"showman" poems
**† † †
A quorum of biblical scholars
turned their doubts into thousands of dollars.
Armed with Document Q
they revealed nothing new
but the dirt neath’ the white of their collars.
A proud “health & wealth” Oklahoman
was renowned as a gospel-tent showman.
While the scriptures he twisted,
their tithing assisted
his rise from poor hick to rich Roman.
A sexually diverse professor
(assured he was not a transgressor)
spoke only of openness
glossing sin’s brokenness;
rainbows and tolerance—yes sir.
A Mormon, who lost his own ephod
Realized he was running quite slipshod
and invoked Joseph Smith.
(Yes, it may be a myth—
but it’s not like misplacing your I-pod…)
A Christian whose faith was prophetic
held to views that were truly pathetic.
This crazed Pentecostal,
not quite an apostle,
had taken an End-Times emetic.
A sober and staid Presbyterian
was distrustful of thoughts millenarian.
After smoking some bud,
he awoke with a thud;
in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian.
A preacher who fleeced his disciples
overdrew his own balance of scruples.
He was finally captured
(defrocked and un-raptured)
and rent by his destitute pupils.
A sister who waxed Pentecostal,
mistook herself for an apostle.
Speaking pure glossolalia
she sure could regale ya’
with prophecy; crazy—but docile.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
They’ll be rockin’ in Heaven
Down St. Peter’s Gate Way.
Chuck Berry passed over,
But he still can play.
True King of Rock,
He’ll live for evermore.
And he’ll keep duck walking,
Along that golden shore.
His guitar keeps twanging,
Wah wah tlang tang tang.
Ya want a Showman?
Chuck’s still yer man.
He died at ninety.
It was very sad.
But now he’s up there,
I’m sure that God is glad.
He’ll love that Rock N Roll Music,
Chuck’s sense of humour too.
A touch of Devil also,
When he sings the blues.
So all you Saints and Angels,
You better move and hurry,
For they all want to dance with
That amazing Chuck Berry.
Paul Butters
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 6:10 AM UTC
For me, the naked and the ****
(By lexicographers construed
As synonyms that should express
The same deficiency of dress
Or shelter) stand as wide apart
As love from lies, or truth from art.
Lovers without reproach will gaze
On bodies naked and ablaze;
The Hippocratic eye will see
In nakedness, anatomy;
And naked shines the Goddess when
She mounts her lion among men.
The **** are bold, the **** are sly
To hold each treasonable eye.
While draping by a showman's trick
Their dishabille in rhetoric,
They grin a mock-religious grin
Of scorn at those of naked skin.
The naked, therefore, who compete
Against the **** may know defeat;
Yet when they both together tread
The briary pastures of the dead,
By Gorgons with long whips pursued,
How naked go the sometime ****
4.2k
At a Parisean restaurant
In a quarter undisclosed
Unaware of everything
The diners sat exposed
As Clara and the Prince sat down
And prepared to eat their meal
Backstage the musician equipped himself
The theft who had yet to steal
As menus and music case opened
The scene was set for all
And as Rigo Jancsi took the stage
The crowd fell quiet, enthralled
The gyspy was a showman
His weapon a violin
A tune danced out across the room
As the strings began to sing
Playing notes of tales untold
His melody charmed her soul
The music pulled her heart to his
Over her husband's buttered roll
Captivated, entranced and mesmerised
Seduced by another life
And when the gypsy left that night
He took the Prince's wife
They ran away and married
A scandalous affair
Society was most surprised
But our story does not end there...
Hungarian tales tell of the man
Whose music stole a heart
Remembered in a chocolate cake
And puppets, songs and art
One hundred long years later
The guitar boy from the band
Strummed his notes and stole the girl
Heartstrings were played by hand
Two stories a century apart
What makes these stories the same?
Because the boy's band of musicians
Used the Hungarian gypsy's name
Dec 9, 2009
Dec 9, 2009 at 6:23 AM UTC
Tensions high,
like broken kite strings,
reaching further away,
escaping the empty earth
in your arms.
