"sideshows" poems
We're here for a couple of days
weather OK in some ways
went to the end of the pier
then back again for a beer
Beer was best.
Sunbathing without a vest
beetroot coloured painful chest
back for fish 'n chip tea
salt 'n vinegar free
Salt 'n vinegar best.
There's plenty to see and do
sideshows and slot machines too
glad to get home tomorrow
then we'll have to borrow
The Beer was best.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC
I type 'Life'.
My greatest invention yet. They are born and
they die according to this curve I drew up using my favorite software.
They'll see soft lights. They'll fight. They'll go.
Where?
I'm working on it
Still.
I type 'War'.
The adventures of Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
A bunch of sideshows
And there's a massive one scheduled at 8.54.
Stay to watch?
I type 'Love'. They like this a lot.
They react well to it.
Strange how they rise to their feet at the slightest presence of
Love.
I copy and paste
'Love love love love love love love love'
Then I crunch on a moon. Cold, sweet, juiceless.
Hmmmmm.
I type -
'Gobstopper'.
Aug 21, 2011
Aug 21, 2011 at 8:16 AM UTC
They broke his bones in a bathroom stall
with pipes and left cigarette burns
on his eyelids and I
washed my hands, cleaned the blood
off of my shoes and shrugged.
Some days is all you can do to throw
your body on a cursing poor *******
but most days you seem like you know
humanity is going to eat itself alive
so you just close the door and stay
in bed for a few more hours.
They say his lies have gone too far
and they know they don't know
whether he's gunning to give up
or run away and try again somewhere
where freaks on the inside stick
out like circus sideshows.
Home is not where we belong.
Christ got nailed to a cross
and I stared and said, "So what?"
that day and every day since
I've been cursed to give zero *****
I tried and it almost killed me too,
if you know whats good for you
keep to your own.
This world isn't made of flesh,
it's made of dirt and fire,
you'd do good
to keep that in mind.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
Sai Krishna
what magic have you wrought
the sideshows and acrobatics
of the world no longer entice
robotically I go through the motions
of daily living
my mind totally absorbed in You
Captivating Lord
You have performed a sleight of heart
and I am hopelessly smitten
fatally attracted I stalk Your
charming footsteps
planning my sweet ambush
Alluring Giridhari
the mid-night air is
dulcet
and heady aroma of
jasmine enchants the Soul
on the soft earth
I have drawn a sacred white circle
a magical mandala
under a pyramid of stars
I wait
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
People are walking down the street,
during the final apocalypse ,
radios on their big feet,
the jails are empty and all stripped,
and Micheal Moore might call it,
republicans old warship.
It's all our fault we built a world on ideas of ownership.
As the world sat there dying,
the remorseful dragon was bled,
and the leaches are all crying,
their brothers are all dead,
and I know though my silver spoon shines,
in the moonlight it turns to lead,
I sat there on the mountaintop and watched tom thumb break his leg.
The popular trend is collapsing,
the pirates are heroes too,
the tree now is alive and clapping,
what were once lies are now all true,
but ages pass and still we know ,
that every day is just a clue,
I ran across the border along with Napoleons entire crew.
The glass coffin it has a leak,
snow white is looking for love,
but all that people want is a peak,
and all she gets is mud,
behind her sunken eyes we can see,
a dam that will soon flood,
she kept it hidden long enough to water every shrub.
Everyone you knew has been abandoned,
They didn't last long on their own,
the prizes they always branded,
are gone its like they never were owned,
and even when the memory returns,
they'll just be a name on a stone.
And the people worth more than others are now just dirt and dirt alone.
Gandhi was walking his rat,
and he handed him a flower,
he said there you go Mr. diplomat,
but don't get drunk with the power,
and even with all of the things he yelled ,
the rat jumped off of the tower.
And we are now left to determine what to do in our last hour.
The ****** was again, alone,
with the memories of his father,
who was famous for many different tones,
he played while on his swather,
and he knows deep down he killed his pa,
there no excuse for hes a doctor,
and know he has to be punished so he kidnapped his own toddler.
