Clowns, probably, have been part of the entertainment spectrum as long as human memory. They certainly were part of the classic Greek theatre, and famous (and legendary) ones in history have included Till Eulenspiegel, Puck, Joseph Grimaldi, Adrien Wettach (Grock), Charlie Chaplin, Harpo Marx, and Red Skelton. They are famed for the laughs they provide, but many have had sadness in their personal lives. Write a poem about a clown or clowning. It may be about a real clown or one from your imagination, or perhaps a person you know or have known. It may be funny or not.
MARIE ELENA’S *shudder* PHOBIA
Code 300.29 Coulrophobia
Bozo caused me massive panic –
Used to think he was satanic.
Thought perhaps I was a chicken
When I’d feel my heart rate quicken.
Science knows this fear of mine:
Code three hundred point two nine.
Coulrophobia is real
DSM-IV seals the deal.
© copyright 2013, Marie Elena Good
(Note: I’m not a fan of clowns, but I’m not really as freaked out by them as my silly poem indicates. 😉 )
WILLIAM’S EXAMPLE
CLOWN
Some people think my mind weak and weird;
from it, no debris has cleared.
I love to laugh; I can stand the gaff
of those who scoff when I am not geared
to take their rants with solemnity.
Rather, when they annoy me,
I can stand the gaff. I love to laugh
and so I do, continually.
I think I act with a kind of grace,
even when dressed all in lace.
I love to laugh; I can stand the gaff
and kicks and squirts and pies in the face.
© copyright 2013, William Preston
WALT’S TRAGIC COMEDY
LOOK AT ME, I’M THE FUNNY MAN
A tear grease painted here on my face
in case the well’s run dry.
The tears of a clown roll down
my bulbous proboscis, sadness
in hiding, providing the greatest spark
on earth to offer my mirth for the joy
of others. It is laughter they are after.
But, it bothers me that I can’t lighten
my own heart. I fall apart and land
flat on my face. Traces of tears
grease painted here, just in case!
© copyright 2013, Walter J Wojtanik
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
All three of these are so well written. Good job, guys!!
Marie, your poem could have been written to describe my older sister. Clowns are like her worst nightmare. 😉
I agree with, Erin…all three!! 🙂
A wonderful way to lead us to find the laughter, tears and clowns, Well done Marie, William and Walt
Agreed. All three poems are wonderful in quite different viewpoints.
Thanks, ladies!
RUNNING AWAY
(a piku)
With these feet,
a
clown’s all I’ll be.
Ah, yes; for this piku I have great understanding.
:)!
Bringing smiles so not so bad. 🙂
Hey Paula, been enjoying the pikus. I think I have those same feet!
Feet notwithstanding, with that nose, you’re still the cutest clown I’d ever see. You should be asking, “Do these shoes make my feet look big?”
Ha!! Love clown shoes
Teeheehee! You are so adorable, my friend! 😀
🙂 !!
[…] Poetic Bloomings-Clowns […]
Comic Relief…(good for what ails ya)
~
Mime for me a vision,
an apparition in vivid artistry-
the epitome of carefree
captured by overt expressions.
Please let’s lighten the tone,
this mode of life we’re running
it’s clipping along at stunning speed.
A bout of laughter will lighten disaster;
when all else fails send in the clowns, please.
~
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013
Yes! First and last lines especially the last delivered. Do send in the clowns!
Thank you!!
Wonderful, just wonderful. That line, “bout of laughter will lighten disaster;” is almost a poem in its own right, in my view. And the final line recalls another lovely, if bittersweet, song.
Oh my goodness, yes. And “Mime for me a vision, an apparition in vivid artistry-” Wow…
Maybe a quote that when googled will be attributed to my name when I die!! That’d be cool. 🙂 Thank you, Bill!
Hannah, So well written … especially like “Please let’s lighten the tone.” 🙂
Thank you, Marjory!
Hannah, this is the timid smile of a plea inside a painted frown.
I love this poetic comment! Thanks so much!
Your poem really pictured the character so perfectly…really enjoyed it.
I think everyone can relate so well to this. Where would we all be without those occasional bouts of laughter. So good, Hannah.
It is a must for sure!! Thank you, Happy Sasha!!
Love your opening line, Hannah!
Thank you, Sara!!
Oh yes, “…Please let’s lighten the tone,” Words to live by!! :)!!
Oh, and “…A bout of laughter will lighten disaster;… ” :D!!!
Thank you, Hen!!
Laugh, Clown, Laugh
Do Laugh, Clown, Laugh.
‘tis how they set your daily plate
Do Laugh, Clown, Laugh.
You laugh’s important to the staff.
Hard work’s our fate, we needs work late,
must beat the date, our job’s at stake
Do Laugh, Clown, Laugh
I think this is a practically perfect marriage of form and sense. There’s an edge here, too: laugh, even if there’s no humor there, for “our job’s at stake.”
Thank You, William.
I like where you took this, Marjory.
