"tamers" poems
Dramatic faces and dancing clowns, who's next to make a frown.
Acrobatics and tiger tamers.
Creepy smiles, chills down your spine, oh look? there's Alice In Wonderland with her time rabbit friend. Creepy places, so eerie and dark, don't you want to come with me and see the other side of Circus Wonderland? where every creature comes to life. Even the unknown.
Their all wild, their running for their lives, going untamed but trying to tame.
Let's go to Circus Wonderland, where there's hot bags of crunchy popcorn bliss in the summer air.
Colorful lights, beaming sounds of fright.
Portals to unknown dimensions, where things we dream of come to life.
Come take a ride on the wild side darling, i promise you'll be alright.
Let's go to Circus Wonderland, where even the ballerina over the jewelry box dances under the diamond ring while the tamed lion jumps through the ring of fire.
Jun 9, 2020
Jun 9, 2020 at 12:17 PM UTC
There once was a great beast, now but a myth, who sat atop Mr. Atlas’s throne. So the story goes, the beast had become so heavy, and such a burden on Mr. Atlas, that he enlisted some folks to tame it. ****** that beast could fight back. He fought for ages, centuries, eons, a near-bloody-eternity to stay on top of his throne. He would not be defeated, until the world stopped turning up on old Mr. Atlas’s back. After fighting back on and on, pressuring the tamers for years on end, the gargantuan beast was slowly getting tired. Energy seeped out of his body. But he kept fighting. He kept fighting until he didn’t see the point anymore, and he fought some more.
To this very moment, the beast is still fighting up there on old Mr. Atlas’s back.
The beast, our voice, our final bastion of worldly balance, should very well be tamed by now. The idea of submitting to our tamers is a very unpopular one, though popular at the same time among some. But they are the tamers, and we are the beasts, fighting back to little avail but not giving up on the mission, though thoroughly futile.
Folks, it’s time for us to submit to those who are taming us. As awful, as cowardly, as utterly asinine as this sounds to most of you, we just cannot go on if we continue to fight back.
Those in charge have ****** it up so thoroughly that we must live life through simplistic principles. We can’t afford to **** around with “the man” anymore. It simply will not work. We have to find our happiness. We have to enjoy the little things, little victories, little comforts, little joys, little hardships, and big souls with big aspirations on the little scale that we are left with. As we enjoy these things, we in turn do not submit to those above us. In fact, those above us hate that we are content. Our contentment is their pain, and if they feel pain, then they stop taming us and they themselves become the ones who are tamed, subdued by their own (now) unsuccessful attempts to tame us.
So we have to find comfort in the uncomfortable, and joy in the hardships of life, and accept that we cannot change a thing unless we are content with the conditions that these folks have presented us with.
Comfort and contentment is everything, and it is what tames the tamers of the beast.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
My name is stolen like a Spaniard
Inquisition,
My heritage barely a patch of fog,
What is the truth of myself unwritten?
" Your name is....You shall be called"
My father once said,
But I sign this name at the end of no poem,
Are you sure this is my name?
Have you navigated the flows
Of lava in my bloodstreams,
My geographical mind that beckons
A deep bitter valley,
Dark beautiful mountains that have
Reclaimed by nature what my people
Claimed her?
Can you see my subterranean pyramids,
My great moist jungles,
Gutting out advanced mathematical models,
Bleeding precise positions of stars,
I can cry the Winter Solstice,
Oh my proud heart pounds
Through my chest with dreams of then,
When the Coyote was sacred and the
Nature of all things was balanced
Even in the darkest days.
Am I Gonzales from the old Spaniard name?
Does my brown skin and hairless
Arms not cry for the Aztec of my ancient
Fathers?
The root of my root,
The flesh of my flesh,
The veiny branches of a family tree
Where wild flowers grow in
The words of the Aztec bark,
Bleeding its sap through me,
Is this Spaniard to you?
(I know the difference)
Let me ask my blood:
Do you not see the fire in my eyes?
Don't you see the fire raining tears
Of embers onto paper,
Every word a burnt offering?
