I remember the tin roses on the tiles
Devastated, shattered.
Sometimes you hum
Your hands delicately miming secret memos
And I can see it in your eyes
Irises shining like teal devils
And the music carries you
White with adrenaline, pupils likes violists
Headwaiters lie, strumming tin violins
Their alienated visions wilted with passion
I see the way she cleverly conceals
Lies as vows to you
A veil called "us" she puts on "me"
And I call for mutiny
But youth is vim, vim is now, and now is lies
Every hug from you is just a violet whim
In noisy rooms
My vision is misty
My aura dies little,
Oh if only you could realize your reign
You’re the master, the ringleader
But you’re lazy; you work without zeal, you’re idle and lazy
Eyes glazed, agile hands getting greedier
Have you ever seen
A dearer lion?
He roared, the lonesome rider
Alone, an alien.
Well sometimes you lie
And I dare to become
An oral denier
My radar detects one lie,
Then two...
You become red
Redder than a ****** lion's ear
Adieu, you say, with a gently undefined lilt
My tears speak more reality than your words
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
The crowd swelled and billowed out
a thousand panicked footfalls
pushing, stamping, trampling
Some one had set off firecrackers in the foot tunnel
on the 4th of July
and they even had a friend fall backward
so it looked like a gunshot
hell, it sounded like a gun shot
The wave of [people]
fled for their lives,
as if they had ever been in danger
A man broke his leg
someone fainted
and people vomited, screamed, fought
But me?
I saw the kid who did it.
Some laughing ringleader
starting **** all night
Fight or flight response- in an adrenaline haze,
they had all chosen to flee
but me?
I almost reached out
and broke his nose
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 10:44 AM UTC
She knows who she is
Maybe I was her first heartbreak
Girlfriend? No, best friend?
I thought so.
Only eight (and a half)
At recess I was alone
At lunch I was told to got to the bathrooms
It was as if all the crows had come
For their daily bread
I was their daily bread
I was being told about how I
had said awful things about the girl I didn't know
The ringleader was my 'best friend'
I didn't remember saying those things
I did remember about how last Summer
A bird had gotten stuck in the air vents
in the same bathroom
It's corpse sat there for months, rotting away
All of a sudden I envied the corpse
I felt my heart sitting next to belly button
The first of many times I would feel my heart break
Then it had been a fortnight
I waited outside her classroom every day after school
but the crows would always come and take her away
After a month it was the school disco
It smelled like sweaty plastic and adrenaline
We were avoiding each other
She knew she had lied and the crows attacked me
because of her little rumour
On the way to the disco her Mother
who I shared my mother's pasta recipe with
who braided my hair so many times
who painted my nails on my birthday
Yelled at my parents about their disgusting
eight year old (and a half)
while I sat there in the backseat and listened
Once again I envied the rotting bird
I saw her Mum at that disco
I felt my heart drop again,
by now I was used to the feeling
At the time I was so furious with her
for spreading those rumours
Now I pity her
I wonder what she must have been going through
In order to drive her only friend away
Maybe she also felt her first heartbreak that week
Maybe she envied the rotting bird corpse in the bathroom
Maybe she was just trying to distract the crows
waiting for their daily bread.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 7:16 AM UTC
Delusions about you,
My future, are both
Grandiose and frightening.
You are the ringleader
Overseeing the management
At a carnival ground.
Step up, you say to the child
As you grasp her around the waist
And lift her to a plastic pony
Twisting around the scenery.