Thank You, Marie.
Yes, I enjoyed this perspective “do laugh, clown, laugh”. Trying to force a laugh can be quite difficult and burdensome under pressure.
Even the ‘office-clown’ is not always wanting to clown. 🙂
Great Marjory…I loved the desperate imploring…it seems to be reinforced by the rhythm and repetition.
When a office gang is pushing deadlines – a smiles can work wonders on needed production.
So true!
!! Yep!!
I agree here, totally! 🙂 Nicely done, Marjory!
Thank you, Hannah. 🙂
Lovely tenders offered here.
You are truly the face of the garden. Handing off batons for us to run the race.
I believe, this will be a stellar prompt. The seeds have been sown. Let’s see what it delivers…
On a personal note. I was an old class clown in elementary. And on the contrary have suffered great depression. So I can identify with these clowns perfectly.
Is that really an ICD-9 code?
Have fun and let her rip.
I considered writing about the class clown, Benjamin. I’m so sorry for your depression. I’m not sure there is much in this world that is more difficult to deal with. I do wonder how many clowns are born of depression.
As for the code, here is a Psychology Today article in which Jordan Gaines states, “Coulrophobia is indeed considered in the DSM-IV (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, fourth edition)—the Bible of the psychiatry world. It’s encompassed under “specific phobia,” code 300.29. Psychologists believe that this kind of fear may have less to do with clowns and more with the unsettling familiarity. A normal-sized body with a painted face, big shoes, colorful clothes—but what’s under there?”
Take care of the depression, Benjamin. Prayers and virtual hugs…
Don’t worry, I’m in good spirits.
🙂
So glad to hear that! Warm smiles to you…
Once again it is good to see Walt’s and Marie’s works together again at the top of the week. Marie, you taught me a new word and a new take on panic attacks; I never would’ve connected them with clowns, and bringing in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders is a stroke of genius, in my view. Walt, your superb piece immediately brought to mind a time when I saw Anthony Newley perform a song of the same title as your poem. It also was sad, a “joke’s on me” sort of thing, as I recall. Thanks for this wonderful feast of sounds, too.
That was the exact inspiration, William. I saw Newly perform the same song. It is what came to mind at the prompt.
Ditto, good to see you Walt. Don’t know the song though.
Thanks much, Bill!
Your ” … can stand the gaff of those who scoff when I am not geared to take their rants with solemnity” says it all.
And yes, it is FABULOUS having Walt’s input. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything penned by him that isn’t “superb,” as you say. 🙂
They Pay To Laugh
O hateful to me now this part I play,
This costume, this powder, paint on my face;
But laugh, to laugh is why the people pay;
There can’t be tears of sorrow, not a trace
Of the anguish I have borne this day, lest
They see and give nothing for my sad face;
O my heart, turn now your greatest distress
Into merriment, make the people cheer,
Turn now your bitterest tears into jest;
They don’t care that you’ve lost all you hold dear,
They came to see an actor act his part,
Sorrow gets no pay, tragedy no cheers;
So laugh, clown, at the poison in your heart,
Laugh at grief, though it tears your soul apart!
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
Inspired by Recitar, one of my favorite songs. (especially when Pavarotti sings it!)
Superb!
Thank you, Will!
Oh yes, Well done ….. “The show must go on.”
It must. Thanks, M! 🙂
Awesome Erin! I think that’s your new nickname. “So laugh, clown, at the poison in your heart” and “sorrow gets no pay, tragedy no cheers” were quite tasty lines.
😉
Wow, thanks, Ben! I love that nickname. 😉 “Laugh at the poison in your heart” was actually taken from the song’s lyrics.
WOW. “Sorrow gets no pay, tragedy no cheers” is my favorite of your lines here, but oh-my-goodness, Erin Kay — this is fabulous.
Thank you so much, Marie! Your wows always make me smile so big. 🙂
Dear Awesome Erin (like the new name),
this WAS absolutely fabulous. Your poems always take me into the scene.
In the last two lines, I felt I was in the center ring, my arms outstretched, and hearing the tumultuous applause and laughter of the surrounding crowd–but blinded to them seated beyond the blazing circus lights, as invisible to me, as the real me was to them.
Oh my…thank you, Damon! You make me blush… Your comments are always so thoughtful. Thanks!
I particularly enjoyed this line: “O my heart, turn now your greatest distress
Into merriment…” Beautiful, Erin.
Thanks, Sasha! So nice to see you again!
Excellent poem, Erin!
Written with gusto!! I love the passion and I feel bad for that poor clown. 🙂
A gift – a ceramic clown – colorful, happy face, floppy hat and shoes, balloons in hand, meant to bring smiles – brought back dark dreams of menicing clowns dancing on walls around bed, laughing, reaching……
Follow path through woods
‘neath old pine tree, dig a hole,
thus bury the clown.
Based on a true situation of a gift given at a Women’s retreat, and when we later buried the clown and prayed for the death of those memories.
