Cutthroat Circus 1970

In going through a box of papers I came a cross a pile of old old poems written in late 60’s, early 70’s. So having no shame I’m resurrecting them with minimal editing. I was using a cheaper, yellow copy for many of these – the paper hasn’t yellowed with age. Enjoy 🙂

Cutthroat Circus 1970

Tickets

bleeding

needing

someone to laugh

in this empty garden

somebody to shut the windows to the night

somebody to open the box of toys

hidden so long

 

topaz shatterproof whispering thief

finding his way into the locked room

tiptoes then dynamites the hanging

fearing to find escape outside of

becoming another fugitive figure

flung fatally into one of the frames

 

mixed relaxations

reactions

interactions

of sitting & rocking

the childminder asleep

like a tighter thought leaping

across the room at my throat

 

Ringmaster’s Intro Speech

 

realized confinement

time & tomorrow waiting

with a box full of everyone

wishes for their giving to

secret plans & dangling

free frozen in the act

of trying to be a lover

or another testy fake

 

beneath satin sliding silk

sticking sucking slender

silent

waiting then leaping

at your throat

knife sharp

cutting

steel swift

shining sinking into

flinching flesh

bursting bleeding

bravely saving sighs for songs

as duty demands this sudden

stealthy

dubious death

 

The Show

 

cautiously

carefully

itemized perfections

petrified pain

aware merry-go-round

 

circus

charmer looking for Mesmer

trying for the bigtop jackpot

scarcely leaning jagged seat-edged

watching amazed as

the trapeze swings

empty

as

the trapeze swings

full

oriental curving through

a thousand falling feet

to the thudding ground

netted protected below

unaware

timid almost

blushing

shy for once

pleased & proud

confused aloud

almost sure these

hands reached for

across the crowd

might prove to be gone

plunging again

but knowing full well

it’s merely a trick of the band

 

the trombone

tension getting device

as the drums beat faster

& the trapeze bar mirrored silver

fogs with perspiration 

slipping hands

feeling thousand hands hounding

grabbing you out of mid-flight

& dragging you

gracefully arching

to the aching 

safety of home

 

gaunt & tall

removed & aloof

the savage tamer

of the tigers in the room

the charming knife thrower

electric pulsating neon

through pink spotlight

cage bar shadow rippled face

loses no time

in hurling rockets of steel

flashing through sawdust air

to trembling spangled buxom target

coyly smiling as she walk

from the spinning hazard into

your eager spread-legged dream

of night & thrill

in the trailers

in the tents

in the bandwagon

in the centre ring

the major attraction of all time

together

you might & majestic

while she

so calm & serene

& able to walk way

alive after having been burst upon

by your crimson dagger

 

simple acts of contrition

rings one & two

no bells are heard

but the leper’s bell

as the choir bursts forth

with discord after harmony 

 

chime

chime

chime

the centre attraction 

is cutting himself to shreds

the knife thrower stands small in the wings

the centre attraction

is taming himself with whip & chair

s c r e a m i n g

dan

g

l

i

n

g in the air

swings by his teeth

twisting & turning in erotic agony

as the bareback lady rides her

mount so heavily over

the sweating

distressed

finish line

 

clowns in fire engine

save the crying child

the crowd roars wild

 

the choir finds a fatal note

rapture

applause

laughter

spotlights flash aimlessly

uncontrolled

over

the

tent top

sky

as beyond

fireworks

filled

as the final fugitive elephant

is prodded back into chains

is lured back into his corner of the circus

 

fleeting & everlasting

steaming rows of

honking seals

screaming rows of terrified children

as the tigers leap

thrashing

at the cage bars

trying for freedom

foreheads bleeding & dripping

clowns playing

in frenzy to hide the

deep inside mastery of the circus

 

circus tickets

laughing futile 

flight through time

again the choir

singing some

faithless mass

the organist trashing his peddles

the guest soprano

leading through

new augmented chords

all united as all

lions leaping through flaming hoops

horses dancing the arias

cadenza

pianist handless

rhythms 

pumping faster

the fire engines futile whine

 

while in the centre ring

I lead them all in

one final chorus of

laughter

At the time wrote this I felt it was a magnum opus. This is one piece were the enjambments were a carnival in & of themselves. ‘dan g l i n g’ stretched across the page, as well as down the page, with each turn of the typewriter roller dropping the letters down one line after the other.

