Cirkus
I can’t understand the clown
but the red looks beautiful –
gold braid bitten into the fibres.
The lion tamers
(ticket collectors on Sundays)
have fallen under the gymnast’s cloak
of sand dust.
I swear she kicked them as she left the ring
– their tongues pawing at her tights.
But she is the one snarling
at the broom boys
who left grit on the star;
sharp under her toes.
Side splits in the silk
part like a ripe red mouth
and the red swallows hard.
The drip of silver and turquoise,
the strip of air
lashes over the heads
of six black Russian stallions
and the smell of horse
straw-smart and welcome,
brings the rush of animal.
A camel dances the token Sahara Waltz –
her face a tea-sipping marchioness.
Fur dewlaps a-ruffling
she bows out like the horses.
And the faith of the straight-backed boy in blue
graces a stack of white wooden chairs
(no net).
Words by Helen Pletts whose two collections, Bottle bank and For the chiding dove, are both published by YWO/Legend Press (supported by The Arts Council) and available on Amazon. Bottle bank was longlisted for The Bridport Poetry Prize 2006, under Helen’s maiden name of Bannister. You are welcome to visit http://www.stem-of-quietly-disarrayed-fertility.com/
Image by Romit Berger who says “I am a graphic designer. I met my very dear friend, Helen Pletts, in Prague, several years ago. Helen’s inspiration has led my graphic design career into that magical realm which combines illustration and poetry, and our creative wings continue to connect our souls through time and distance.”