Oh, wow! I’ve never heard of doing this. A concrete and visual expression of prayer. Nice idea!
Thanks, Marie, at the time it was the right thing to do. Several women ‘attended’ and the dreamer was grateful for the gesture.
Wow. This reminded me of a horror movie I once saw with scary clown in it. I could visualize those dancing clowns on the walls.
I’ve seen ‘bad clowns’ – it is a shame when a fun thing is turned bad. 😦
Oh my…this gave me the chills…hope the bad memories are gone for good.
I never followed it up with that question – That seemed to be counter-productive. 🙂
The hairs on my arms are standing up. Eerie!
Give your self a wrap-around hug and rub them little hairs flat! 🙂
Play The Clown
Laugh,
Play the clown,
Perhaps your despair
Will vanish making others
Laugh.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
Great use of form! Beginning and ending with “laugh,’ and your use of “play” is just great.
I agree
Me too…there’s often hidden hope in an act of humor.
Thanks, you three! 🙂 ‘s to you all.
Absolutely!!
Good one Erin, there is some truth in this.
Thank you, Ben.
Clown at Work
A laugh is a clown
Hard at work
Right off the reel
Men of steel
Behind a mask
His performance
Is on the mark
Had the crowd
In stitches
But they don’t
See his own
His forbearance
Is quite apt
Never taken amiss
But feels rather
Entrapped
In his own makeup
He sows the seed
Bountifully in laughter
But his own land is
Unfallowed
His face is set
For cosmetically temporal joys
That vanish in the drain
He can wash away that face
But can never wash away the pain
He labors for laughs
Under misguided pretense
All for hearty wages earned
But what he actually brings home
Is a grimace
“of steel”
“in stitches”
“unfallowed” (though I think perhaps you meant “fallow,” as in barren, seedless, infertile?)
“cosmetically temporal joys that vanish in the drain”
“misguided pretense”
WOW … what a picture you paint here. AMAZING use of “show, don’t tell.” EXCELLENT.
Oops. You’re right. I’ll have to change that word.
Clown at Work
(Corrected)
A laugh is a clown
Hard at work
Right off the reel
Men of steel
Behind a mask
His performance
Is on the mark
Had the crowd
In stitches
But they don’t
See his own
His forbearance
Is quite apt
Never taken amiss
But feels rather
Entrapped
In his own makeup
He sows the seed
Bountifully in laughter
But his own land is
Fallowed
His face is set
For cosmetically temporal joys
That vanish in the drain
He can wash away that face
But can never wash away the pain
He labors for laughs
Under misguided pretense
All for hearty wages earned
But what he actually brings home
Is a grimace
Well done – low key, powerful.
Simply, powerfully stated.
Lots of creative, powerful, and insightful uses of language here. Like Marie said, excellent.
He can wash away that face/ But can never wash away the pain
wonderful!
Ben, fantastic.
Such powerful phrases, as Marie points out.
I love this:
“He sows the seed
Bountifully in laughter
But his own land is
Unfallowed”
great metaphor to employ!
Or the corrected version “fallow,” rather…love it!
Belly Up
The laughs I follow
Closely like a blog
Streaming
The hearty hissing
Of joyous matter
Erratic laughter
Meticulous sound
Bellowed from belly to belly
At a moments notice
So let’s belly up
And get
Feverishly contagious
Outrageously whimper
With erupt emotions
On every plane
Board jumbo chuckles
Where no passenger is sane?
Everyone has just lost it in fact
Can’t find their breath now
Cracked up without an act
Funny like who lost the elephant?
Well, I think he’s the pilot
Well done! Are you referring to a movie here?
Marie Elena, I have a high school student who is deathly afraid of clowns. I may share your poem with him. Maybe it will help him see his fear in a new light.
I have to wonder if more are fearful than not. But “deathly afraid” crosses a line, for certain. Poor thing!
I wouldn’t be surprised if most people felt at least uncomfortable if not afraid. I always wonder about the McDonald’s clown, for instance – I’d be freaked out if I were a kid.
They really need a ‘Pint-size’ McDonald’s clown – that could be comfortable for kids (and adults)…. dump the idea that “Big is Better”
A SKELTONIC FOR RED
When I was a kid, our new TV
opened new worlds, all exciting for me,
for on the tube I always could see
great gobs of humongous hilarity.
Uncle Miltie is first that I recall
(for he essentially started it all)
and then there was Lucy, Lucille Ball;
so funny was she, and so full of gall,
she could make them laugh even on Pall Mall,
and I even saw laughs on the little screen
from that holy show, Bishop Fulton J. Sheen:
the archbishop never was crass or mean
and his laughter was full of flashing dentine.
Love always bloomed around Jack Benny,
the vainglorious miser, always pinching a penny,
who, nonetheless, was as funny as any.
However, the best that ever I saw
was a redhead with broad, squared-off jaw.
