Today’s offendra at the altar of art is a trip to the circus.This poem was written,literally,during a period of insomnia.I am not a doctor (and would be a useless one-no patience(ts)!) but I have discovered the difference between anxiety and depression.Anxiety wont let you sleep-the mind revs up and the circus music starts-all the tension in that tent of a racing frontal cortex and your thoughts in a throng at the entrance.Depression, like a dark lover, on the other hand ,doesn’t want you to get up or even leave the bed.Having battled both,neither are pleasant.
Unusually for me,the title here came first, and I thought of a famous circus-Cirque du Soleil and turned it on it’s head-a night circus where you can-check in but never leave,so to speak.
The structure of the poem itself is 10 lines of 9 syllables each,bar the clowns in line 2 who had other ideas in their crazy little car of just 8.
The first two lines tell us this is a dangerous travelling show-“no safety net”, “unpegged tent”,and nobody paying for the tent and it’s tentacles taking up valuable (to me anyway!)mental real estate-“paying this head rent”.
As we go further ,the moon rises-“silver light”-many used to believe that the silver qualities of moon light were detrimental to well being and the sun came from it’s sunken relief each morning with it’s risen rescuable rays.
The next line came to me as a double entendre- a student writing,while hiding under his old school ,school desk that opened and a new way of trying to describe being wide eyed and wide awake at night for many nights-“Pupil,the un shut lid’s old fight”
The performance starts in line 5 and 6 with dancing girls,bears (who are “tethered”) and “feathered ‘mares”.These could be horses or more likely horrible nightmares dare you slip into slumber.
The thoughts,tornado like,swirl with murderous intent and idle hands are employed to fend off “open mouthed lions” who won’t stop roaring through, with just a whip,a chair and your nerves fighting them off.
The poem concludes with the realization that I will just have to suffer this spell of sleeplessness until the tour of intrusive thought ends.
“I’ll put up with this putting me down”-comparing myself to the tent itself.The last line is the revelation that these performances have an audience of one-Me!-“Just one in their crowd and no next town”.
Sleep well,
Algo
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Algo Poetry-Behind the Lines 