Good evening and welcome to this week’s Friday Poem!!
If you thought I was going to do a poem about Friday 13th, I’m afraid you are unlucky.
This week’s poem has been in the making for a few weeks now, and while I have no doubt that I could improve on it, there only so much tweaking you can do (unless you want to pay for that sort of thing).
This poem evolved from a simple four line verse that reads:
A circus Ringmaster, long retired,
Lay on his death-bed and expired.
When asked what caused him to be dead,
‘Roll ups, Roll ups’ His doctor said.
Although only four lines, I must admit that this little verse is one of my favourites. It is simple, but effective.
Anyway, here is the evolved version of the little four-liner.
I like it, I hope you do to.
A Circus owner long retired
Lay on his death-bed and expired.
Before he went to his eternal rest
To a life of shame he at last confessed
His Circus had brought him fame and glory
But behind the scenes was a different story.
Every act was in truth a sham;
Papered over by the glitz and glam.
Tricks and guile would front each show
So that paying customers would not know
The truth about these “superstars”
And would continue with their “oooh”s and “Aaaah”s
The daredevils who graced the high trapeze
Had tricks to put themselves at ease;
To quell their raging fear of heights
Bottles of Gin lay in their tights.
The crowds that saw them leap and soar
Soon had more women than before
Who gasped when back and forth they swung
And marvelled at just how well they hung.
The lion tamer, was just a fraud;
His beasts were toothless and de-clawed.
And while they snarled with ears laid flat
The was no risk of any attack.
It’s hard to really come to grief
When a savage beast only has false teeth.
Still, in Lions jaws he did taunt death
Albeit asphyxiation from bad breath.
The clowns were such a miserable band
On antidepressants to a man.
Against the façade of their comic species
Just like their car, they fell to pieces.
The hilarious clown baby often seen
Was 44 and on Sertraline
Ironically bringing laughter to you and me
Then off for long sessions of therapy.
The jugglers were initially awful – both having lazy eyes
Each carefully watching as the projectile passed by
The recipients of these mis-aimed throws
Were often the injured in the first two rows.
As the juggling became less skilled or funny
The audiences wanted danger money.
So to save on lawsuits and improve on catches
The jugglers were forced to wear eye patches
The bearded lady was just a joke
Simply an out of shape middle-aged bloke
The beard was real, as were his moobs
Shaped by no exercise and greasy food.
Advertised as “Shy and quiet – the lady’s choice”
To hide her deep and manly voice.
With plenty of makeup ‘she’ looked quite sweet
Though viewing was restricted to twenty feet.
The famous strong man was just a wimp
Even his moustache hung there limp
To make queries about his prowess mute
His muscles came from an inflatable suit.
Once pumped up, and with his fake chest hair
He made all the ladies stop and stare.
However, the secret action of the air departing
Earned him a reputation for horrendous farting.
At first the human cannonball was far too podgy
Which risked the act appearing dodgy.
To leave the cannon he was too fat
And in practice was pathetically spat
About two feet down to the ground
Where momentum made him roll around.
A solution was found in a twin –
Identical, apart from being more thin.
The chubby version would be obscured by smoke
And in the distance would appear the thinner bloke.
The audience would happily cheer and shout
As backstage the fat one would be crow-barred out.
The Ringmaster got all this off his chest
And admitted, though they weren’t the best
His circus did put on a good show
And in general the audience didn’t know.
When asked if he felt what he did was wrong
His last words were, “the show must go on!”
Which proves that no matter if you are slave or King
People will believe anything!