Creeping chatter,
pouring inky letters,
in runny messes
all over my hands,
feeling bruised by you;
the sting, the slap
as leaking words
drip drip drip
from your mouth,
the broken tap.
I’m tired.
I’m so tired of hearing
soft
whispered yearnings
scratching the back of your throat.
Desperation, loneliness?
You beg with the croon in your tone,
you play along like the gentle little
sweetling,
a songful, humming love,
all warm in cupped hands.
In all this time,
this achingly long time
I’ve played as your neat little trick;
the showman’s trusty pet,
small dove flying
as soon and only when you release me.
String caught up around my waist,
I’ll never fly too far.
As I walked away,
that night with the moon trailing my form,
and pooling in pillows cradled in my soft footsteps,
you watched my back
stretch lean and tall and
stand
away from you.
You looked back,
it was the moon shifting through my hair,
when I turned to notice
a head shake,
a blink in the empty settling air you left behind.
….Drip….drip….drip,
you leak all those notions I wished you
would one day say,
those heart-melting flatteries,
desirable admissions,
I’m the only one you want,
to keep you satisfied,
keep you going and touching and loving
and exploring and breaking,
until your other girl comes home.
You ask and plead and return,
lapping and licking in my arms,
wanting my form so bad again;
you cry for all the fun in the world,
but this time, it just can’t.
You’re just my broken tap.
You’d need to stop dripping ***** water one day.
You’d need to stop echoing around me at night,
cradling myself to keep my strength enough
to say no to what I wanted and got for so long.
But you’re just my delicate and lovely broken tap.
I’ll always love you somehow, and feel so dangerous,
intoxicating and breathtaking
as you made me so.
You showed me so.
But I can’t wait for you to cease on your own.
Pull me round with you, wait for you,
tossed like an empty drink because of you.
Maybe
I just need to let you
let me go.
Like I cried to let you go first.
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
i never pegged you for someone
swept up by razzle dazzle,
infatuated with muscle men,
acrobats, and stars.
your view on animal rights,
seemingly discarded,
for an elephant's tricks,
the lion tamer's whip,
the tent apparently blocking out
harsh judging light.
i viewed you as critical,
skeptical of spectacle,
squinting unsure,
behind those black wayfarers,
the image constructed in my mind,
supported by that vintage dress,
the style of your hair,
the music you listened to
on the car ride over,
how can you be satisfied
with this carnival fare?
frivolous displays favoured
over subtle gestures,
superficial appearances favoured
over chemistry,
hollow showman dialogue
echoing over loudspeakers
favoured over a conversation,
perhaps i'm a hypocrite,
your attributes simply skewed,
by my being swept up in the
razzle dazzle spectacle
of you.
(i'll be in the hall of mirrors)
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 1:38 AM UTC
628
They called me to the Window, for
” ’Twas Sunset”—Some one said—
I only saw a Sapphire Farm—
And just a Single Herd—
Of Opal Cattle—feeding far
Upon so vain a Hill—
As even while I looked—dissolved—
Nor Cattle were—nor Soil—
But in their stead—a Sea—displayed—
And Ships—of such a size
As Crew of Mountains—could afford—
And Decks—to seat the skies—
This—too—the Showman rubbed away—
And when I looked again—
Nor Farm—nor Opal Herd—was there—
Nor Mediterranean—
2.1k
She was our first grandchild
And naturally
We loved her dearly
And I adored her
As only grand-dads can
And she latched onto me
She used to come to us every Tuesday
At a time when kids are most interesting
She was fully conversational
(Didn't we all know it)
Her personality was emerging
And she was still young enough
To have her originality and imagination
My little gold mine of joy
And this is how it would go
"Grand-dad, you be the shop keeper
And I'll bring my dollies in for clothes."
So she would lay out her doll's outfits
And bring her dolls forward to buy clothes
She would haggle over the price (and win)
And pay me in cardboard coins
"Let's watch a video, Grand-dad!
Let's watch Barny!" (Again)
I hate that ****** purple dinosaur
And Katie thinks he's wonderful
That smarmy voice of his
"I love you and you love me,"
I bleeding don't you know
I wouldn't let him within a hundred miles
Of any kids of mine.
