"sideshow" poems
Melting down, crossing barriers, breaking out, stepping round.
Pieces fragmenting, character isolating. Green-acid, hair follicles, white is the blank slate, painting blues with reds.
Freaks from a sideshow, muscles in the sea, six-packs in a grog-shop, dancing improperly.
Beguiled by your bounce, sleep-walking this town. Fine is the white wine, poisoning the liver, spining on a sixpence, ********** follows dinner.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
I am nature
I am open and wild and free
I am the wind rushing down canyons and the hollering in banyans
I am a bird that sings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am civilization.
The trapped, fluorescent lighting in a library basement.
The cake walks and small talks and forced conversation.
I am the beeps and hums and dirt on bums.
I’m the faraway cell phone that rings.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.
I am exuberance
A child giggling loud sounds of joy
Puzzle completers and Christmas toys
Smiles and laughs and leaves of grass
The casino machine that dings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am anger.
Tears, scares, and not fighting fair.
I am the red in your eyes as you cry.
I am a ghoul that comes out in the night.
I am the cut that won’t cease to sting.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.
I am ideas
Originality through and through
Creations of my own evolve in my mind
Great sinewy thoughts searching for actions to bind
Mister Cleans and Daedalus wings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am silence.
Quiet. Tight. Composure.
Open. Weary. Closure.
I am the stillness of being.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.*
I am alive
I set Rube Goldberg machines into action
I contemplate, gravitate, and try not to hate
I breathe and I heave and I believe
I use my eyes to see
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am dead.
I’m a sideshow reflection of the man I could be.
I am lazy cold and clammy.
Hopefully I can get my heart beating again.
Then I could be me, molecules upon cells upon bones against things
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
The posters said tomorrow
At eleven on the dot
The Mishkin Brothers Circus
Would be here ....on this spot
There would be no carnival or midway
Just one tent and three rings
And all of the excitement
That a good old circus brings
There would be elephants and lions
Trapeze artists overhead
Dancing dogs and ponies
And zebras painted red
Clowns of all description
Answering to just one man
In the center of the circle
Was Mishkin brother....Dan
He'd run the show for twenty years
Gone from town to town to town
In one day they would get set up
And in two, they'd tear it down
One day to show the locals
The circus still was an event
With magic, form the Barnum Days
All housed inside one tent
The sideshow barkers and their geeks
Were not with this fine group
Dan Mishkin had assembled
Only the finest circus troup
From Russia he had jugglers
Knife throwers, just the best
******** riders from Decatur
Along with all the rest
Fourteen trucks and trailers
Pulled into town the night before
Breaking ground once they arrived
Working right through until four
Just old time entertainment
No travelling gypsy band was this
It was the Mishkin Brothers Circus
It was something not to miss
The show was started promptly
At twelve o'clock, like the sign said
A parade of all the players
And the zebras painted red
Two shows and it was over
The whole routine began anew
The field was once more empty
Gone was the Mishkin rolling zoo
A year from now, we'd see the signs
And we'd all go to the tent
To see the Mishkin Brothers Circus
The best money ever spent
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
at this point
means:
river deer
like you’ve never seen.
a soup bowl; empty, aglow.
another’s head
in my hands.
coordination.
energy.
receiving the word
a day late
that energy
has arrived.
marriage, or a single
parent
torn.
perfectly mediocre terror.
a love of statues.
love of placards.
showing my son
the man I’ve chosen
to remember him by.
art not reflective of, or art
sideshow.
knowing the kids of others.
knowing just how many gifts
god had.
that the word overcome
has always been
past tense.
weight gain. weight loss.
detecting
no difference
in weight.
telescope, or the long
thin hat
of god.
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 3:28 AM UTC
but you are smooth in full regalia
reptilian in your lounge suit
your westchester upbringing
shows in your brooks brothers snake skin boots
so she knows your from old school money
and plants a perfumed eye on your rear end
it sticks there like sweaty glue
every inch of her polished skin
fermented at great expense
and you thought suntans were hard to pay off
try having the ***** pickled in whiskey
but the divorce would leave you
a destitute sideshow on rodeo drive
with nothing but your mansion and your jag
standing between you and the unwashed masses
so you make her slap on another layer of makeup
you drop another crotch rocket happy hardness pill
and slip a few more bucks over the border to Switzerland
and drop a quick prayer to the twin god of Morgan and Stanley
that the market holds for one more day
lounge lizard
pushing seventy
with a twenty two year old ******
on one arm
and the keys to the rolls clutched in your liver spotted hand
your ready for anything
you may be king of the florida keys
but
gotta respect the cash flow
if what your pointless poison
bites off your **** more than goes into your mouth
then ya gotta wonder kiddo
if moving back to the homestead
in Spuyten Duyvil
might be better than lettin lifestyle carjack your life
that twenty two year old ***** you got poured all over your lap
has more spider in her than girlish charm
shes a train wreck waiting to happen
ill get ya to the border safe and sound
don't 'cha worry bout that
have you headed north
fore they even know your gone
may be the king of the florida keys
but it high time we get ya
back to brooklyn fore they bury you down here
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
Byron and I play
The All Topics Open.
