Mind Travels

Part Three:

By B.B. Riefner

Circus Songs

Part One

Grand Daddy told my Father

one circus tale

each Friday night,

all through the empty winter

just before Daddy went to bed.

He said “Afterwards I prayed

in the cold dark

for the spring magic

parading down Main Street

with the early flowers."

A flow of hopes

from a river of dreams

bringing all

of another’s childhood

to sweetly drown him.

He claimed the circus snuck into town

Not ever the dogs heard them.

By dawn the cook tent was up

Bread warming and filling

with early hopes and smoldering dreams.

That he had fallen in love with love

peeking under canvas walls

catching performers behind curtains

of coffee steam, noticing that

flyers and wirewalkers always touched

But the star warmed herself by

Pressing her cheek into the young clown’s shoulder

Grand Daddy claimed

“All balloon men

carried a legend.

Each balloon

that got away

went right

to a kid

who would never see

a circus.

And that’s why

so many balloons

float away."

He told Daddy that

the Midway like magic plants

grew right up through the sawdust.

And the side show tents and rides

popped and bloomed

like giant cornflowers and dandelions.

While tigers and lions and bears

were transformed  from

clumps of shrubs and evergreens.

That in the smaller circuses

everyone was a clown.

the barker, the blacksmith,

the cook and riggers …

the chief canvas man,

all melting like butter

on Daddy’s pancakes

into clown’s masks

three shows a day.

Intermission:  Grand Daddy's dead

Circus Songs

Part Two

View from The High Wire

Daddy claimed

the tube which connects

the fantasy

the crowd demands

with their necessities of life

is Clown Alley.

and through its colorful funnel

flows the energy

from which all dreams come.

He laughed about the circus band

Claimed it blew its music out

But with every breath

It took a gifted kid musician

And sucked him away

From every town they played.

He said, "Every circus has a story

about a lion tamer

being knocked out cold

by a tiger.

 It’s always the poor tiger, son.

And while the assistant

dragged the tamer out

a clown kept

fifteen cats at bay with just a chair

 and a painted grin."

And it was Daddy who claimed

"Freak Alley

calls only to those

whose Karma has been defined

and to those who seek

their hidden ordinations.

To the Boardwalk of Futures

customers go

to walk its length,

choose a costume,

 select a booth, and from on high

watch the show

as the Freaks romp by.

Both he and I

one secure

the other eager

sought out the Freaks.

One went expecting a preview,

the other to find his friends."

Both Daddy and Grand Daddy were sure

since the circus and time began

the stands have overflowed

each generation pays gladly

for its special forgetfulness.

and what has been forgotten

still rages through the streets.

but inside the Big Tent the wire walker

never falls.

My Daddy always claimed

by making magic

an entertainer

blots out changes

the world goes through.

“Son, if the magic is great

It erects a  dome

where life and death

are able to penetrate.

And each priest

brings his own illusions

as reality changes

with every act.

In between

the clowns make the audience

grin at mirror

less intricate

more clear."

Daddy always claimed

“Life becomes the game

if there are no artifacts

there is no magic.

Magic leaves only mystery

through this communion

and clowns sanctify our amusement

which solidifies our faith.

The artist need the audience.

Their magic needs applause."

Intermission …Daddy’s Dead.

Circus Songs

Part Three

Sifting Daddy and Grand Daddy’s Memories

In my dreams I steal a caravan.

A horse drawn circus train

in gaudy array

Gum dropped colored clowns

clinging like flocks

Overpowering the green and yellow carts,

pulled by pairs of horses

who are Unicorns.

Their red plumes

Beckon like temptress' fingers

Yet always beyond the children’s’ reach;

“The Children Of All Ages.

All these promises of Oz

all this magic

marches triumphantly up

ramps into steel drums

of my experiences

until the lids clang shut

and its immortality is gone.

But not from the magician’s wand.

Grand Daddy! Some when the circus forgot!

Tradition must remain tradition fills the gaps

between old acts and new faces.

Tradition does not fade

like weathered posters.

But they can be swallowed

By silver tubes

On the minute-less mile

As it rolls into town

At 5A.M. unannounced.

And also … un-applauded.

From below, saints and sinners

Cynics and fanatics vow

To pledge themselves anew;

Then rush off into the cold,

Through deserts and wildernesses

Seeking messages from sands and stars.

While along with a thousand other lunatics

I chase God across stained glass

Until God shakes a brush

Causing pieces of yesterdays to fall

Forming patterns greater than love

Always just beyond everyone’s reach

Through the telescope of time

which Grand Daddy and Daddy handed me

the circus celebration blurs

vacant lots become dumps

instead of Midways.

Trucks and gas fumes

Require no parade permits.

It’s not fun to watch

your fantasies and hopes

disappear through armory doors.

The circus cannot understand

doesn’t do it alone.

When the admission price ain’t high enough

crowds become mobs

with no respect or tolerance

for traditions and customs.

They always demand

only the slick and grand

Oh Grand Daddy and Daddy

give me back the Midway!

one that’s a century long

leading only to a Big Top

of dreams.

patched over dreams

which can still

transform vacant lots

into forever Wonderlands.