‘topaz shatterproof whispering thief’ wtf? It clearly shows the influence of surrealism and Dylan Thomas. It creates, to me, an image that almost makes sense while being mystifying meaningless. ‘fugitive figure/flung fatally into one of the frames’ what the ‘f’ is going on 🙂 I do love ‘bigtop jackpot’ for the sonics.

The trapeze symbolized my sense of trying swing through life while keeping from being unbalanced by my expectations & sexuality ‘alive after having been burst upon/by your crimson dagger.’ The pumelling images almost reflect some of the melodramatic turmoil I was struggling with trying to get a sense of my own future.


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Good Sex With Andrew Gurza

 

(Trigger warning: explicit man on man sex)


On a recent Disability After Dark Andrew Gurza  describes in explicit & visceral detail good M2M sex he has had. Refreshing & bold he takes us into a bedroom, holding nothing back (except the name of his sex partner). There is nothing ‘show off’ about his descriptions just a sense of his pleasure & joy in sex. He talks about rimming without shame – actually names it. It is neither pornographic nor clinical – matter of fact & honest. 

Like me he prefers more than just the dropping of pants that reduces sex to body parts. Good sex for me starts with texting – one guy I see will send a text asking what my weekend plans are – I know that means ‘let’s play.’ If I’m free, which I usually am, he follows up with a least one selfie of his stunning smile then another of his equally fine cock. I do the same.

Good sex involves dinner here. One guy sometimes sends a day before pic showing his eagerness. Day of dinner texts are confirmation of time, a mention of the food menu. Sometimes there is an exchange of shower/bath pics too. I always like to know when a guy is on his way from the subway or parking his car so I can wait on my front steps for him & can watch as he comes up the walk. 

This walk is so sweet because this is the only time we really see each other from a distance. Weather & time permitting we chat a bit outside about the weather, the week & go inside to sup. There is often chat over supper with my partner (who doesn’t play). Table cleared. 

Up to my study after supper. Quick wash up, brushing teeth (one of my guys has his own toothbrush here). Then on to the play portion of the evening – alway starts with hugging kissing rubbing of clothed junk, hands into pants for fondling until pants are ready to explode off. The first touch of naked belly to belly can give me chills – maybe we will rotate around each other for belly to back, erections caressing between ass cheeks. 

Onto the bed for lots more kissing, hugging, cock sucking, tit teasing, ball sucking, ass eating, penetration, ejaculating (too clinical? fucking & coming). More snuggles, chit-chat, washing up, sometimes more sucking & fucking. Occasionally down to watch some TV. Sad parting as I watch them walk to the subway or find their car. Occasionally a text five minutes later to say ‘great time.’

I Still Dream of Wee Willie

Wee Willie stomped the ground 

in his pen

agitated bellowing

I dashed to see what was going on

 

my mother reached to hold me back

I eluded her easily

Wee Willie reared on his hind legs

that was all the glimpse I got

before my mother’s shawl 

covered my head

but in that gimpse 

I saw all she was afraid I’d see

 

the rose pattern shawl 

was the one she used

to cover her crystal ball

the future was to be veiled at all times

so she told her customers

only the hand of spirit 

and $10 could move it

 

what it hid from me was not my future

but Wee Willie pawing the air

with lumbering legs

as he teetered toward Daisy Blue

 

I pulled the shawl away

I had to see if they were fighting

then I saw for the first time

Wee Willie erect

his elephant cock in gory glory

it was huge enormous

bigger even than that of Herculo

the muscle man

 

Wee Willie clambered 

onto the back of Daisy Blue

she was docile 

her big ears flickered 

as she moved her head side to side

his humungous cock got bigger harder

his weight upon her back

 