In the course of the day
I would be called upon
To play multiple parts in
Everything from The Three Bears
To Little Red Riding Hood
In which I memorably became
Big Bad Wolf and Grandma
And presumably ate myself
But the highlight of the day
Was the last thing before she went home
The weekly show
"Introduce me, Grand-dad!"
In my best showman's voice
"Ladies and gentlemen...!"
To my wife and dog
"...The moment you've been waiting for.
Fresh from her recent tour
Of our back garden.....
Miss Katie......."
"Katie Spice, Grand-dad."
"Miss Katie SPICE!"
Into some popular ditty of the day
Issuing from her at full volume
Then she would stop mid-line
While she did a little dance step
All greeted by thunderous applause
In her head it was Carnegie Hall
Rather than my wife, my dog and me
So, a happy end to a happy day
Then Katie went home
And I slipped into an exhausted coma
By Phil Roberts
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC
Come as you are
You are my bright, shining star
Am I really up to par?
Do you want to take this far?
He’s as cute as a button
Always dresses in blue cotton
Love how he is funny and sarcastic
Gets a kick out of my being dramatic
Voice like an angel, body like the devil
You really get me. Want to take it to the next level?
He calms my panic
Makes my heart feel gigantic
He points me left or right
when I lose direction
He is my dreamy knight
and always showers me with affection
Sweet puppy dog eyes
An adorably perfect smile
You can easily melt me and hypnotize
While sipping your chamomile
It was kind of love at first sight
Didn’t really know what was wrong and how to feel right
Until I met you and now I finally know what to do
You are my absolute dream come true
You are my best friend and lover
You make me feel like no other
You are certainly nobody’s pushover
That conflict with Ronnie should blow over
The truth is that you mean the world to me
You are the showman and the Cabaret’s Emcee
And for your next role as future husband to me
Oh how very happy we will be!
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 2:19 AM UTC
babbling bard's borrowed blabberpolished performers jibber jabberpinching published stolen cultureverse of a cuckoo, parrot, or vulture thespian thrush corally crowspilfered produce of past masters proseperfect posture, prancing croondotty damsels sigh and swoon shakespearian showman strutting stagesobtaining material from dead poets pagesstudious stealer's theatrical thirstrapturous robber, magpie of verse wisely walter mundane mittypoetical poacher prancing prettyempty shallow pretentious crookcrafty criminal compiling book robber of rhyme from archival shelfcopy-cat crooner can't do it himselfrouted teeth spout from mouth like a troutaudience wonder, what is he on about any question's? the laurete quizzedyes said one,...do you know where the bog is? this is a true story, i was there. and the **** concerned is the editor of poetry wales magazine. who told me that i should study other peoples work for at least five years before i put pen to paper. i promptly answered, .... too late butty, i've already published 3 books, and sold the lot (only locally mind, but did'nt tell him that). he read other peoples poems that night, that were converted from english to welsh, and no one round here speaks or understands welsh.
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 12:36 PM UTC
a quart of tequila,
still no feelings,
spinning ceilings beneath me,
in my venomous state,
we went to comedy night at the viper room.
torn to shreds in the front row,
of a gung ** americanised show.
i came because the river still flows,
with depp and the stageshows from the whiskey a go go,
directly opposite the pavement.
the boulevard was full of cars,
and homeless superstars,
that made it far,
but not past the stars on the walk of fame,
Holly would never be the same again.
