Written for Poetry Month: 4/9/15



I had to sit in solitude

like a Buddha statue,

and it was painful

like the dull ache of

rusty springs stretched too long

through so much holding –

unsafe, the time in between –


[Rope walkers strain

above the heat

of a dusty circle –

breathe in every beat




The Ringmaster drives them on…


Clown dancers show

down below

not a moment is wasted –

let’s on with the show

clam up

dam up


The Ringmaster drives them on…


And the audience cheers – happy the noise

all grinning and spinning

red, yellow, blue, orange –

high strung


only one

small girl stood knowing

only one

pink finger pointing

only one

question mark growing

larger with exclamatory alarm

of the break in the line.

While the

organ grinder’s monkey

charges a smile for a dime


the finger shakes

the line breaks

the walkers fall

the clowns call

for helpers all

tent falls in


Silence begins.]



the moon at night


the starry sky


the false parade


and that is how peace is made.