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A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi. (In front of you, a precipice. Behind you, wolves.)

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Lucky Thirteen (and it's Tagalong 14)

Lucky Thirteen (and me! Don't forget me--14)

One 3--Sorrow
She took off her sadness
Like a worn, faded sweater
Folding it neatly
And gently packed it away,
In a dark, quiet place
For another day.   

There would be 
Other times.
It was always there,
Hidden away,
But ever-present.

She tried desperately
To get rid of it--
That moth-eaten sadness
But she couldn't
How to un-make it.

  For the sadness was a gift
From a friend.

He'd look for it on her,
Not realizing
He was the author
The giver,
And the binder
Of her darkness.

And the quencher of 
Her light.

She would 
Take the sadness  
And its bringer
And hurl it away from her  
Smash it to shards
On the sharp edge of
Her anger.
  But that would never be
The end.
   For shards cut.    
Or maybe
When she finally understood,
In her extremity
She'd take out
That frayed, worn sorrow,
Gently unfold
And re-make it
Into something happier.
For only then
Would she be


Evil Clown
There once was a clown
Who came to town
He turned the circus upside down

He told the freaks
They had eight weeks
To turn themselves into business geeks

He made the monkey
Wear something chunky
And do strange things on the back of a donkey

He changed the rules
He hid the tools
The big top fell down and they felt like fools

The swingers on the big trapeze
Kept falling off and skinning knees
They finally ganged up, tossed the clown in the trees

The clown came again
He was such a pain
From beating him blind, they had to refrain

The clown gave a grin
Said, "You let me win.
You silly fools keep letting me in."

Then the circus got wise
Said, "No compromise."
And they poked him in the googly eyes.

They tossed him out
And with a shout
They sent him away via roustabout

So to this day
The people say
No clowns in their circus are allowed to stay.

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