Maybe one does not know of my
Great grandfather in the valley
Of Mixcoatl, there he lived as the last
Nocturne, his great scar along his back,
The last of a warrior
Where he died among the stars of his fathers,
The scar from a knife, a knife that
Stole his true name!
Has Olin and Ehecatl taken it
With a breath of wind?
I will take the Sun Stone with you Octavio!
Take me home.....
And I can see it!
The noble people forgotten
As time forgets all,
My voice of the Warrior grateful
And speaking like a shiny tip of
Spear piercing the night wolf!
I am no longer a riddle in the water,
But a pure flow of immenseness,
A profound respected beast,
I feel the purity of ancient things,
I dissolve into memory's ink,
My combatant blood boils,
The land flames of my fire,
The people of the Sun!
My ancestral blood with calloused feet,
My ancient jungles,
Tamers of beasts,
Oh the Aztec Dream,
Yes, I am what my blood says I am,
What's in a name?
The identity misidentified.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land –
They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command,
While Acrobats step pitapat above the shifting sands
And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned.
The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band,
Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand,
While Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land,
Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned.
White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband
To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands,
But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands.
At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands,
Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands,
And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned.
To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I’d try my hand –
I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand –
But destiny denied to me to taste a lifetime spanned
With tightrope walks and trapeze chalks ... excepting second-hand...
For alcohol provoked a fall, as if a reprimand,
And now, a heap, I sometimes keep the ticket office manned...
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
*And it suddenly occurred to me,
With a twirl of my purple umbrella
And whirl of raindrops racing to
The ground, that we all look like
Flowers from up high on rainy days.
You see, the sky had told me that
Perception is a silly thing, not unlike
Our planted kin; the dirt our past,
Rooted in memories we seek to sustain;
Drinking Time like water, a Sun tamer.*
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
*Lavished; I endow many creatures
Trenchant and keen they denude as weepers
As we are harsh while we wangle
Deviser’s enriched are all riotous tamers
Crowns en-dowering among the fittest
Bounteous of all wades in telluric mist
Unscathed by deft spry
Admitting your mordant’s are never lies*
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 1:34 PM UTC
We were explorers my brother and I
We delved down into the deepest darkest jungles
Climbed the tallest mountains and walked deserts
Even if the jungle was a bunch of bush’s and the mountain our front step
The desert just a field across the street
We were explorers
We were lion tamers my brother and I
We had lion taming hats and chairs to fend them off
There roars were deafening, but we made them do tricks
Even if our hats were mixing bowls and the lions were our cats
The chairs we fended them off with from my tea parties
We were lion tamers
We were monster hunters my brother and I
We looked under beds and in closets without being afraid
Our trusty flashlight with us until the monster jumped out
And we would run away screaming gleefully
Even if we were both a little scared
Our flashlight was a key chain and the monster was played by dad
We were monster hunters
We were bone collectors my brother and I
We had big shovels and a huge pit full of dino bones
Everything we found was put on display
And we were famous
Even if our shovels were spoons
And the huge pit was a small hole in the back yard
Our dino bones just rocks put in the window sill by mum
We were bone collectors
We were super heroes my brother and I
We had capes and leapt tall buildings in a single bound
Saved innocent people from burning buildings
And all the other evils we could imagine
Even if our capes were made of towels
The buildings were pillows on the living room floor
And the people we saved were only toys
We were super heroes
We were best friends my brother and I
We hid together when we were scared
And no matter what we could tell each other anything
Even as I watch him grow up right in front of me
When he felt like a stranger living in the same house
And I would stay up all night just to make sure he came home
Because he knew strange people
We were best friends
We still are like that sometimes my brother and I
Still pretend that we’re not afraid
That we really did tame lions
And that our capes aren’t made of towels
But we never had to pretend that we’re best friends
My brother and I
And can still tell each other anything
Even if he grew up right in front of me
And can still feel like a stranger living in the same house
Were still best friends my brother and I
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 7:56 PM UTC
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You made me happy when you were sane.
Singing to me, in that little coffee shop,
I wanted you to continue singing forever.