In this spinning, if she stares
Long and hard
She can see the glorious paintings
In the swirl of colors,
But not the faces in pain,
Just the art on the walls
Growing brighter
At the sight of the sun
Sinking down into the earth,
Lighting its skies on fire.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 11:38 PM UTC
Corona
Covered in vines
Just like the door
On this hut of death
So much fog here
I think I lost it
Try and find it
Hold your breath
Walking on stilts
In a sackcloth
I remember that
Big funhouse slide
The big fish beast
And the captain siren
They all seek advice
One eye on the oven
21st century hag
Must be worse off than
Drunk and jetlagged
Rag-doll, cheap tag
And the seven dwarfs
Have a ringleader
It gave moral faces
To forces of nature
Fulfill your future sins
Reading of gods and myths
Tell me what came first
The green or the jealousy
Corona, corona
Covered in vines
Just like the door
On this hut of death
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 8:44 PM UTC
Screaming in silence
Suffocating in this skin
Clenching my teeth
From this white I’m surrounded in
I pray be blind in heaven, all this white makes me ill
This white space all these bland people fill
With all there failed hopes and all their failed dreams
If they just make it fake then it’s not what it seems
With all but nothing
And the nothing tries to lie
With blue and grey pigment put into the sky
And these colors and feeling placed into these people
And stained the church glass and gave it a steeple
And gave people green grass, flowers and trees
And on the stem of these flowers and branches put leaves
And gave them big boxes they all make there own
And in these big boxes they are all just alone
And gave them this God and all this belief
But its just deceit, a ringleader a chief
Well white you fooled them
But have not fooled me
I know that your hiding
Its them who don’t see
And I know that inside of me I am right
I know this is nothing, nothing but white
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
Harry the Hippo was a circus fave
For 15 years on the center stage.
He delighted kids young and old
Balancing ***** on his oversized nose.
Year after year
Show after show
Harry delighted
with his big, whopping nose.
No one under the big top
could have guessed
What horrible thing
Would happen next
From the front of crowd,
in a colorful seat,
A blond haired boy
tossed Harry a treat
Harry chomped it down
and continued his act,
Then
Suddenly
Harry stopped,
And fell flat on his back
Harry rolled right
Harry rolled left
then
Harry died a
Painful...
choking...
death
The Ringleader called for the hippo doc
Who told him that Harry died from
Anaphyalactic shock
Brought on by a child’s
Peanut lollipop
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
The stakes are higher than some of my
worst friends on herbal fire
because every time I toss a buck to
Luck,
that homeward bound ****
who sits outside my door
and whistles at golden ******
I lose even more
of my soul
from which I shovel the monetary coal
that stokes my furnace
and keeps me humble,
earnest,
and whole.
I want to let the ***** man in
so I can hear him confess his sin
and let him attempt to begin
a transformation
into a muse
that I can use
to write my information.
I wish I could write
of ice cube light
but all that comes to wish me good night
are the kisses of blurred sight
pecked by the fright
born of hesitant insight.
A kiss.
A kiss.
More so a bite.
Beggar,I beg of you
if you are true;
Whisper to my hands
the plans
you can have them to do.
Because I'm tired
of being a liar
who screams on soap mausoleums
and puts exhibits in false museums
of how his heart
goes into his art
but all he really adds is the ****
part of the flesh
stolen from the mouth of Descartes.
Were that Luck were behind
every inky tittle and line
I wouldn't have to waste all this time
trying to weave together this rhyme.
I want to be my muse.
For now, though,
she'll have to do.
V^V^V^V^V^V^V
She knows better than I.
She does, she does, she does.
She knows better than I.
And she,
my muse,
makes me want to die.
She does, she does, she does.
I give her my eye and
never
ever
does she return my sky-blue eye.
"You don't even want it!"
I cry.
I cry with my one eye.
Screaming and tears.
Screaming tears.
Tears scream, you know.
I like to put on little shows
with my lil' screamers
and charge love
and harlequin femurs.
Exchange for tickets.
Exchange for a show.
And I cry like a proper ringleader.
There's no business like show business.
There's no business I know.
A quality show
Would be my muse killing me slow.
Maybe with her poetry.
Maybe with her face.
Maybe with a knife
keeping sickly pace
with the beating
of the heart
of a headcase.
Or maybe with outer space
like rumors of second base
with black lace
cast off
with grace.
I want the world out of my headspace.
There's no room for her there.
She knows she can fit.
She does, she does, she does.
But I keep forgetting.
I do, I do, I do.
I hope she kills me slowly
before I do,
I do, I do.
I do.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
Each day when I rise and I walk out my door,
The world that I see isn’t mine anymore.
The rules are all bent so I can’t see their shape,
And on every street corner I pass police tape.
