I hated cartoons.
(No TV:
Saturday matinees.)
Everyone laughed
when the cat fell
over the cliff,
or the roadrunner
squashed the coyote
under a weight.
I cried: strange child,
no sense of humour.
The same with
those circuses
that came around —
shivering through
animal acts
in the sawdust rings
of my childhood.
Tough looking men
cracked sudden whips
that made me jump
like those reluctant
beasts.
Cirque du Soleil, now,
that’s rmagic.
In my own living room
the clowns dance; they are
jugglers, acrobats,
flyers. Their bodies
writhe and slide, twisting
serpents of light.
Their voices of silver
soar and swing.
A tightrope cyclist
jumps a man, lands
precisely. Flames leap up
and swirl. The arena
is strafed by stars.
22/3/06 – 13/1/15
Another oldie finally improved by erasure.
Those Cirque du Soleil shows are absolutely stunning. I wish I had half the talent as some of those people. We can see magnificence when it is a true art form. No big explosions or other side effects, just pure excitement without the intention of luring someone in. No marketing ploys can begin to reveal real entertainment.
ReplyDeleteI so agree!
DeleteIt seems as if you went for elegance rather than outrage! Or craziness! This poem gets very snaky as it moves along (in a good way!) Hope all well, Rosemary. K. (Manicddaily at wordpress.)
ReplyDeleteI think circuses have improved a lo since I was a child! Cartoons too, perhaps, with Tom and Jerry replaced by animé.
Delete