I fainted

I came to in our trailer

my shoulders ached 

under the weight of my dreams

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Wee Willie

circusboy

I Still Dream of Wee Willie

Wee Willie stomped

the ground in his pen

agitated bellowing

I dashed to see what was going on

my mother reached to hold me back

I eluded her easily

Wee Willie reared on his hind legs

was all the glimpse I got

before my mother’s shawl

covered my head

 

the rose patterned shawl

was the one she used

to cover her crystal ball

the future was to be veiled at all times

so she told her customers

only the hand of spirit

and $10 could move it

 

but in that glimpse I saw

what she was afraid I’d see

was not my future

but Wee Willie pawing the air

with lumbering legs

as he teetered toward Daisy Blue

 

I pushed the shawl away

I had to see if they were fighting

then I saw for the first time

Wee Willie erect

his elephant cock in gory glory

it was huge   enormous

bigger even than that of Herculo

the muscle man

 

Wee Willie clambered

onto the back of Daisy Blue

she was docile  big ears flickered

as she moved her head side to side

his humungous cock got bigger  harder

his weight upon her back

 

I fainted

 

I woke in our trailer

my shoulders ached

under the weight of my dreams

elephant

One of my favourite shows as a child was Circus Boy. The show centred on Toby Tyler and the child actor was cute and even wore his hair like mine at the time. His character was based on a book Toby Tyler which I read & reread longing of that adventure. ‘I Dream’ is my fantasy based on that longing.

This is one of four or five pieces in which I explore being a child growing up in a circus. I’m did world building as I went along and initially it was also a poem of discovery even for me as characters became clearer.

greenpole

The name Wee Willie came to me first and the scene of the agitated, aroused elephant quickly followed. I needed action to get the ball rolling. Mother as fortune teller is a bit of a cliche but I needed the shawl, trapeze artists didn’t usually wear their capes when working around the grounds. The hiding with the shawl is also a way to indicate the age of my hero. If he were in his teens I don’t think the mother would have bothered.

I also like the way I veil the eyes of the reader with it so that they don’t see what is going on until my hero sees it. I also tried to create a sense of real emotional connection between my hero and Wee Willie so the reader could feel his concern. Daisy Blue is another of those names that came easily.

Then the ‘big’ reveal.

weeds01

We do enter the realm of truth here – I have seen, thanks to TV of course – an elephant’s erection: impressive but not pretty. The mention of Herculo is to give my hero a sense of the reality of living in a circus where things are seen as a part of what is around as opposed to as objects of desire.weeds02

The faint leads into the real nature of this memory, of how things we see as children work into our subconscious in unexpected way, that they can reveal to us what we may not even have a name for but feel the weight of all the same.

soon

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1504753909765085/

June 3-5: attending: Capturing Fire 2016 – The DC Centre – 2000 14th St NW, Suite 105 – Washington, DC

nufire

https://www.facebook.com/capturingfire/

June 11 – attending: The Toronto Poetry Talks – 10 AM – Metro Hall, 55 John Street, Toronto, Ontario M5V 3C6

poetrytalk

https://www.facebook.com/events/147955055574679/

September 1-4: attending FanExpo 2016expo16

https://www.facebook.com/fanexpocanada/?fref=ts

November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo

nanobullseye

http://nanowrimo.org/

money

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

wrestwk3

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

elephant

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Cirque de #NaNoWriMo 2014

Imagine my surprise to find a new, to me, genre of music that turns out to be perfect for my Nano project this year. Part of Picture Perfect take place in a circus museum that I’ve imagined on the east coast. The museum is an attempt by a smallish town to create somewhat of a tourist attraction – as tourism is the prime industry in many parts of the east coast.

rollercoaster rides are in my blood

So I did a search for calliope music to see if that would put me the mood – it put me over the moon – what better invitation to sit down to the computer to write than a great circus march. A little goes along way mind you but the relentless fun of this music is hard to resist as it gets my imagination really flowing and flowering.

ridestea cup rides are so scarrry 

I also grabbed some fresh beta beats (as suggested by nanorimo’s Chris Batty) for my iPod to tune my creative frequencies when I’m out for my morning walk. The walk falls after I’ve done my first couple of pages where I get the scene started. Getting out gives that start time to develop in my subconscious. I may know how things start & where I want them to end up but the thinking often changes how they get there.

clown but not scarrry as clowns

Over the past few months I read the various NaNoWriMo books – ‘no plot no problem’ etc – nothing new to me in them but a nice confirmation that much of my creative (as opposed to structural) approach is a good one to get the job done. One thing I learned in improv is that pushing fast can take you into unexpected and sometimes brilliant directions. Nano is a written improv in which I try transcribe without editing or telling the brain to slow down. When I do that I lose all fear and can find myself on the tight rope without intending to be there.

