Every summer Silver's circus comes to our town at a time when the numbers of visiting holiday makers and locals are at their zenith. They stay for about a month over summer drawing crowds from all across the peninsula. Then suddenly, they are gone-off to their next location. I have been inside the bigtop. Here is my poem to these annual circus visitors. I enjoyed the opportunity to indulge in a little wordplay... When The Circus Left Town When the circus left town And the tent was folded away -The clowns cried The trapeze artist struggled to come to grips with the matter The fire eater contacted an old flame In search of a little warmth While the man they called the human cannonball Left with undue haste As if shot from a - For parts unknown The jugglers Couldn’t handle their despair And all the while The ringmaster Walked in endless circles Intent on being stoic But still talking in a decidedly loud voice To anyone who would lend him an ear. ©Alan j Wright It is once again P
I have been this young poet. I have experienced the frustration that descends when topic choice is not offered and you are writing merely to please the teacher. This was me in Grade 5. In the interest of honest disclosure, this poem has autobiogrpahical underpinnings. It is a poem for all those quiet subversives. Names have been changed, withheld to protect people, ants and cats... This poem is for all those young writers who want ownership, need ownership, in order to write with a sense of authenticity and voice. I Don’t Want to Write A Poem About Cats Our teacher Ms Hydracklu Has insisted we write a poem about cats. Ms Hydracklu loves cats But they’re not exactly my favourite animal, or topic Since my sister’s cat –Princess Alice Peed in my track shoes. I sit in class Chomping on my pencil And staring at the floor under my seat It seems inspiration has run away to hide It’s turning into a –catastrophe… Suddenly, Ms Hydracklu announces- It doesn’t have to rhyme! I haven’t got a sin