******* *******
we walked past the cast of a bottomless flask,
cast in the shadows of the sorrows of rodeo drive,
staying alive is easy,
follow,
the yellow brick road and wish for a dollar.
tomorrow is another day.
i seen a man of my same age,
he was a traveller,
vocabular immaculate,
hair cut ****** dindn’t shave much,
one of the same touch.
grubby hands and unfinished plans.
his sign said, were ******
i teared up,
he looked up and stood up and we hugged.
i could see me in his weird look.
just another rhyme in my page book.
i gave him a bag of survival necessities,
i hunted him down after 24 hours.
i was worried to go back,
and finish what i started.
i consider the concept as an artist,
but the truth is this,
the humanist within,
could never miss that appointment.
he sat there in the same spot,
and if i didn’t come,
he could of lost faith in the promise of a circumstance.
i took a certain stance,
he said he was a traveller,
a poet with grubby hands,
i held him with open arms.
i don’t worry about him,
i worry about you,
a ***** and the truth,
trumps and mansion and no use.
i’ve read between the lines,
and wrote this motion on tightropes and suspended emotion.
they want a showman,
but when we show them the ocean,
the don’t want to know the deepest minds inclined.
absolutley,
mutiny in the ranks,
my heart sank when you decided to revamp,
your opinion of me implicitly.
minor to me,
skeleton key to multiple routes.
i never gave a **** about your opinions then,
and I certainly don't give a **** now,
nor have i ever,
stared the gift horse in the mouth.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
It's a long shot but I have to hold out hope
That someone, somewhere out there is rooting for the loser 'cause I'm running out of rope
And at the end of that rope is no place to find a future
Spoiler
You'll only ever find the end there
I know I'm not going to win, will never be of note
There's never been anyone at the end cause I'm not worth sticking around for through thick and thin...
...I know
I'm the one making that almost impossible
My minds a riddle, my past is a hurtle
Im the worst one man show showman
I don't choose to be alone
I try to build a home
But I can't afford land that's not sand
So my foundation can never be as strong as I hope I am
As competent as I need to be to be the man I want to be
It's sad to know that man will never be seen...
...fade to black...
...end scene.
©2024
Feb 7, 2024
Feb 7, 2024 at 3:02 PM UTC
I hide in the dark
Where I shed light on the walls,
The showman performs behind me and I only see a silhouette
I'm fighting with shadows.
Shadow boxing with shadow puppets,
The candle that light that fire will fall and the puppetry will disappear.
My hands still tied to the chair.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
She is unfinished stories and dog-eared adventure books. She is adorned with string lights and stray cat toys, an overflowing junk drawer and a perfectly loud laugh. She is kind brown eyes and witty comments. She is first.
He is pastel tears and bird feathers. He is Twenty One Pilots' lyrics and faded polaroids. He speaks in hushed tones and drinks mint tea. He will hold and let himself be held. He is empathy.
She is firey spirit and winged eyeliner. Glitter and badassery. She is scarred and beautiful. She protects and yells. Cries and laughs. She is ***** jokes and black clothes. She is who I am too timid to be.
He is a lone flame and endless darkness all at once. He is a sharp blade and subdued smile. Strong coffee, pop-tarts, and ripped jeans. Tae kwon do and boy scouts. He is too often forgotten.
She is buck teeth and Greatest Showman lyrics. Stubbornness and freckles. Conceals her self-consciousness with mock confidence. Funny faces and the best dance moves. She hides my things and steals my clothes. She stirs up trouble in the best way.
He is soft smiles and lego armies. He loves cats and make-believe (though video games are his first love). Creates pillow forts and mysteries, art and movie magic. He wears glowstick necklaces and no shirt proudly, as he should. He loves my heart.
She is willow trees and afternoon tea. Gentle rain and improv games. Quirky and polite, she is decorated with her gap-toothed smile and childish style. She hands out stickers and strums her ukelele with affection. She inspires me.
He. Oh God, he. He is summer skies and skateboards. Braces and freckles. He is a shell-collector and songwriter. He loves the stage. Compassion and hand-holding, cheek kisses and free smiles. He is devotion.
They hold me, and I hold them. We cry, we laugh, we hate. We sing and we dance, we talk about our dreams. We depend on each other. We love one another. Many would not be here without me.