When you sign onto Twitter, catch up on the news,
But it might not be true, so watch out for the clues.
They say, “Hey, you’re transgender? We can’t let you fight.”
“Oh, you’re black? Or you’re Asian? We’re best ‘cause we’re white.”
If they’re caught in their lies, they don’t overreact,
Mumble “something-or-other alternative fact.
If you glance out your window one night and you find
A torch wielding mob, well, just never you mind.
Join the big three ring circus! Its painted faced clowns,
And its ringleader with his red white and blue crown!
So turn on your TV, watch the latest debate,
And what you will see is the next Watergate.
Or just do what I do, use your eyes and your heart,
Then you, too, can watch as fear tears us apart.
Or maybe it won’t, if enough of us see,
When we all work together, we still might break free.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 11:49 AM UTC
Every day is the same thing,
What keeps us moving,
The substance and the drugs that some keep abusing so
What is this world now?
Where is the count down?
If this is a circus then we're all just clowns!
The ringleader speaks and so think we must not
Instead we pop the pills that gives us courage once lost!
Amidst all the rot, flowers love me not,
Nature won't forgive for we have forgot!
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 4:57 AM UTC
Yup, that's right.
Don't be offended or upset.
It's very environmental,
recycling words.
True, the quality of literacy,
(have mercy on it!)
is getting quite strained
(not-so-good poems
*droppeth as the
gentle rain from heaven*).
Certain words are grumbling,
talking, overworked and overuse,
in poems that say nothing new
(they got their pride too!).
Rumors of unionizing going around,
increasing the minimum wage
to a passing grade,
and something like
a penny a letter,
and double for words,
not of the English language...
The ringleader I'm told
is the word itself
Words
tired from being in
59,649 poems (plus 1 now)
*Death, heartbreak and depression,
scars, cutting and sad,*
the most overwrought ones,
the children's beloved,
their never-ending
plastic ones trending,
under the weight collapsing
of boring and from
the pressure of overuse, bending.
The words have brought
the unrisen, alabaster body
of poor dead (oops)
Love (137,207 + 1)
as evidence of this
too long a verbal
season of victory.
Make no mistake,
among the guilty we be,
our sweet tooth
for these miscreants,
documented in black and white,
resting uncomfortably,
among our total of
171,500 words we've purportedly
recorded and employed.
The Writer's Guild,
all a titters, arms, up and akimbo,
the cries of poetry poverty
among the living thundering,
no longer
suffering silently,
ere the mendicancies cries
from Ye Olde York emanating,
seeking contributions
and donations,
minimum on PayPal,,
one whole dollar!
Well I have paid my dues,
much more than one
and much more than once,
would so again, annually,
as I could no more
surcease this gig,
for where to find
another profession that
pays so handsomely?
Let it not go unnoticed
like so many poems
left footed born,
themselves, unread, unnoticed,
that the ever increasing number of
Poets
is a good thing for the universe.
So many new humans each day,
from the black forest of
daily life's lessons emerge
choosing poetry to
conquer life's ailments.
For they bravely
having taking the
*road less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference,*
and the world,
a better place for it...
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
~for betterdays, and all Aussies~
the fires massifs all around, the smokes surrounds,
the house invaded with closed-out-of-college students,
mother and father who are similarly workless, a fire bounty,
all this a treat to an nine year old (no school) boy and his dog
newly self-appointed ringleader, the little boy,
in his fire heaven, with a gang to command, to entertain,
some adults, silly college students, who don’t know “no,”
when he says this is the game we are playing next
this vignette, is not a Manhattan variety^
but an insight story heard, unwitnessed, but of
those who tell the tale, unwittingly, of finding small joys
amidst sky-full clouds, all grayed bunting of burning stink
few wiser than my old, tired and smokey clouded eyes,
though, one yet detects those who are truly not lost,
those who are found, and those who will find them all,
and lead them to the safest places inside themselves
and my heart and brain, at last in unison,
forgives the restless adults who with grownup worries,
yet can! just barely detect those mini joy-rivulets among the whiffs
of destruction and bravery, losses and new hands extended
So I ask, Mum, what game shall we play next?