He could mime a barker’s big carney maw
and ape an old cop confused by the law
and a sloppy old drunk who was guzzling old gin
and a man who was dunking his doughnuts in
great secrecy, sorrow, and even in sin;
he was also, with a grease-painted grin,
a freeloader, Freddie, who never could win.
The myriad characters that he created
were ever so funny, and never dated:
like the seagulls that he forever mated
with performances so variegated
to show their foibles that ebbed and flowed
despite the one being pigeon-toed.
All in all, he went to town
in moods of yellow and moods of brown;
he was, in short, a superb clown
who should be known with greater renown.
copyright 2013, William Preston
I know him…all the black and white hilarity of that funny man. The faces he could make are etched into my memory. Great testimony here to a great artist of funniness.
I read you title and thought, BRILLIANT! And the entire poem? BRILLIANT! You’ve captured so much of what he did to entertain and teach. He’ll always be a favorite of mine.
Wow William, that’s quite a write! You gave me a flashback during this read. Believe it or not, at one point I wanted to be a comedian. I watched several stand up comics from the eighties and nineties. LOVED, LOVED comedy and laughter.
Oh, Yes, memories….
Wonderful, William. Brought back some fun memories.
You capture the excitement of a child so well in your opening, Bill! Enjoyable read!
Loved him!!
FOOTSTEPS
once I caught you
your little-boy feet
in my big-man shoes
dragging yourself
across the floor
howling that laugh
so contagious
I couldn’t help
catching it in my throat
and together
the two of us
father and son
laughed ourselves
to tears
even when you toppled
onto your back
and my shoes seem
tall as a fallen clown’s
we kept laughing
and I wondered
in that glorious moment
if one day you would try
that routine again
put your big-man self
into my footsteps
try foolishly to walk
in my shadow
or hopefully remember
how we both laughed
at the funny clown
with the funny big shoes
#
This is a keeper. The imagery is perfect, and the love, overflowing. Wonderful, wonderful.
All I can add is my “amen.” Thank you for this, Sal.
Ditto, this is a keeper.
Treasure of a memory…sweetly shared. Lovely, Salvatore.
Yes. A keeper. Love the big-man shoes and big-man self.
Oh I do hope I’m giving my kids something to follow and memories to keep. “…put your big-man self into my footsteps” – this went straight to my heart.
That smile and laugh will last a child’s life-time. 🙂
I love this one, Sal. It is written from an entirely different perspective of the prompt.
A Clown Slipped
In a shady park,
I took my two kids
to see Ronald McDonald
do corny tricks.
Obnoxious children
on the front row,
unimpressed,
began heckling.
Ronald continued his routine
he must have practiced
many times in clown school
or other performances.
But that look flitted in his eyes
unmasked by white makeup
and painted smile,
Let me throttle those brats!
Your poem elicits my sympathy for the clown!
Wow, I guess a mask only covers so much. But eyes never lie.
Gosh, that is so true.
Great poem, Connie!
Oh, I could grab them by the collars….teacher in me, I guess. Well written, Connie.
All it takes is a Rodeo Clown
After three months of protracted debate
over the budget for the Fellowship Committee
and restriping of the parking lot, it felt as if
Sunny View Church had finally fallen victim to the
Other Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse:
Tater tot casserole, Robert’s Rules of Order,
a bad sound system, and early-stage dementia.
The whole church was stuck thigh-high in gravy.
Ten minutes into the fourth special
congregational meeting, tempers were fraying
as usual. Brother James had crossed his arms
as Brother Olin bellowed spurious scripture at him.
Behind them, Sister Mary had raised her copy
of Bible Word Search Vol 2 (The Epistles)
in self-defense as Sister Olive advanced with a
crochet hook raised like the tent-peg of Jael.
Suddenly there was a dreadful clamor from the
back of the room. The double doors to the kitchen flew open,
and in rushed Deacon Jonah, resplendent in overalls,
a cowboy hat, bright red nose and white eye make up.
Woo-woo-woo-woo, he yelled, waving a King James
Bible above his hat. The warring parties all stopped
dead in their tracks, astounded at the sight of a respected
CPA rushing down the hallway singing Gene Autry songs.
In an instant the room was bathed in the holy light
of “prayer concern.” Who could sustain outrage
at the cost of Palm Sunday decorations when a
senior member of the Board had clearly lost his mind?
Leaping at the opportunity, Pastor Lundquist called for the
Question, and the budget was approved unopposed.
All conflicts forgotten, the room launched into a
spirited acappella rendition of Bind Us Together Lord.
Outside in the unstriped parking lot, the conspirators
shook hands. You called it, Pastor, drawled the Deacon.
That was mighty impressive. Thanks, son, replied
Lundquist. You know, this ain’t my first rodeo.
This is laugh-out-loud funny! Andrew! This is a wonder! Loved it.
LOL indeed!
WELL DONE!
I would love to see this in a church publication.
Woo-hoo!
OH.
MY.
WORD!!!!!!!!
😀 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hysterical!
!!!!!
