Revisiting the Grayscale Circus

20120803-203430.jpg

Ah! It’s like these poetry bits have minds of their own; wandering off the site without so much as a “thanks for the car keys.” I suppose that’s what it must be like to have kids. In light of that, there’s still time to consider the wonderful life of a “cat lady” (by the way, there’s a great RadioLab Episode describing how felines make us crazy. All the more reason to be a proper dog person).

But I digress. I’m pleased to say I found an escaped poem prisoner, who scaled the razor-wire walls of cyberspace with nothing but mayonnaise packets and a bar of soap. Luckily, it was returned safely, if not slippery, but in exchange for its cooperation, I had to offer it the last letter of each of your surnames. You won’t miss it at all, I promise. It’s like the last digit on your finger, the one that doesn’t even have a name, the stub. Or maybe that’s just me. If you long for that final “e” or “m” pr whatever it is that ties your identity together, I’m sorry, but it was a sacrifice that we at Anansithepoet Industries were more than happy to make. So thanks for your contribution, and enjoy (complaints can be filed formally here)

Opening Night of the Shadow Minstrels

They say there’s a performance tonight
Behind the ancient dilapidated schoolhouse
The troubadours were said to
Have made a stage from playground parts
And the pages of old textbooks

You spy near the entrance
A fortune teller machine begging for coinage
Light shines about her
Reminding you she is a part of the show
Not to be discarded

Stepping close you see her cobbled together
From the bottom seats of swing sets
Broken coke bottles
Flattened basketballs and
Other recess trinkets

Below a scarf thrown about her body
Is a card with your name on it
Below even that is a cardboard
Marked with the payment options

-You can give up lock of your hair
Though you find yourself bald
-You can hand over
The smile you save for children

But instead you sacrifice your favorite
Places to go when you were seven

The envelope reveals a post-it note
akin to mythic recipes that call for cauldrons and iambic pentameter:
“You will learn the names of ‘love’ in 84 languages
For the name of ‘no’ in yours”

For more circus stuff, you can adventure all the way back to ancient archives, like Indiana Jones

3 thoughts on “Revisiting the Grayscale Circus

Say something, Crazy Reader!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s