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About This Author
A changeling spirit,
constantly evolving,
revolving around an inner core,
spinning forth legend and lore,
stories and lives
as I come to grips
with who and what I am,
have been and may be.
I am a phoenix:
rising ever above and beyond!
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Wildflower Surprize Theme: Carnival/Circus
Words to use: kaleidoscope, wildflower, cotton candy, turban, hawk, elephant
Words NOT to use:, rides, animals, peanuts, trapeze, watch or show.
You must work in the name of your all-time favorite book into the poem.
Minimum: 24 lines. Any style of poetry.
'Wildflower Surprize'
Thieves, they stole in during midnight hours
to take the fallow field across the street from home
where, the day before,
I’d captured photos of wildflowers
dancing in spritely breezes and
turned it into a maze of cotton candy delights.
Camera in hand, I meander,
shutter-viewing their world:
kaleidoscope of images
out of context, still.
Sound deleted:
No jangle of venders' voices hawking their wares,
screams of joy (or terror) emanating
from rides put up in dark of night.
Frozen freeze-frame of spinning lights
flashing in time to carnival cacophony,
blinding both eye and shutter.
Silenced carousel music
clashing with insidious invitation
to come in, come in.
Come in … and see the turbaned man from Nowhereitztan
swallow flaming swords longer than he is tall or
the hideous, malformed man who laughs all the time.
Camera clarity catches scars; no make-up
created the over-sized grin mimicked by
a child wrapped
in six feet of fluorescent pink boa constrictor.
Days later,
mind adds nuance to viewed glimpses,
shades and shadows focus
and you, with empty pockets,
win the prize.
In the moment, however,
unrelenting sun beats down unmercifully,
on field grass beaten into dust
by flip-flopped feet.
Lemonade, elephant ears, hot-dogged confectionery sugar high
bottoms out as dusk settles heavily,
condensing exhilaration into exhaustion.
Ride noises echo; disjointed,
contorted mirror images have escaped the fun-house
giving the crowd a freak show facade.
A headache blossoms, expands; popped
balloon scatters thoughts.
I wake to a carnival of rose-colored clouds
over a deserted field.
Camera in hand,
I capture the one pink wildflower
that survives.
Book: Man Who Laughs by Victor Hugo
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