Just Like Minnie Pearl
It was the TV that saved her, everyone agreed.
She grew up in the house of her Grandma
And two maiden aunts. Her mother had
Run off with a man from a gospel quartet
and was never heard from again. She
grew up tall and skinny and let her braids
Grow past her waist. She learned to imitate
men by holding the edge of her braid
under her nose so that it looked like a
a mustache and speaking in a low,
gravely voice.
Her humor raised her from the looked-
down upon class of school children
and she became popular with her
Fellow students and teachers. She
Was invited to entertain at the vacation
Bible schools and various get-togethers
She watched and imitated every clown
And comic on TV, but the” Grand Old
Opry “with its comedienne Minnie Pearl
Was her inspiration.
In her old age, she told everyone that
The day that changed her life forever
Was the first time “The Grand Old Opry”
Came to town. Her aunts were anxious
To check out the gospel singers and she
Was told to sit in one spot. But it was a
Spot soon visited by someone she knew
And loved and when Minnie Pearl herself
Gave her one of her old hats, she knew
Where her ambitions would lead her.
Perfect picture, of personality and soul and heart. You endeared me to this character, Marian.
Same here. Wonderful storytelling.
Absolutely. And I must wonder … is this Marian Veverka you speak of, Marian? 😉
No, my mother & father stayed happily married. My mother loved her “Kentucky” music & Minnie Pearl & the Grand Old Opry” were on the radio then.
[…] for Poetic Bloomings #125: Laugh, Clown, Laugh. Also shared at “100 Days of Fall/Winter […]
Well done, you Three…I had read Walt’s earlier as I’m subscribed to his Through The Eyes of A Poet’s Heart…somber and emotionally arresting, powerful.
Marie, I know why you remind me of my granddaughter. She’s panicked and petrified by anyone ‘without their real face.’
Bill, you painted well the “laughing instead” choice, a visible-happy invisible-sad reply.
This prompt will bring about a full range of emotions, I am sure.
“Anyone without their real face” describes it so well. Freaky, to me!
I ASKED THE CLOWN
I asked the clown’s face why it was so plaster-pasty white
And it grinned oh-so-wicked and its smirk ran off, apparently to fight
I asked the clown’s hair why it was such an ugly orangey-red
And it cork-screwed itself inside its huge clown head
I asked the clown’s feet why they were so big and flat
And it seemed like they might answer but they were really too darn fat
I asked the clown’s nose please, to come on and give us a beep
And it just sat there all red, and spongy, and in a silent clown’s heap
I asked the clown’s eye to give us a wide wicked wink
And it did, but the eyelid got stuck in the middle of the blink
I asked the clown’s clown friends why they all seemed so weird
And they, everyone, turned their backs and ran off, much as I’d feared.
I asked myself if clowns could possibly be worth all this trouble
And the answer was no, not really; I started leaving on the double
The clowns were nothing short of scary, especially when they came a-tumbling
Clowns chasing after me sounded like hippos running hard, a really loud rumbling
So, I gave it some more thinks and came up with nothing good
But decided clowns and me weren’t suited, unless I’d misunderstood
It didn’t matter much by then, hysteria owned my senses
I decided to get home, build myself some strong “Keep out Clown” fences…
Sein, felt the growing panic in this…a clown-laden crescendo. Loved it.
This is excellent, in my view. It builds and builds in terror, and yet has humor. Some deep insights are lurking here, methinks.
This is super scary good!
Gulp and yikes, and oh-my-goodness!
Kudos for our leaders. Those sample poems were better than seltzer in the pants.
Comic Relief
A minstrel, juggler, mime, and fool
perhaps were class clowns when in school.
They relieved tension where they found it,
turned frowns upside down around it.
The painted face, the hop and sway
distort the pain clowns laugh away,
and while we chuckle at their tears,
they draw attention to our fears.
For each of us is fortune’s fool
broken but smiling at what’s cruel.
Can comic foibles raised to art
bring pathos for a broken heart?
It takes a fool to see that dark
is filled with color; humor marks
the greatest losses, deepest grief
with laughter of comic relief.
Loved this Jane, you spelled out that oxymoron in ‘broken but smiling at what’s cruel.’
This is so impressive to me because it uses a light-feeling verse structure to make profound points, such as ” each of us is fortune’s fool,” and the last stanza brings it all home. It reminds me of the old saying, “you might as well laugh as cry.” Just excellent work from a tender heart.
Wonderful. Love the last stanza especially.
I love the last stanza best. It gives us the reminder that foolery is a key part of grieving.
Wow. You totally amaze me, Jane.
Jane, you have my vote for a bloom. AND, I got quite a kick out of your mention of seltzer in the pants!!!
Very well done. 🙂
This is wonderful, Jane. The last stanza really wraps it all up.
If
you are
quick, under the
thick layer of ceruse,
they will vamoose, but you
just might, when the light’s right,
catch a glimpse of ghosts of past love
staring from deep down through the eyes of a clown.
Loved this, esp your pause of thought, “when the light’s right’ for the moment the reader is prompted to look deeper.
I have to agree here, that’s exactly what I was thinking! Great poem!!
Thank you Hannah 🙂
That phrase, “ghosts of past loves,” evokes a flood of images. The eyes that come to mind as I read this are Emmett Kelly’s.
Seven (Damon), William – thank you for your comments.
SASHA! So very good to see you here! I’ve missed your work, words, and happy self!
Thank you Marie Elena, I’m so happy to be back.
I agree with Marie!! :)!!
Lot of truth there!
Marjory, thank you.
Why did the caterpillar cross the road?
To get to the other side of course.
Military Caterpillar March
One
Little
Boot at a
Time, he crosses
The street step-n-stride dressed in lemon lime.
Tetractys form
I drove past two caterpillars today crossing the road in less than 5 minutes. So I had to beg the question. Why does the caterpillar cross the road? Really hope I missed them.
Your phrase, “step-n-stride dressed in lemon lime,” invites music. Love this.
Aww! So cute!
I read the poem before I read the title – and a saw in my mind, a cute little tot in a lime green suit crossing the street. 🙂
Not So Funny
Saucer-wide, like two cooked
eggs, his eyes stare above
a bulbous red nose, while underneath
a painted mouth of exaggerated
horror grins maniacally. Add to that,
a wild fringe of hair protruding
from sides of head, and you have a clown,
you know, the fumbling, bumbling center
stage of a circus. I was not much
of a circus kid, grateful my seat
was too far away to be touched
by the tips of those giant shoes.
Clown toys, punching bag clowns,
Jack-in-a-box clowns–all terrify me.
Then, years after I was a child, I read
a book by Stephen King called, It.
I knew I had been right.
Chill! Shivers! There’s just something about someone without their real face…well done.
Thanks, 7!
This is stark and clear writing. It’s certainly teaching me something: I’ve never felt that sense of terror or fear from clowns, even as a kid.
You probab
You are probably a more level-headed person. Thanks, William.
Terrifyingly good 🙂
Ooh! Good. Thanks.
I was waiting to see who was going to dare to go near that one. And so masterfully done at that!
Thanks, Ellen. Never wanted to see one in my bedroom at night.
Spot on! *shudder*
Thanks, Marie!
You painted a chilly picture of clown here. Well done Sarah.
Good. You should feel chilly when you look at a clown (in my opinion, of course).
Another example of GOOD turned bad. 😦
Thanks, Marjory!
True that!! “It,” would make anyone terrified of clowns!! Eeeke!
A Caterpillar’s Hiding Place
Stranded
So happily on edge
Roosting perfectly
on extended cucumber stalk
Encompassed by blades
On every side
Slivered and twisted
Sometimes moistened
Misted with waves of pollen
Simply complacent
In crowds of green
Beautiful!
Nice!
Daft Act
Daft,
he tries.
He falls and
tries again, then
stumbles, with more flops, his grins and awkward
wide-eyed faces make the crowd laugh long, loud.
He’s proud, so proud
that at his
gaffs we
laugh.
Hear
how we
laugh and laugh
applaud his wide-
eyed happiness (or so it seems to us).
We grin and stomp our feet upon the stands,
he stands and smiles
bows low and
sheds a
tear.
His
painted
tear, as black
as night, slides on
his cheek so white, so white, so rubbery
and thick to hold his countenance inside
away from lights
bright on the
center
ring.
For me, this all comes down to ” hold his countenance inside.” Very effective piece of writing, in my opinion.
Thanks William,
this is a great prompt. Loving the results blooming this week.
Yes, and the form is just fab!
How many faces we all carry under the one that is on public display…
I love that you employed the form from this week…centered it’d look like spheres falling, perhaps…I just love the contrast of that black tear on the white rubbery painted cheek!! Very well done, Damon!!
Done with fun! Thanks, Hannah. I just really like the Tetractys form, and I’d never used it before. This prompt plus the form was fun.
Return Flight
He made me laugh
thru darkest days
We had that connection,
Especially that way.
And through the years and miles away
I can still hear his laughter, not far away.
Years and miles are all relevant, aren’t they? Love this, Hen.
Happy!! Thank you, so much, and yes they are…
I think this is excellent. Laughter here is healing, loving stuff, which is how I think of it.
!! 😀 !! Yes!! Thank you, William…
Aww! I agree. Can’t beat someone who makes me laugh … it covers a multitude of sins. 😉
Absolutely Anything can be forgiven when laughter is applied… it’s all about perspective :D!! Thank you, Meg!!
good one Hen! I think the “miles away” portion could be interpreted couple different ways. 🙂
Thank you, Benjamin… yes, my husband wished to have his ashes scattered in San Diego, California, but, really, these days I still feel him here… in this last little home that we shared together… 🙂 !!
That is a gift …”He made me laugh…” Only what I see is Love – not a clown.
