Poem 31

I envisaged writing a series of clown poems … but only managed two (you can see the other one another day) … borrowing from commedia dell’arte via Michael Moorcock’s Jerry Cornelius novels which used as their crux the eternal commedia triangle (Jerry thinking he was Harlequin but turning out to be Pierrot) …

… I like the bittersweet taste of this …

The Crucified Clown Considers

These black ruffs round my wrists
prove me Pierrot
and this very sharp
party hat

I see Harlequin's shoulders shaking
in the diamond flags flying
of those clouds
but laughing or crying I can't tell

now's the time to turn the trick
if ever
the little somersault inside out
and away

but Columbine you look at me so seriously
so separately
out of the grinning crowd
that I love my nails
                      and I stay