So I’m stepping into the big ring tomorrow.

Calliope

 

there is this circus of flesh

that moves faster

than the blood can pound

that over rides all cautions

lessons learned  go out the window

when that pandemonium opens

cotton candy balls of fun

for the ones who surrender

to take give take give

rise and fall

expectation and delivery

the fierce red flush of ginger hair

that surrounds the heave and heft

of the the timid and free

fleeting and heavy

melt of the stars

into a mouth

into the sudden rise

shape fall

stomach churning moment

when a glance is returned

take this button popping opportunity

slow stroke of zipper

happy slide of pants

shirts

sweaters

shoes socks

fly through the air

merry go around

in the middle of the bed

sheet strewn masses

wrinkled rivers of dim corner

vibrant and frightened

tongue chasing twists

I know the promise

I take this opportunity

to chase the roller coaster

to sharper shocks

higher highs

all dips hips slips

the rock solid rocket

twist and tumble

the grazed knees

the bruised knuckles

the wet dry hot cool

sweat sweet breath to catch

running faster lunge

the weight of one on the other

that pulls each to the earth

accepts shares

separates courses

through the veins

beat pulse

throb shudder

seek the chance to get back on the ride

I know the circus

will pitch another tent

but I am reluctant to leave this one

so sweetly pitched

so well enjoyed

employed spent dreamy sleepy

in this gift of satisfaction

this blank slate surrender

for a few blinding seconds

when we played each other

like a big rolly polly

steam calliope

that never runs out of steam

circusboy

not porn!!


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#CircusRides and #RollingPins

As always PlasPo offered a great, eclectic lineup of readers for its February edition. Bitter cold outside but warm, packed house inside. Once again I got to do the hosting duties – seems Cathy Petch sometimes has a real life 🙂

ferris wheel anyone
ferris wheel anyone

First up was Damian Rogers – who showed us how ‘the bird of the mind returned to find it’s nest a mess’ but what a lovely mess. How to be happy includes ‘learn how to swing a rolling pin.’ Her pieces were crafted around wry observations ‘if life is a movie I sneak out for smoke breaks between shoots.’ Loved her memory of meeting with Robin Blaser – ‘the light freezes into ice cubes for our cocktails.’

She was followed by Rob Coleman who read from his recent book ‘Little Empires. The man likes his dogs ‘the knives of their lungs,’ ‘dogs breath of thieves.’ His pieces are personal, sometimes funny, often constructed around crisp images and alliterations: ‘a corolla of condemnations’ ‘shell of the new self.’

ready to go-go
ready to go-go

After the break Heather Babcock – looking sharp – read some flash-fiction and a section from a story of hers to be in an upcoming Descant. Emotionally demanding pieces about damaged people – a child’s unhappiness with her looks soothed by arcs of ‘red rubies’ that replace her eyebrows. ‘her man’s face was a fist,’ looking for ‘a place in her bones called shelter.’

Final feature was Sheila Stewart – ‘poetry is not giving up each other’ – I’m not a fan of poetry about poetry but lines like the above ‘verbs tensed in pleasure’ can speak to me. ‘The sky lifts making room for my mid-winter steps’ captured February for all of us. Her final piece ‘Sugar’ was a compelling contrast between the sweetness of sugar and the way it is harvested. It made it so clear how removed we are from where our pleasure comes from.

yeah! tilt-a-whirl
yeah! tilt-a-whirl

A dynamic slate of open stagers added to a great night, with good food, libations and creativity. Not to mention a host in fine form :-).

not porn!!
not porn!!