Perhaps, Noah’s Ark?
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 3:21 PM UTC
I dreamed of you the other night
in my drunken stupor
you were on the top of my mind
conquering what few brain cells
still had the power to resist
a quaalude on the tip of my tongue
you tempted me again
like a ghost from the grave
it's been over a year since I've seen you
spoken to you
and 30 seconds since I last thought of you
as usual
I've never spoken of you
to anyone, except here
this black hole of anonymous misery
this congregation of broken hearts,
lost souls, and lonely *****
just like me
I confessed you, us
to a friend
the one and only that remains
that I've also not seen in a year
the only one I've not let slip away
walk away
off into the oblivion of my memory
like I did you
I confessed my crime
my untruth,
spoken time and time again
I couldn't bear to let the words
the lie
slither over my teeth again
my confession of
my crime of heart
of mind
my **** was the real culprit
the ringleader, the conspirator
but my heart and mind
suffer the punishment
of solitary confinement
left only to reminisce of
innuendo, sweet daydreams,
sore muscles and drenched sheets
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC
i'll be dancing on your tightrope
praying that the winds don't change
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
A corpse inside and out,
the glass fogs thick,
concave, ready to crack.
My neck keens and twists, but still -
there you are.
I eat my screams to nothing,
teeth marks embedded in my desire.
Permanence beckons,
tells me I can sleep if I wish, but still -
there you are.
Past skin, past bone - there's
my heart.
Your ringleader and your acrobat.
Still it doesn't know.
Still I wish it did.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
The music chimes around everyone, as the clowns come out.
There for fun and happiness, don't trust them little one.
The balloons are filled with poison, and if popped, you know the result.
Do not give into their lies about joyous adventures and fun, fun, fun!
Never run away with the circus, the singer is out back, smoking her *** with the lions.
The acrobats are in their carriage making out.
The knife thrower is popping his pills, his costume covering the bandages from the encoring crowd
The clowns leading little girls into the forest, with a cheery smile.
A vile smile.
"It's just a game, now be quiet"
The elephants being whipped and running in circles,
a bear riding a little bike,
the horses gasping for air and dying for a drink.
How evil.
The ringleader getting off inside all the dancers, his performers, his workers. What a wonderful man.
The tent has risen, high and mighty on the east side of America, luring in the innocence of others that just want to feel joy.
Least some survive and are not touched by the vile truth, and are forced to dive down into acceptance.
They are not happy.
They are evil.
Real.
A cloud of smoke leaves the singers mouth, as her eyes are covered in a red shading, her green eyes popping out.
The knife throwers container dropped to the floor, his body throwing up blood, tearing itself up piece by piece.
A flashlight growing over the clown in the woods.
The girls leave the ringleaders carriage, as he throws his head back, consuming liquid courage, fighting off his demons from the past.
No one is truly happy, this is the real world.
Cruel, Corrupt, Sick, Twisted.
Wrong
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 9:28 PM UTC
You've gone and done it now
You blew it
I'm ******* crazy
I'll have you know
It's something I wear like a badge
This circus tent
You walked into
Well you've ****** them off
See,
The term "fuckin' carney"
Is offensive
You're cruel
You're crass
But I'll do you one better
I'm the ******* ringleader
Of these "fuckin' carneys"
We're no better than you
But wait, don't move
There's more in store
We've got a special exhibit to share
She eats flaming swords and slits throats
With her words
He charms snakes like Karma
Now Karma the snake is a real *****
You might go as far as to say
She's a real pain in the ***
And the twins on the tight rope
Murdered their father
On the way to west Italy
But if you think that's bad
You haven't met me
I'm the craziest *****
I'm the leader
The ringmaster
I'm also the most sane
But darling that elephant **** you
Just stepped in smells like perfume
When I stand next to you
Because you came
In here
Nose in the air
Dressed in your suit and tie
You came to a circus
Expected an opera
Then mentally ****** with my family
I will rip off
Each of your individual nails
And embed them in your throat
Then pluck your eyelashes
One by one
Telling you to make a wish
I'll send you on your merry scared way
Because I protect them first
Word to the Wise
Hunny, you don't **** with us crazies
'Cause honestly we're the worst
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
He will always be there
the serpent in the room,
Life in his burning tomb
Come one Come all
To the Family Circus
The walking Dead
Calculating numbers
in their Head
The RINGLEADER
Always in Control
Follow the Agenda
Play your Character’s part
Lose your Soul.