Eighteen holes
Invariably draws nostalgic.
Byron mentioned he went to the WWF in Detroit.
I sliced into a childhood memory
Of midgets at Cobo Hall:
Cobo Hall, Saturday Night. Be there!
Byron started pitching old wrestlers and holds:
Leaping Larry Shane, great with the Anaconda Vice;
Killer Kowalski vs. Bobo Brazil, pinned by the Crucifix and Abdominal Stretch;
**** the Bruiser* tagging with The Sheik
To defeat Gorgeous George and Crybaby McCarthy.
Byron went on in detail, with tabernacle authority:
“It was a Bear Hug that quickly swung in to a Quarter,
then Half,
then Full Nelson;
Crybaby bounced off a knee,
Was driven to the mat and pinned
By a Front Sleeper.”
(Jimmy's newborn picture faded in,
and the pose he naturally struck
baby arms
cocked like a sideshow muscle man
Daddy quipped: **** the Bruiser*.
I was Leaping Larry Shane.
Daddy quipped: Larry the Stooge.
I didn't see that move)
Byron was intense. I could hear, but
I was zoning.
Crybaby and Front Sleeper dazed me.
How time Venns.
I was pinned today.
I recognized the feeling.
Tagged, then pinned by
The inescapable
Baby Nelson.
You know the hold.
On your back.
Baby on chest, face down.
Pinned.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
Twinkling lights
Signs painted with gold
Screams fleeing from carnival rides
Secrets to behold
Wandering around, see the sideshow freaks
Stay away from Envy, Pride, and Greed
Children run by carrying goods and candy
Run to their mothers
Saying they're fine, they're dandy
Moving to the large striped tent
Inside to the music I went
Splendor danced which made magical eyes
Stay away from the edges
that's where torment lies
The lights are dimming, it's time to go
Vile perceptions are coming, it's the end of the show
I'll be back soon, I know I will
Remember, stay in the light of the carousel
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
Some say the end is near.
Some say we'll see Armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will.
I sure could use a vacation from this
********
three
ring
circus sideshow of
freaks here in this hopeless ******* hole we call L.A.,
The only way to fix it is to flush it all away.
Any ******* time. Any ******* day.
Learn to swim, I'll see you down in Arizona Bay.
Fret for your figure and
Fret for your latte and
Fret for your lawsuit and
Fret for your hairpiece and
Fret for your Prozac and
Fret for your pilot and
Fret for your contract and
Fret for your car,
It's a ********
three
ring
circus sideshow of
freaks here in this hopeless ******* hole we call L.A.,
The only way to fix it is to flush it all away.
Any ******* time. Any ******* day.
Learn to swim, I'll see you down in Arizona Bay.
Some say a comet will fall from the sky.
Followed by meteor showers and tidal waves.
Followed by fault lines that cannot sit still.
Followed by millions of dumbfounded dipshits.
Some say the end is near.
Some say we'll see Armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will cause
I sure could use a vacation from this
Stupid **** silly **** stupid ****
One great big festering neon distraction,
I've a suggestion to keep you all occupied:
Learn to swim. [x2]
Mom's gonna fix it all soon.
Mom's coming 'round to put it back the way it ought to be.
Learn to swim.
**** L. Ron Hubbard and **** all his clones.
**** all these gun-toting
Hip gangster wannabes.
Learn to swim.
**** retro anything.
**** your tattoos.
**** all you junkies and **** your short memory.
Learn to swim.
**** smiley glad-hands with hidden agendas.
**** these dysfunctional, Insecure actresses.
Learn to swim.
Cause I'm praying for the end;
I'm praying for tidal waves
I wanna see the ground give way.
I wanna watch it all go down.
Mom, please flush it all away!
I wanna see it go right in and down.
I wanna watch it go right in.
Watch you flush it all away.
Time to bring it down again.
Don't just call me pessimist.
Try and read between the lines.
I can't imagine why you wouldn't
Welcome any change, my friend.
I wanna see it all come down.
