Sawdust rings

[Keith]

I wanted the real photograph
not the straw bales
and candy apple faces.

The circus tent's veil of glamour
soon returns to canvas and rope
as sticky children skip away,
trailing laughter.

I walk small among the closing down
and creep my shadow on billboard walls,
side shows glow behind busy glances.
The thin slit of a caravan door sheds light
from a world not seen before.

She sits straight on a high-back chair
smearing lines across her face,
high above the audience she climbs
each night with dusted hands
and plans a ballerina’s fake escape.
The old trailer offers up whiskey tainted
whispers as the low lights dim and surge.
She spoke plainly, knowing I had to listen.

Is this the picture you would take from me?
The empty glass reality of aching limbs
and crippled hands, a life that seeped
on traveled cracks between
your towns and fields
each poster pasted
over stolen miles and years.

My name is Alina, you should at least know that,

I didn’t answer, I stayed a coward, hidden
while my camera stole everything she had left.

[nibbed]

Hi, Keith.

This poem is very magical because a person can take it everywhere and anywhere and it remains a solid marvel. I really liked the title and I saw the verses in three different ways, which is very impressive, better than a multi-faceted diamond. I also like how the ending ties together the first stanza. I'm supposed to offer some critique, find a flaw, but I can't...so I will read through it again and make notations as I go. Thank you. Please be blessed today. Janine



I wanted the real photograph                                                                                  
not the straw bales
and candy apple faces.                                     -the immediacy of words in the next stanza rescues the mystery of this stanza.

The circus tents veil of glamour
soon returns to canvas and rope
as sticky children skip away,
trailing laughter.                                                -trailing laughter is lovely, a perfect picture of the scene

I walk small among the closing down,
and creep my shadow on bill board walls           -genius
side tents glow behind busy glances.
The thin slit of a caravan door whispers            
of a world not seen before.

She sits straight on a high back chair
smearing lines across her face,                          -smearing lines, you've been given a wonderful brain
high above the audience she climbs
each night with dusted hands
and plans a ballerina’s fake escape.                    -I felt curious here
The old trailer offers up whiskey tainted
whispers as the low lights dim and surge.
She spoke plainly, knowing I had to listen.         

Is this the picture you would take from me?     
The empty glass reality of aching limbs
and crippled hands, a life that seeped
on traveled cracks between
your towns and fields
each poster pasted
over stolen miles and years.

My name is Alina, you should at least know that,

I didn’t answer, I stayed a coward, hidden
while my camera stole everything she had left.   -and then this.




precious poet.

[ellajam]

I just love this. I've read and written plenty of circus poems but this one is a stand-out, so well crafted. Your timing along the way is captivating and sober truth is all over it.

L4: Do you need an apostrophe somewhere in tents? There are a couple of words that might be condensed or hyphenated: bill boards, high back. I'm not too sure about the double whispers but I wouldn't really want to see either of them go. Possibly a semicolon or some other punctuation at the end of L9.

Really fine work, inspiring.

I wanted the real photograph
not the straw bales
and candy apple faces.

The circus tents veil of glamour
soon returns to canvas and rope
as sticky children skip away,
trailing laughter.

I walk small among the closing down,
and creep my shadow on bill board walls
side tents glow behind busy glances.
The thin slit of a caravan door whispers
of a world not seen before.

She sits straight on a high back chair
smearing lines across her face,
high above the audience she climbs
each night with dusted hands
and plans a ballerina’s fake escape.
The old trailer offers up whiskey tainted
whispers as the low lights dim and surge. Great, hard working 2 lines.
She spoke plainly, knowing I had to listen.

Is this the picture you would take from me?
The empty glass reality of aching limbs
and crippled hands, a life that seeped
on traveled cracks between
your towns and fields
each poster pasted
over stolen miles and years.

My name is Alina, you should at least know that,

I didn’t answer, I stayed a coward, hidden
while my camera stole everything she had left.

[Keith]

Hi, Keith.

This poem is very magical because a person can take it everywhere and anywhere and it remains a solid marvel. I really liked the title and I saw the verses in three different ways, which is very impressive, better than a multi-faceted diamond. I also like how the ending ties together the first stanza. I'm supposed to offer some critique, find a flaw, but I can't...so I will read through it again and make notations as I go. Thank you. Please be blessed today. Janine



I wanted the real photograph                                                                                  
not the straw bales
and candy apple faces.                                     -the immediacy of words in the next stanza rescues the mystery of this stanza.

The circus tents veil of glamour
soon returns to canvas and rope
as sticky children skip away,
trailing laughter.                                                -trailing laughter is lovely, a perfect picture of the scene

I walk small among the closing down,
and creep my shadow on bill board walls           -genius
side tents glow behind busy glances.
The thin slit of a caravan door whispers            
of a world not seen before.

She sits straight on a high back chair
smearing lines across her face,                          -smearing lines, you've been given a wonderful brain
high above the audience she climbs
each night with dusted hands
and plans a ballerina’s fake escape.                    -I felt curious here
The old trailer offers up whiskey tainted
whispers as the low lights dim and surge.
She spoke plainly, knowing I had to listen.         

Is this the picture you would take from me?     
The empty glass reality of aching limbs
and crippled hands, a life that seeped
on traveled cracks between
your towns and fields
each poster pasted
over stolen miles and years.

My name is Alina, you should at least know that,

I didn’t answer, I stayed a coward, hidden
while my camera stole everything she had left.   -and then this.




precious poet.

Thank you for taking the time to comment nibbed, in my head he never got to take the real picture because Alina knew he was there but yes there does link with the beginning, thanks for all your notations. Best Keith

---

I just love this. I've read and written plenty of circus poems but this one is a stand-out, so well crafted. Your timing along the way is captivating and sober truth is all over it.

L4: Do you need an apostrophe somewhere in tents? There are a couple of words that might be condensed or hyphenated: bill boards, high back.  I'm not too sure about the double whispers but I wouldn't really want to see either of them go. Possibly a semicolon or some other punctuation at the end of L9.

Really fine work, inspiring.

I wanted the real photograph
not the straw bales
and candy apple faces.

The circus tents veil of glamour
soon returns to canvas and rope
as sticky children skip away,
trailing laughter.

I walk small among the closing down,
and creep my shadow on bill board walls
side tents glow behind busy glances.
The thin slit of a caravan door whispers
of a world not seen before.

She sits straight on a high back chair
smearing lines across her face,
high above the audience she climbs
each night with dusted hands
and plans a ballerina’s fake escape.
The old trailer offers up whiskey tainted
whispers as the low lights dim and surge. Great, hard working 2 lines.
She spoke plainly, knowing I had to listen.

Is this the picture you would take from me?
The empty glass reality of aching limbs
and crippled hands, a life that seeped
on traveled cracks between
your towns and fields
each poster pasted
over stolen miles and years.

My name is Alina, you should at least know that,

I didn’t answer, I stayed a coward, hidden
while my camera stole everything she had left.

Really appreciate the feedback and comments Ella, I will do a quick edit to sort out the nits and have a look at the double whisper, I re-wrote S3 because it didn't make sense and totally missed the previous whisper so thank you for that. Best Keith