Come one Come all
To the Family Circus
TIGHT-ROPE WALKER
Notorious
Boyfriend Stocker,
Always a Smile
Painted on the CLOWN,
Who hides
An Emotional Frown.
Characters
in the same sick play
year after year
Fighting Fears and Tears
Control what you Do,
Control what to Say,
Predator becomes Prey
The Eyes look Away
The Eyes are the
Windows to the Heart
Where pretend Ends
And LIFE begins
A New Start
Come one Come all
To the Family Circus
The Extravaganza
called “Perfect”
Expectations,
NOBODY Wins
Their Lives are Filled
with too many SINS
How Long do We
have to STAY
BEFORE We can
make our GETAWAY.
Come one Come all
to the Family Circus
Watch the
TRAPEZE ARTEST
FALL,
The Absurdity
of it All
The DANCERS
on STILTS
Glide carefully
hiding their
Guilt
The MOST
Beautiful of Creatures
Look closely
At Her Features
Looks are DECEIVING
See the Wicked Web
She is Weaving
Come, one Come all
To the Family Circus
What God do you SERVE,
What do you Think
You Deserve?
Do you Feel
The Difference
In Their CALL
The Rarest of Rare
Nearly Nonexistent ,
A True CHRISTIAN.
BELIEVER
Who Stands
ARMOR READY
to fight
The greatest Deceiver
He will tell you a Story,
Parables and Sermons
of God’s Glory
In the HOLY SPIRIT
A Christian will drop
To Their KNEES
Yet at the
Family Circus
They DO
As they PLEASE.
Come one Come all
To the Family Circus
The Serpent in the room,
The Albatross
around your neck
Satan waiting
in his tomb,
Burning
The Prodical
SON returning
Come one Come all
to the Family Circus,
Here God’s CALL
Free Will
Affects
one and all.
William Shakespeare said it best
“What a tangled web we weave
when we practice to deceive”
Mar 16, 2023
Mar 16, 2023 at 3:57 AM UTC
Exotic tightrope walker
Trying to balance on your attacks
Failing to grasp
Why she keeps tumbling to the hard ground
A flexible contortionist
Twisting into a pretzel to please your desires
Apparently not flexible enough
You're greedy-- never content
Unfortunately not a reincarnation of Houdini
She can't escape your chains that bind her
You're the crazed ringleader
Words your whip leaving welts
Open invisible wounds
She can't seem to heal
In your circus she struggles
Clowns resembling death
Dance around her, throwing her down
You sat her on the dunk tank
Full of acid disguised as water
Hit the button dropping her
She can't resurface
Drowning in the acid that is you
Trying to tame the tiger
Never to realize it-- you
Can't be tamed
Always to be the gorgeous star
To your ongoing, fatal, black circus.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 8:14 PM UTC
The power of youth
Radiated from the eyes of young James
Dressed in his finest suit
Looking sharper than the edge of his knife that he stole
He ventured out into the young night to find the many others that could be mistaken as his twin, all unique copies of each other.
Soon enough he was drunk
Drunk to the point of no return
Drunk to the point that he couldn't help but feel
He, the ringleader lead on his army of youths
Running, Running to anywhere
Anywhere is better than being with the coppers
They loved to wind the coppers up without a care
All fun was over when they were caught
But the power of youth never fails to kick in
Cheered on by his friends, young James is spurred on to wind up the grumpy copper that roughly held his shoulder
The copper looked at the boy with pity in his eyes and asked
"Have you been drinking son?, you don't look old enough to me"
"I'm sorry officer is there a certain age you're s'posed to be?, no one told me"
The coppers eyes become littered with mirth at the response he wished he could keep hearing
Only one thought appeared in the mind of the copper, The power of youth.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC