Sunday, July 15, 2012

CIRCUS POEMS by Australian poet Graeme King


Gaze into the crystal ball, life or death decision
(actually it’s soapies showing on the television)
Read the tea-leaves in the cup, sort out someone’s mess
(don’t base all your choices on what’s written in the press)
Hear the voices in your head, from beyond the grave
(local DJ sermonizing, on the FM wave)
Turn the cards and the see the world that no-one has seen
(what if you mistake a joker for a king or queen?)

Throw the bones upon the sand, hear the future’s call
(somebody had lamb chops, and couldn’t eat them all)
Contemplate the zodiac, each birth date is unique
(shit! I was adopted and we even guessed the week!)
Drop into a trance and talk to those who’ve gone ahead
(go to sleep and dream of things you wish that you had said)
Read the hand and see the untold, do you really dare?
(check the palm each day and thank God for the lack of hair)

“Taurus rising thru the cusp – curb regret and pity”
(I just got my period, I’m feeling fairly shitty)
Search the heavens, read the moon, try to get a sign
(lying helpless on my back from necking too much wine)
Lucky number – Seven! – wear this charm around your throat
(rabbit’s foot or horseshoe or whatever floats your boat)
“Who can tell what lies ahead? We learn from what is gone”
(the future can’t be any worse than what’s past, Bring it on!

Un clown bien sympathique...


Open-mouthed, with painted smile, the clowns stand in formation,
Constantly they shake their heads in cynical negation,
Notwithstanding players skill the clowns will always win,
They walk free from the courtroom and the cycle starts again.

Laughing clowns are those who flaunt their felonies, their crimes,
The upper shelf of criminals, who prey on modern times,
With funds to buy their justice, loot to purchase their immunity,
And perpetrate their horrors on a dumb, hands-tied community.

Occasionally a player will attempt to win the prize,
But many law upholders are corruption in disguise,
They care not for judicial ends, nor heed Astraea’s scales,
Headstone for a witness chiseled: Dead Men Tell No Tales.

That’s why the clowns stand in a line, there’s safety in collusion,
If you have faith in justice, friend, you foster an illusion,
Yes, you can play the laughing clowns, step up, insert the balls,
The game will triumph, right until the final gavel falls.

Un Pierrot aux grands yeux et bouquet...


See them make the children laugh
See the painted smile
Acting out their pantomime
Scheming all the while.
Everybody loves a clown
Boys and girls attracted
Funny noses, floppy shoes
So easily distracted.

Under make-up evil lurks
Many clowns have lied
Circus hides their secret sins
The wickedness inside.
The audience sees funny suit
Pratfalls, comic walk
They're blind to clown's iniquity
With kids too scared to talk.

Kids who come to see the fun
Lured by promised laughter
Kids who see the REAL clown's face
Scarred for ever after.
It's such a shame the big top tent
A place of hope and favour
Should be a home for Satan's lust
For clowns to wildly savour.

Portrait d'un clown triste...

No comments:

Post a Comment