And I couldn't be here without them.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC
showman is marksmanship
showman is a higher mark of a marksmanship
a higher mark is a higher marksmanship
a higher mark is a higher showman
showmanship is marksmanship
science is a marksmanship
science is a showman
science is a documentation
documentation is science showmanship
the universe is a documentation of a showmanship
the universe is a documentation of science
the universe is a higher mark of a documentation
the universe is a higher mark of a showman
science is a showmanship of a documentation
showmanship is showmanship of science
showmanship is showmanship of a documentation
the universe is a universe showmanship
a showman is a showmanship of a marksmanship
a showman is a showman of science
a showman is a showman of a universe
a showman is a higher mark of a showman
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 2:43 PM UTC
zen manipulate electrons in various states\
migrate matter within range negate radiation\
indicate particles of ambiguous qualities heart\
rate acceding mean mug gimmickry deflower\
showman stalemate minute of the meeting\
bonsai tree focus attention on mental desertion\
of a post without permission leaving duty\
unconcerned possess contrite phase clout\
initiate conduction butterfly effect\
unconditional require dissertation variation
in the future scale systems of education\
consume clones dogmatic zone emphatic\
wormhole between widely abused encompass\
those sadly disturbing amused separate connect\
ions space time continuum chromium address\
headless tune ⍏ chyme divine combine celestial\
sign ⍏ bodies pine guide ⍏ shrine unleash\
out zipper little dipper stick
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 9:42 AM UTC
Let this one stay
Don't take it away
Maybe I got swayed
But it's part of the play
For to keep people astray
Your magical spells awaits
Showman walks another way
The audience is left to sit amazed
Go home, the show has to terminate
Take all with you, feelings and your case
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
My father was always
a bit of a showman
but I'll never know
if he was aware of that
fact
as he would stand up a little
straighter and puff out his
chest and his slight
Ohio/Texas twang would
become a full on
Sam Elliot drawl
but three octaves lower
like he was a real life cowboy
only to be outdone
by his favorite president
Ol' Papa Reagan
and I guess I found it strange
that he could never really
get into the role
of being a caring, kind, and sweet
parent
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 12:20 PM UTC
There was a young man named John Bowman
Who was renowned as a bit of a showman
He practiced Yoga
Dressed in a toga
Convinced that he was a real Roman
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
"Oh how wonderful it is
to wake up
everyday
and
be
someone
else?"
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 4:18 AM UTC
Impending rain through the gut rut strain
A letter stamped and ready to gain
Impending media menaces straight on through
A touch of pepper was what she wanted to know
A listen of the booth towards the man's moon lit
Whistle for the sinister because we all got sisters
Either you hear me
Or you ain't got nothing to say
Good night to the morning because I ain't trying to see you
We used to be something but things got boring
Bent post cards meant everything she meant to lie
Cut another piece of that fibbing apple pie
A showman knows when the audience is rolling
They breathe it in and know when it stinks
Thanks for the lot but smother me another time
I got some reasons I ain't feeling fine
Puking out the nonsense so I don't walk it off
Curb stump near me so I can start to bear it
A silly **** bump near the ever clear rear
Wishing for the fear to leave me every night dear
Dawn break sticks near my window right about now
Eye rubbing madness for the cook that boils sadness
Cash for me with my woman far away
Round this corner I think I might have my stay
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 10:17 PM UTC
One step back, two steps forward,
Swing around and do the dance,
Keep it fast, a little awkward
A whole world audience to entrance.
Now you've got them captivated
Up the tempo, raise the heat,
Some may need to be sedated
As they wither from your beat.
Hearts loud-pounding, foreheads thumping,
Gasping air among the shouts,
Doomsayers bleating, markets jumping,
Second guessing, full of doubts.
Quite the showman, what a show,
Media breathless wanting more,
Fans elated, bask in tow,
Others crowing, keeping score.
Just the start, watch him work,
Revelations by the day,
Not all true, surprises lurk,
Act with haste, keep foes at bay.
As for us enthralled spectators
Barely able to keep track,
Cajoled and pressed by paid narrators,
Every week a heart attack.
If we can but drown the chatter,
Keep a cool head, crack a smile,
Train our thoughts to things that matter,
Take the long view, wait a while.
Let the music work its magic,
His gyrations entertain,
Learn that life need not be tragic,
See the sunshine through the rain.
RAI 5/25
May 3, 2025
May 3, 2025 at 1:12 PM UTC