I was lost to the people around us.
Your voice was my foundation.
Your smile was my heart-beat.
But now, your smile is a flickering, dying flame.
But now, your heart-beats are counted.
We dreamed of traveling the world.
We dreamed sky scrapers and lion tamers.
We dreamed of a life that never will be.
You’re still my sunshine,
Please don’t take that away.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
My desire for you is a raging stallion,
bucking and frothing, unruly and wild.
I thought that it would remain unbroken forever,
until you fashioned a bridle of compassion thread by thread,
with each glorious gift from your horse tamers lips.
You have tamed the brutal passions that drive such an animal,
and you've contained my fiery longing, in your corral of endless loving.
You have lead me with your kindness, to the waters of your loveliness.
I will drink, drink deeply, until this wet and passionate world of ours is a desert.
How many lifetimes? Unlimited mouthfuls. It would take my whole existence
to make a dent in the bottomless sea of your radiance,
I want you
to ride me forever, with wanton abandon, as I buck and I surge,
wild and unruly.
I want to feel
your warm thighs wrapped tightly around me, your relentless
hands caressing me endlessly, as we ride across these plains,
with unbridled ecstasy.
Cling to me,
press your face into my neck, and kiss me my lovely,
as we ride on as far as my desire, and your magnificence will take us,
and even then we shall go a league further, until we collapse in our embraces.
They will know that we have lived, and loved, they will know we were wild,
just a stallion and his rider, who cares about anything else?
All I want
is to feel
your body
against me
as you ride me, and cover me in your pleasures.
All else is immaterial.
You my sweet rider, are all a stallion like me needs.
A Burns 2012
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 7:06 AM UTC
Your price of niceties is too high for me
For I've been choking on spoon-fed complacency
Corporate crime blinding us to atrocity.
Dropping, down go the dissidents-
Incitors of an unknown breed
They're mutilated sheep,
Killing the tamers
of a tenacious nation-
Rallying me.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
Made no comment
On the river front
She said she wanted love
And I gave her another name
Told her to sit a while n' stay
Make no mistake
For there's too much at stake
The world is spinning
And she's still winning
But we don't know
What we're fighting for anymore
Got not road to walk on
Only the one in front of me
She said she'd never believe
What's under my left sleeve
But once she saw
Her heart thawed
And rested her weary paws
Absent eyes melodical mishaps
Everyone's got their hats
So...where's yours at?
Different faces other names
Someone can be one way one day
But switch like a light
And change again all the same
Lion tamers and fire breathers
The day of the true believer
Is dead, gone, and thrown to the sea
God sent a telegram from Costa Rica
He had a picture of him
Flexing his arms, rubbing his belly,
Really showing his STUFF.
I pitched it in the fire.
Didn't even read the text.
I knew he was gone from the get go.
I came out wondering
What was gonna' come next.
Took her hand by the candle light
She held mine a little tight
"Nothing ever changes, " She whispered,
"The snow never melts."
I lit her cigarette and smiled,
"What you've got to realize, my bird,
Is the only thing to live by
Is for nothing and everything by actions
And words."
I miss the moonlight
How it streaked
Through my summer window pane.
This pain gets boresome.
This pain gets lonesome.
I sit and I wonder
Where oh' where did she
Go off to?
No, I never question
What I'll do,
But I wonder
Gazing out my foggy window pane
Where oh' where did she
Get up and run off to?
The sky remains blue
The arrow shoots on through
But I wonder
Where oh' where did she
Run off to?
Minus the drama
I ran out of steam
Nothing is a dream
The waking life
Shakes like an August
Leaf over a
Running stream
When you're looking
You'll never find what you need
The speed to the distance
Is the remedy of
Kings and queens
Lessen your grip
Take that sip
Watch the sun set
Take that
Final bet.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
To this day kids are being called names. The classics were ‘hey stupid’, ‘hey spaz.’ Seems like ever school has an arsenal of names getting updated each year. And if a kid breaks in a school and no one chooses to hear it, do they make a sound? Or are they just background noise on a soundtrack stuck on repeat and people say things like, ‘kids can be cruel.’ Every school was a top circus tent and the pecking order went from acrobats to lion tamers, from clowns to carnies, all of these miles ahead of who we were - we were freaks. Lobster clawed boys and bearded ladies. Oddities juggling depression and loneliness, trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal.