**** it down.
Flush it down.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
I've been walking all alone in a sideshow
There has been passion and pain on this ride
There is a voice I hear calling
The voice rises from my souls very inside
For a time I didn't know what was calling
With my head as if lost at sea
But today I knew what was calling
It was all of my choices taunting me
I think of the people here in the sideshow
Like me they wonder around so confused
Every day they make their choices
But which ones do they choose?
We all go through life with choices
All as a blind man feeling his way
Always hoping for good choices
Ones that encourage the passion to stay
Passion can thrive on our choices
It can make our most memorable day
But a badly considered choice
Can chase forever our passion away
My trip has been filled with choices
Some rough and some divine
I have dealt with my choices
I have dealt with many that weren't mine
I am here near the end of the sideshow
I look back to where I have been
My eyes are filled with loneliness
I have lost most of the passion I've seen
When you get near the end of your sideshow
I hope you have learned from my way
I hope you make choices
That allows all your passions to stay
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
The Taste of Bitter Grapes
November 1, 2012
The taste of bitter grapes is what they do to me.
Do they ever wonder why people are so strange?
Of course not, for they are usual as in their ordinary lives.
I make a splash, and bring tidings of vitality.
Only to flop like a fish, utterly uninterested, outside their tiny ponds.
I chomp chomp on their hearts.
Tug on their brains with my toll on their souls.
But what's in it for me?
They become another casualty, and then nothing more than my inventory.
Maybe this hole was a birth defect.
Something like a mole?
I don't really want to know.
To get on with my days, I just need it not to show.
So, solid snow of this barren baron.
Please excuse these hoes, and the rakes too.
They didn't realize they were just a sideshow.
The main attraction is to never possess any true attraction and see how these things go.
Until I finally find my first true delight.
This is my plight.
I take another bite.
Of these bitter grapes.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
Yesterday and today and again tomorrow
Regrets build up from day to day
To the last moment of my waning life
And all my yesterdays have guided me
Towards my longed for death, so **** you, brief candle.
Life's just a passing sideshow, poor interval
To fill in the time between TV shows and football -
So pass another beer - life's just a ragged tail
Wagged by an idiot, it's **** and *** and ***** -
And then there's **** all left.
Know you whichever tempestuous idiot declar'd
O wonder how many goodly creatures are there here
And how beautious whining mankind be?
O brave new ******* pointless world
That has such people in't or some such futility
Needeth yet her brains examining forsooth
And has ne'er seen Wolverhampton ill-lit by moonlight.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
.
Where will the circus fall,
leaving giraffes homeless,
as pitched tents get pitched
and sideshow freaks
become the norm,
guessing someone’s weight
who doesn’t care
When the sun sets
tablecloth desires
on a silverware runway
with dishes made of gold
and wine glasses half full
are spilled in sad regrets
Will I walk alone
on a cobblestone road,
counting windows without shades
laced with flat screen televisions
tuned to the wrong channel,
reruns in Technicolor
Broadcasting seeded visions
in open fields of tall grass
when Eric Burdon sang
and cherry trees once stood
producing the fruit
of a past I no longer
want to see
Where will the circus fall,
where will I fall
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:47 AM UTC
for my first act,
my mind is drawn and quartered.
for my second act,
my body is crushed with heavy stones.
for my third act: i must sew my mouth shut
when all i want to do is rip my throat open from the force of my scream.
the pain of the needle grounds me
though it is not sterile, it is all i have.
my monstrous blood swiftly stains the thread, the stage,
and, less importantly, my clothes.
"my mother never taught me to sew," i say with a smile,
"but she did tell me that i talk too much."
when i am finished, i bow with a flourish,
to scattered applause.
the crowd has quickly become bored.
they have seen this tired performance before,
they crave something new.
they demand entertainment.
so, i will give them the show they want;
for my final act, i will disappear.
Oct 20, 2022
Oct 20, 2022 at 9:53 PM UTC
*** sells
and so does sadism
sold to bored housewives
and professional women
breaking through
glass ceilings.
almost mid-way through
the sixth decade of existence on terra firma
there is a lot that gnaws away like a locust
at the soft underside of consciousness.
***
everywhere.
and the trap of biology.
women illustrated like circus sideshow attractions
ride naked on horses through the grimy marketplace
of stolen and bankrupt ideas.
*** minus monosodium glutamate.
you’ll like it better if you’re
tressed with plaits of golden silk
in a turquoise dungeon.
this morning
tortured by dreams. a ********** of the mind
teasing sunlight on a blasted dais. she’s a *****
worshipped by the masses.
madison avenue
hollywood
the sound of debit cards
in the wind.
the high art
of the american landscape
is kim kardashian
naked
her ***
blotting out
the sun.
while
poets drown
silently
down in
the shadow
of that wondrous
eclipse.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
Are we on my **** yet?