Yes, friend, I used a very loose interpretation of the word “clowning “(around)… he could be quite hysterical… :D!!
Yes…the best kind o connection…joy. 🙂
Oh, yes, Hannah, pure Joy during those times!! :D!!
:)!!
😀 😀 !!
Yield to Pedestrians
Truth or dare?
Caterpillar crossed
The road in his underwear.
Now you made me wonder: indeed, truth or dare? Both perhaps?..
🙂
Getting such a kick out of your caterpillar kick!
I think I have a newfound infatuation. Caterpillars!
Underwear? … I suppose at means his wings will be his outerwear. 🙂
Ha!
Confessions of a Clown
A funny avocation, this.
For years, this
was my sole
livelihood.
And like any other job,
if your heart
isn’t in it,
you run dry
you get bored
you get lazy.
That’s when,
if you’re smart
(or lucky)
something happens
that shakes you
to your roots.
My epiphany came while
on the job for a
six-year-old’s
birthday party.
Not only were none
of the young girls
laughing, but the
teen-age brother
sneered as he strolled
by, “Dude, you’re so
lame, I could do that
better than you.”
He was right, of course.
The clown police should
have hauled me off
years ago.
I took my vocation
and kicked it
up a notch. Now,
my only advertisement
is word of mouth.
For a clown hat,
an old umbrella.
My clown smile
is a painted
rainbow. My
routine is all
in mime.
I call this an
avocation,
because the
business of creating
smiles is
no work at all.
Ellen Knight 10.21.13
write a “clown” poem for PB
Ellen, this is EXCELLENT. So well written, such a different take on the prompt … I feel like I KNOW this soul.
Amen, amen.
Masking
He sits before the mirror
Vanity lights shining bright
On his grief riddled face
The paint brush full white
Applied front and forehead
Filling the cracks of pain
Bright red lipstick smile
Hiding a painful frown
How oddly apropos
Brightly painted wig
A suit of happy colors
Boots of shining red
Behind the painted mask
He finds that missing joy
Entertaining the unknowing
Inside the colored costume
He absorbs the bliss of others
Pain relief of a sort
Just a moment to forget
His life in a moment lost
Tragedy left him alone
Soon the paint comes off
Costume back on hanger
Awaiting the next escape
© 2013 Earl Parsons
“Filling the cracks of pain”
“He absorbs the bliss of others”
“Costume back on hanger
Awaiting the next escape”
Excellent, Earl.
I think this is superb. It adds a different dimension to why some folks like to make others laugh.
Love this one, Earl.
You painted a good one Earl.
Earl, It would seem that the comment I wrote for Damon, a bit further up is a bingo here as well. Spot on!
“They are all fish tales, really”
— When my mother’s memory began to fade, she asked me,
What will become of me when I don’t have a story?
Not knowing what else to say, I told her, Lie.
–Jane Shlensky
The river that is memory
twists and turns as it winds its way,
picking up silt
and carrying it along
until another force
slows the current
and the silt falls,
sometimes forming a loess,
blocking the flow,
forming pools
on which we fish
for that which was easily
within reach, only yesterday.
So drop in a line
and if it comes up empty
tell the world you caught
a clownfish
and
go on
about the color
and the feel of it
as it wriggled in your hands,
just before
it splashed
away.
— Jane, I hope you’re OK with me using your response to one of my last poems here.
I love this take on the prompt. Love the poem.
Wow. Another unusual take on the prompt, inspired by one of my favorite lines of poetry ever. Chev, this is just incredibly creative and well penned.
Wow.
I must admit I stretched the prompt to fit what I wanted to write rather than using the prompt as an invitation to write something new.
That’s called being a poet. 😉
I’ll stop beating myself up for cheating, then 🙂
Yep … no beating up allowed! 😉 😀
This is great Jerry and quite stylish.
Excellent and tender, and it reminds me of George Burns, who never had memory loss, as far as I know, but could make tender jokes about it. One was of the old man who still chased women but forgot what for.
Cool take on the prompt.
Oh, my. This is fantastic. Can anyone possibly wonder why you were my first modern poetry crush? 😉
Send in the Clowns
Barnum and Bailey
The Ringling Brothers
Send in the clowns
Circus, Circus
Cirque de Soleil
Send in the clowns
Wunderlust, Shriners
P. T. Barnum
Send in the clowns
The Senate
The House
The White House
Send in the clowns
It would seem that the clowns have taken over the circus.
Maybe next year….
Oooooph! 😀
Ooii!
ej No truer words…
Well folks, this week is going to be just about impossible to choose a “Bloom.”
Oy …
Of course, I’m not complaining. 😉
Commiserating, eh?
Now Introducing in Tetractys form: COMMY THE CLOWN TALES
(starring Commy the Caterpillar)
Once
Upon
a time there
was a little
boy named Commy the caterpillar clown.
Little Commy went off to buy some shoes.
Anxiously He
scurried off
to the
store.
Hey
kid, what
can I do
for you today?