But at night, while the others slept - we kept walking the tightrope as practice and yes, some of us fell. But I want to tell them that all of this, is just debris. Left over from when we decide to smash all the things we thought we used to be. And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror, look a little closer, stare a little longer. Because there’s something inside you that made you keep trying, despite everyone who told you to quit.
You built a cast around your broken heart and signed it yourself, you signed it ‘they were wrong.’ Because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a clique. Maybe they chose you last for basketball or everything. Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth to show and tell but never told because how can you hold your ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it - you have to believe that they were wrong. They have to be wrong. Why else would we still be here? We grew up to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them. We stem from the root planted in belief that we are not what we were called. We are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting on an empty highway, and if in someway we are, don’t worry, we only got out to walk and get gas. We are the graduating class of we made it. Not the faded echoes of voices crying out, ‘names will never hurt me’. Of course they did. But our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act. That has less to do with pain, and more to do with beauty.
BEAUTY
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
Flabbergasted
Strutted
Gut~tight feeling, punching, flooded.
~ • ~
Flooding into every ******** Breath, Digest the Power, Arrest Yourself to utter Absolution.
~ • ~
You will not falter beneath this weight, so insurmountable, rumble beneath the covers, shiver in your skin, use it for the masquerade ball for each and all to crawl through you to the funhouse mirror peerers, gaggle toothed crocodile tamers, all will smile in the pantomime hall, pointing the way, you'll hear them say,
"Next time it will be You"
~ • ~
Run Son,
Along the night it will come, it will brush your back with jackal teeth, frozen tundra beneath your Electric Skin, take it off so I may climb in, adjust myself, clear the emptiness, shake it all about,
turn you inside out.
~ • ~
You are helpless, naked, breathless, devastated, Divine. You are Mine.
BREATHE
Close your eyes and breathe, that's better, clever little Valentine. Remember, your heart is mine, all of you, completely, what would you like me to do for you in your body?
BREATHE
Stroke it, Pet it, Touch You...There? Where?
I would like to know your Mind, explore your Circuitry, rearrange the wiring, clear some space for the
~BODY ELECTRIC~
Then I will return your Wrapping Robe for you to wear. It will feel a little new, unknown, dissociated maybe, but at least you have a new machine to
EXPLORE
~ • ~
Will You act the same way, ********** the same way, how will it Feel?
How good can you make it feel?
How about your Brain,
does it work the same?
~ • ~
Aah, so something new to do...
!! Explore !!
I added a few more floors for you to find, rooms with doors, some locked,
and hidden keys..
Please take your Time
Take a Tour
See You again
~~~~~~~~~<<<<•>>>>~~~~~~~~~
Around.......................Enjoy
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
Nothing but a forlorn pain
Phantoms of art
Snake charmers
Larva tamers
“Free Me from the sun”
Helicopter steed
Blaring Gjallarhorn
Crystalline ammunition
Shrub-like heads
Civilian militants
Snake charmers, take my hands
Sting them once again
Render me strong and heartless
Tend to my obsidian horn
It grows longer as the sun subsides
Blood on the papers
Christened for television
Whitened crusade
Negotiation for control
Count your blessings
Arm the hangars
Send the reserves
Whip the cavalry
Watch the nation
Watch them bleed again
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
We on Hello Poetry
and all sites of poetic nature
are a family.
We Bond with the best
Poe, Dickinson Whitman
Frost, Platt and Cummings
All those whose heart
expelled masterpieces
that world celebrates.
Who know how to tame the written word.
We are all lion tamers
where are pens are whips
and fortitude outweighs fear.
Grand Family, move over
I the poet is born
growing stronger everyday.
Move over for I claim
my place as you hug me
in ethers of forever.
The rest of the world
just doesn't see me yet.
But they will. They will.
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 7:45 AM UTC