Because it's coming up
Conversation of time
six to noon
Innuendo
Ending up inside of you
It was going to happen
Sooner rather than
Lather you later
******* up with new
Ways to make pretzels
Carnival sideshow
We make *******
Confections
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
It is becoming harder to find people who refuse to be cowed by fear, and made to hate.
Our borders are a circus sideshow; we sit in increasingly uncomfortable pews and watch the sad, desperate clowns beg for some of our popcorn, and the chance to sit down and rest, for just a little while. We don’t want the popcorn; we want hotdogs and french fries but it all costs too much these days, and that’s their fault too.
Build more fences, send more dogs.
Children scream as their ears bleed but they aren’t ours, they aren’t anywhere near ours. They aren’t anything to do with us and it isn’t our fault or our problem. A young boy washes in the sea closer to home. The salt stings and his body starves and he’s the ultimate unwanted. He wants to return to a home that will hurt him even more, and to a family returned to the earth. Blame the French. Blame the Greeks. Blame the Muslims and the Syrians, the swarming, stinking hordes.
So come to the circus, and bring your kids, 3000 crying clowns, all walking the tightrope without a net. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my. The horses have bolted and the dancing girls have all been sliced in two. The ringmaster never drops his whip. He sits in the centre and laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
Deja Vu has become an inconvenience in my life.
See double; stop to see; faint then see; I see
everything; twice is what I see.
Bright flash before repetition occurs.
Like a warning flash, but I can't hide.
I'm captured.
A chemical imbalance.
A negative developed.
Start reel; cut negative; rewind; see?
Rewind- Rewind, see?
Maybe if I ignore it all.
Maybe if I ignore it all.
A loop. No new direction.
Maybe if I ignore it all,
I can capture my own images.
Collect and store them.
A sideshow is the last thing I need.
Because right now I have my days memorized.
And if practice makes perfect.
Then I have reached my peak.
Rewind- see?
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 10:03 PM UTC
There are several truths that float here
Like leaves on winters infinite pool
And sometimes sink after hours, further,
Into the depth of my breakable mind.
I am almost always clothed to the body
Of an undetermined tomorrow,
Suffocating in the sleeves
Of any hopes shirt.
Keep you, I have been, for there
In the dirt road of my eyelids
You play with the riddled veins
Light cables unmet by reason.
It is not a tragedy, because
sideshow children were once living
And in their surrounds
Alive, beautiful people breathed.
I will be eluded by a string of pacifiers
A mobile above my head at night
But in-between lies of mystic creatures
And pearl planets, I will always be met by myself.
Sep 6, 2010
Sep 6, 2010 at 5:59 AM UTC
Crossroads are a particular
kind of place where mythology
and actuality combine,
mix and dance with your shadow.
Limitlessness has a name
and social security number
in your restlessness
and your ambitiousness.
I've performed in cafes and on street corners,
In bookshops and depots,
woods and public restrooms
with the junkyard profits
desperately clutching to my clothes,
refusing my money
but begging for my love.
But now I am at the crossroads.
The smoke from my soul
comes in, forces me to turn around,
turn around turn around,
and see the faces,
so many different faces,
all those who have
loved me,
mocked me,
befriended me,
mentored,
hated,
changed
maimed
spit in my eye
called me what they thought I was.
So many faces.
So many eyes full of dreams and ire.
How many would I come to know again?
Who would become fortune tellers
blues-men
teachers
cops preachers
mathematicians builders destroyers
soldiers of fortune
businessmen liars or junkyard prophets?
Who will become like smoke in the fog,
slightly hazy lost-boys
off to never-never land,
never to be seen or heard from
except for the cries that whisper
the time?
So many faces.
What will I be to them?
A companion
friend
liar
hater
lover
brother
sideshow
an I knew him when
a face that looks at their back
at the crossroads,
a wisp of smoke?
I turn again,
turn turn,
a cymbal shot
pushes me forward,
left and right,
but I can never go back behind.
Johanna whispers
Even salvation must get old.
I know she must be correct,
at least as far as I can turn my head.
The right is barred,
the left is guarded by the beasts,
the faces hum a dirge or a lullaby,
I straighten my jacket,
pack my self into a slip bag,
and blow away with the smoke.
