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Poetry
by Natascha Tallowin
Circus
of the Damned
Ladies and gentlemen,
Boys and girls,
Children of all ages…
You are about to witness the most spectacular show on earth
Hold your children's hands
Squeeze your girlfriends shoulders tight
And peer into a world of altered reality
Of ghoulish delights and bitter sweet dreams…
Come one, come all; step on in!
A good time for everyone's about to begin
You watch the woman walk high on wire
And wait while we set the net on fire
You'll be sad to see our circus end,
But it doesn't have to stop here my friend.
We wouldn't like to be thought to deceive
But once you join, you never leave.
You may go anywhere you'd like and more…
Except that final dressing room door.
In there, the biggest draw resides
The girl of many faces hides
With rows of masks up on shelves.
So many, she's never seen herself.
One moment she's an angel who protects,
A vicious self-preserver at the next.
But alas her true face she's yet to see,
It's faded in her memory.
And she, and we, aren't even sure
If she even has one anymore.
But it dosen't matter if its a face not worth showing
As long as her masks keep the business flowing.
You'll learn all sorts of fine things first-hand
In the clever circus of the damned.
But do not look at us aghast,
Now that you know our tenants' past.
It shouldn't matter if you know
The face-girl's misery and woe.
Because now, with everything you know,
We can never, ever let you go.
So now you finally understand
The morbid circus of the damned.
Welcome to the Circus
Enjoy your stay…
top
If
I didn't have you, someone else would do
Realistically
There are lots of fish in the sea.
And if I had a different rod
I would concievably land some.
So much of what I feel reminds me of something I read in a book,
when shouldn't it be the other way around?
The sound of a chair against a plastic floor
or the hole in your shoe when you're walking in the rain
like the automatic "no, thanks" when you mean "yes"
the moment the party is over
or the twitch of his fingers, wanting to give the hug he can't
give.
Like the thought that went to your head, instead of your mouth.
I am love-sick, enjoying the imagination, suffering the questioning
to incessant contemplation.
Realistically
There are lots of fish in the sea.
And if I had a different rod
I could concievably land some.
Even though I am
Fiscally
consistantly
pitiable.
top
Virginia
I always wondered what it was you thought
When your mind collided with the madness that flirted with your
mind
The madness that stole sleep from your bed,
That sent you sailing,
Drifting,
Into complete and utter
Panic.
I always wondered
How those stones felt between your hands.
I always wondered what you thought
As you stepped into the brittle, cold water
With weighted pockets
Without a care thrown to those who might see,
Those who might wonder
After all,
One who carries such anguish in her fingertips
Has no cause for femininity.
Did you think of lighthouses when the water flushed against your
cheeks?
Did you bid farewell to Mrs Dalloway at the gate before you left?
Did words slide from books, from book cases?
And flutter to the floor with a cry?
I always wondered if you ever felt the relief that you craved.
The vacancy of words prickling at your fingers,
Swelling in the forefront of your mind
Did you find the peace?
That was never found by avoiding life?
Did you know that you were one of the greats?
A Great woman
Settling ungraciously
Into her steps,
With a smile always wobbling
Precariously close to a frown.
top
Natascha Tallowin is a poet,
writer and dedicated cat watcher from Suffolk, England. She lives
in an 18th century cottage on the sea front, and spends most
of her time drinking tea, writing and listening to David Bowie.
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