The sideshows are all empty,
the freaks have all gone home,
the first to die are the the yetis,
the first to live are made from foam,
we remember this but forget the rest,
if we must we will build catacombs,
but be careful if you don't comply with them they'll take you up into their domes.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 12:36 AM UTC
Every night I chase them.
Feelings so close to me.
Will I ever escape from this miasma of broken dreams?
My life is now a picture.
My tears are now a lie.
Reminded through my faultless mind of why I want to die.
No longer can i flee.
Walls are closing in on me.
A thousand fists, a million tears that meld into my skin.
I am no one but you who made the hate I garner within.
Hold me to feel a thousand memories of pain that are now one.
Nuance me with your shun.
The course of mine that runs.
Hide with your conspirators deep inside the temple.
You are my personal devil.
In my head I feel you revel.
Like all before you look away in fear of what I have become.
To you I could be your love.
To me I see no one.
Emptiness and life are my drug.
My eternal bane.
My pleasure an my pain.
Touch me to see everything you love all fall as one.
I am a curse.
A poison.
The failed volume of an author.
Progenitor to a slaughter.
The blood mixed in your water.
Reason and logic keep me from losing control of this.
This body I feel not mine.
The circus of my life.
I am the prized freakshow, the star of my own hell.
All the lesser sideshows look unto me and want.
The king of everything I hate.
Disappear.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
We knew T-Rex from its tiny claws
Its hungry mouth, its toothy jaws.
But how can we assess T-Rump
When all our data’s from a stump
And weekly polls that flinch and jump?
The answer’s lying deep below
Perhaps with Edgar Allen Poe
Whose poetry is dark and slow.
A creature walking o’er the earth
In privilege stretching back to birth
That claims ascendance overall
And loves to brag and boast and brawl
And sometimes recoils, sometimes howls
(One sometimes wonders at its bowels—
When watching active ****** scowls.)
T-Rump is marching to consume
What’s going on in the newsroom
And feeds on minor predators,
(Ignoring its own creditors).
It likes to crouch and dance and pose
While speaking in a broken prose
And often wrinkling up its nose
At anything that might oppose
Or even worse, that might expose,
Its streak of show-and-tell sideshows.
Alas when sizing up T-Rump
One hits a show-and-tell speed bump
That’s not about its topmost clump
Or its eternal ****** frump.
We know, somehow, we’re each a chump
In thinking that there was an ump
Who’d put things on the ump and ump
And so we lazed, and scrimped and scrumped
Instead of what we’d need to do—
To find what’s cleanly new and true,
And redirect our Waterloo
Away from its own cancerous lump
And toward a far less spurious zoo.
In other words, to dump T-Rump!
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC
Their corners hold secrets,
Darkness lingers in their depths,
Hiding them in vast thickets,
Making the most noticeable of them as quiet as slow breaths,
What is beyond the mind's understanding.
She can't see these shadows,
Whose fluctuating contour is standing
In the obscurity that could belong in sideshows.
It's sepulchral aura haunts her,
Not knowing what lurks beyond the mist,
That dwells in her mind, seemingly a blur.
Wishing that such thoughts would no longer persist,
Her deepest secrets,
Kept by the keeper of the clock,
Wanting to hold them locked within her caskets.
This is her own Pandora Box.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 12:46 PM UTC
My mind is a dumb dolomancer dancing along hypotenuse avoiding the 90 cause the long way around has neato little sideshows distracting from the problem that A plus B might equal C but ya need the square. A nice tight fit uniform to make out that right angle. I am imaginary numbers.
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 8:44 PM UTC
Sitting in the back of the bus
Wondering what it is
All of the fuss
Sit down, be quiet
Let the man drive
We're all gonna get there
Let's hope we're alive
The windows are *****
Should I wipe them clean
Sideshows and wildlife
I'm told it's quite the scene
I close my eyes
It's a long ride
I'm gonna reach home
One stop or the next.
One day or the the next.
Copyright © 2019 by Zane Safrit. All rights reserved.
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 2:34 PM UTC