Apr 16, 2011
Apr 16, 2011 at 11:44 AM UTC
his heavy face drags his head down her shirt
pleads innocence but the grin on his
face calls him a liar liar pants on fire
she just nods knowingly and unbuttons the next one down
cause she has been through the catalogue of this fools parade
and knows a good catch when she has her hooks in him
he starts flapping his arms like a fish outa water
we all just laugh we all been there
we all been a bird in the air
i make coffee but they are intent on the the sideshow
taking place on the couch
i turn to find the girls choir locked in dire straights
with the ****** circus clowns
they will be singing the blues soon enough
cause we all got a price to pay
when the penny comes to a pound
when the carpet bagger comes to call
and the price you pay equal
to the tears you lay
i sit back and light up the room with my handy dandy
nightwatchman flashlight
but soon realize that there are things here id rather not see
as the girls choir gets down and ***** with the clowns
they would rather have a warm bed now
than the cold promise of better kitchens two car garage tomorrow
and im not one to say they are wrong
iv swallowed enough swords
iv seen enough of the bitter bread
so make some room sweetheart
cause you look like you could use some company down there
in your dark corner of the strange parade...
is that a horse head you have on?
this room gets real wild at a quarter to three
the old man has come down
and is talking up the future to some young honey
who knows better but has an eye on his wallet
we all got a price to pay
he gonna give up his riches
shes gonna give up her dreams
all got a price to pay
when the carpet bagger comes to call
i shake off the dawn
and stumble out to the street
look back to find the whole circus waving goodbye
they all look so happy and content
even the ones with the bloodstains
but that's the price i gotta pay
looks so pretty from this far down the road
looks so warm and inviting with their smiles and lollipops
the circus clowns and the pregnant girls choir
even she seems friendly
in the heat haze of the long hours away
but something reminds me of all her warts
all her filthy fingers grabbing at the shirt-tail
he eyes pleading a different case before the high court
of her own self doubts
when the carpet bagger comes to call
he opens his bag of tricks
and shows you a world of wonder
all glitter and lights
but it isnt till the bill is due
that you remember we all got a price to pay
we all are fish out of water
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
yellow city, black sky
massive architecture, flickering liquid
glass oceans along
the cold canyons of San Francisco
wavering illusion upon reality
disfigured sideshow reflections
of disembodied achievement
trapped in themselves,
our selves
no longer nourished by the roots,
a hunger imposed upon the planet
like a suffocating blanket that people
pave over and **** on
until it's buried so deep
that even the heart has trouble breathing,
trouble beating out its rhythm;
a musical act of joy now stuttering
along like a gasping survivor
straggling across the ruins of Pompeii
crying out for what? help? no,
the end of suffering, a swift death
instead of the long parasitic drawl
that man so eagerly inflicts
upon the earth, himself
claiming the Kingdom
for the eternal barbarian, deep in the veins
coursing through the apparatus
which creaks beneath the weight of our guilt
and stultifies in the monstrosity of our ignorance,
yet it continues to run,
as if to see how far we'll go,
as if life were merely an experiment to see
how spectacularly
it could end
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 7:13 PM UTC
You won't see me
jumping out of planes
blindfolded, and running
from the bulls, in Spain
Shooting down the slopes
on snowboard, or skis
doing an idiot prank
on you-tube, or TV
Falling in a steeple chase
on my face or back
I know, it's just a race
coordination, that I lack
No, no visages of dares
stunts or horrid episodes
not a sideshow at the fair
or water drunk, in Mexico
I'm pretty staid
not taking any chance
neutered and not spayed
but loving, the romance :D
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 2:22 PM UTC
I asked a stranger once,
what is fortune?
is it the sands that
erased great alexander’s
cruel body?
or waking to find
a man whose golden eyes sing
the hymns of a simpler time,
the tiniest Midas sideshow?
and she looked at me,
breathed deeply and spoke,
fortune is the bargaining chip
of the broke.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 11:08 AM UTC
Oh, it is awfully high from up here –
a power surge, the slit of my skirt intentionally ripped
and yet no one wants the slightest peek.
The man I love must be entwined in the pleats
or is watching the carnival children with more interest
than he has in creating normal infants with me.
Am I not a woman, not fertile?
But my concern is for a bloodied male –
intestines escaping from an abdomen like his coins.
He has been robbed as I have, an empty wallet
while I have an uninhibited ****
We whirl alone on the ferris wheel and want to get ill.
For when the ride halts, I could climb the
parachute and die with that defeated man on the side –
just not quick enough to be wanted like a carnie.
Becoming an atypical sort of sideshow,
write wishes with a ride’s ***** on my arm, a lovenote
leave with someone whose faith in which I restore.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC