The Clown Murderer – an Origins Story

In a dark corner
of an equally dark mansion
swung a framed portrait
of a clown.

No one could recall
when it arrived in the corner
but it smacked mistress
and she died.

After that we knew
of the framed clown that swung at will.
Our house versus the clown,
a battle.

Soon, it turned bloody
the clown killed the heir and the spare
and then the butler.
We brought fire.

Oh, how the clown screamed
trapped in his frame, as he melted
and we did not laugh,
at this clown.

But then the next day,
in the same spot, a frame swinging
and a new clown face
murderous.

We blocked the corner
kept away the remaining child
who laughed at the clowns
with intent.

Who placed this mansion
under such a malicious curse?
We would never know.
The child grew
as most children do,
yet, he had vengeance in his heart
for he’d decided,
kill them all.
All clowns, even those
who did not swing from frames at will.

Tales in Thirds

10 words max per line. 3 lines

a series of poems related in structure but unrelated in theme

 

And though I do not know the way,
I step forward – as I always do,
one foot into the new day.

 

They set the stage, built a life;
then let subsequent decades
pick at its seams, tearing them apart.

 

One day you may wake up and wonder,
Am I a dreamer or delusional?
But then, remember: only you are following the narrative.

Polycarbonate

Behind this helmet of polycarbonate,
each breath warms my face,
the condensation bubbles like droplets,
and I remember;
I miss the rain.

Beyond this helmet of polycarbonate,
blue earth cuts the purple of space,
I see more ocean than land
and I remember;
I miss the rain.

Before this helmet of polycarbonate,
early morning thunderstorms,
and a window view aside a cup of tea,
and I remember;
I miss the rain.

But for this helmet of polycarbonate,
I would plunge from orbit,
my life would slip by,
and then maybe
I would feel the rain.

Starlight’s Reprieve

She cleans;
yet in the light of the passing day,
dust particles still dance,
in spite of her efforts.
She cleans;
the infallible remains of dead skin and soil,
twirl around her,
(her only company).
She cleans;
until the light fades from the sky
the dust is silent, unseen
and she is alone.
She cleans;
until it happens:
the flickering light of a single star
then another, and another, and another.
She cleans;
mopping, sweeping, scrubbing, polishing,
but she cannot clean the stars above,
and for this she is grateful.


 

Inspired by: Microcosms 8