I’d like to buy some Air Jordan shoes please.
What? You don’t need those shoes! You’ll become a
butterfly soon
with great wings
flying
places.
I
Don’t want
wings! I want
Air Jordan shoes!
Butterflies can stick their tongues out too kid…
Cute!
How many Jordans ( size -.0001) does it take to shoe a Caterpillar?
Yikes. Help! I just did a horrific double prompt.
Oh. I thought that was for emphasis. I enjoyed the story, both times.
Teeheeheeheehee!
(All gone, Benjamin. Sprouted wings and took flight. 😀 )
A Laugh has Potential
A laugh has swan potential.
Its beautiful and might take you places.
A laugh a river slips down from the Sun. Causing growth, foliage-smiles taking root when its done.
A laugh is a chair with arms.
Supportive, giving rest to the dreary soul.
A laugh is flying the flag
Declaring independence from misery.
A laugh is buoyant like a ship
Set sail on a stormy sea.
Like tested medicine to the heart
And wiser than a sage old tree.
Aye, and oy.
So true, this!
Sowing Silly
A silly clown cracked his jokes,
And sprouted smiles across the room.
Awww!
Hooo, yes, a good yoke.
Trade Off
The clown speaks…
“A smile for your pain?”
Ah, spot on!
Oh, wow. This one SPEAKS. Great job!
I will be back to enjoy everyone’s work… puppy sitting… :D!
Wish you were on facebook and we could see Hen-n-pup pics! 😀
They are Adorable!! :D!!
Clowns
Clowning around with their painted
Leering faces and baggy clothes
Only they know who they really are –
What are they hiding underneath that disguise?
Nice guy or some weirdo hiding in plain sight?
Shivering, clowns make me tremble.
I get it!
Yup.
Well stated.
painted faces
hiding from themselves and everyone else
clowns
Precise and effective!
Volkswagens
Ours was powder blue
as a spring sky,
and had a penchant for
backfiring at inopportune
times.
She moved us from Florida
to Ohio, and crisscrossed the
country six times before I
was seven,
without a single stall
or doubt.
I was just happy
no clowns ever
crawled out.
.
Love this. The Bug was a clown-looking car that didn’t clown around.
Ours was powder blue also, when I was a little girl. That little car saved my dad’s life, so I have a soft spot in my heart for powder blue slug bugs! Great little piece and take on the prompt, De!
Sniper
The antics of the
Clown is that he quickly aims
For the funny bone.
Ooooo! The title MAKES this one! Awesome!
LOL! FOR SURE!
You got me, Benjamin!
Comic Relief
I watched
The pale children
Laugh at the clowns: for that
Time, their chemotherapy was
Forgot…
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
Heart-wrenching, Erin.
For this reason, I think clowns should be paid as much as doctors. Love this poem.
Hear, hear.
Thank you, everyone, such great variety!!
For sure! What a great prompt!
They Never Speak
They are cheery, bleary pie-eyed,
baggy bloomers, flash of humour,
pouring out their frowns and tears
while tweaking and squeaking
rosy posy bulbous noses.
We laugh although they never speak.
We giggle at their flowers, whirling
squirting roses, and twirling unfurling
pin-wheel ties. And their names
sprout from silly sounds that vowels
make, if vowels could act surprised.
We laugh although they never speak.
So happy-ho and hello
to Bozo, Bim Bom, Blinko,
Coco, Frosty, Hardy, Pogo,
Kooza, Jyjou, Bello,
Nick and Nock, Lala, Remi,
Rosie, Zig and Zag.
Clowns – they never speak.
This is great, and I love that phrase, “if vowels could act surprised.”
Oh, I know it! How clever is this entire thing (and so very effective), but that phrase is awesome covered awesome!
Surviving School
She shivers
their taunts so painful
just words
she feels like a cartoon coyote
being struck,
torn apart from so many directions.
But wait,
she’ll have the last laugh
she’s smart
her future is a yellow brick road
those clowns
will be left with nothing but empty echoes
she smiles,
she can survive this torture
with friends
she walks off with one backward glance
laugh clown
laugh.
Ah, this is not funny. Truthful, though.
Michelle, this is outstanding. I actually put my hand to my mouth.
I previously posted a single piku as my response to this prompt. There was more to the story than just those eight syllables, but life as it is, I couldn’t take the time to write more than those three lines. After Poetic Asides prompted us to write about the circus, I felt it was a sign to finish my thought…so here’s “the rest of the story.”
I’M RUNNING AWAY TO THE CIRCUS
Life is hard,
I’m
running away;
I’ve packed my
bags,
I will not stay.
I’ve longed to
run
since I was five,
but I’m still
a
kid and can’t drive.
I’m made fun
of –
graceful, I’m not.
Ringmaster –
please,
give me a shot?
Fear of heights,
no
trapeze for me.
With these feet,
a
clown’s all I’ll be.
2013-10-23
P. Wanken
Wonderful, my friend! Thank you for posting it here!