Friday, 9 September 2011

The Clown and the New World part 2

So here we are again ready to follow our intrepid fool on his Way into the New World.
If you haven't yet read part one, I strongly suggest you do. It is quite necessary for the enjoyment of this installment that you understand the depths of our clowns predicament. So with no further ado, we take a breath and dive back in again.

Part 1 - Tragic beginnings and the Livid Storm
Part 2 - The Carnival is Dead
Part 3 - The Clown and Robert Johnson
Part 4 - The Angel and the Greatest Show on Earth 

To his surprise he woke alive
in a narrow berth.
It felt like some one stabbed his heart
and he knew he had no worth,
as in a flash it came to him:
his Girl had left this earth.
And he was still around to hurt.
He’d rather be, under six feet dirt.

There sat a sailor by his side,
he had fallen deep asleep.
The clown he turned against the wall
to weep and weep and weep.
The sailors could not console the clown,
as the Captain set the course he thought
“Should we have let him drown?”

When they fished him from the ocean
they found a round red nose
in the pocket on his breast.
There were mumbles and commotion,
“only clowns wears one of those.”
And the men proposed in jest
that the man he was a clown
But when they asked the crying man
he would only frown.

The ship it docked at a tiny pier
outside a tiny town.
As the sailors disembarked the boat,
in this port so damn remote,
they waived the clown goodbye,
he was wearing but a gown.
He had no place to be or go
but wandering he did.
It somehow felt a little better,
his mind would rid itself of pain
to be relieved.
The walking would be good for him,
that was what he believed.
But he was almost naked
And a stranger in this land
so far away from home,
he would need some clothes and shoes,
if he was to roam.

In a corn crop, by the little port
He saw a scarecrow standing,
waving in the gentle wind
with night dark ravens landing
on his outstretched arms,
in a field between two farms.
A scarecrow not repulsing birds
is absolutely obsolete.
With easy heart the jester could
the scarecrows clothes deplete.

The stranger in a strange new land
thought that he would drown
in all the tears that fell from him,
the broken hearted clown.
There was no joy in his heart no-more
Without the daughter he adored
He only wished to be ignored.
But somewhere deep inside there were
a spark that would deter,
the harrowed soul from finding death.
It stopped him seeking his last breath.
Even with a broken heart
a man must eat and drink.
But it’s so hard to make folks laugh
when of only misery you think.
And soon his belly rumbled
even louder than his heart
and he knew the time had come
for his display’s of mirth to start.

In the Scarecrow’s suit
he made up his mind.
“I’ll present my act on the seaport square.
From the look of all these sour-faced men
a show like this, is rare round here.”
He found a spot he thought would work,
wiped away a little tear.
He begun his old routines from home
but found the acts fell flat.
As he did his best to make them laugh,
they all shunned him like a rat.

Moments meant for laughter
were ominously silent
other moments meant for joy,
on the brink of being violent.
By the culmination of his act
the audience had left
the ancient, lonely harlequin
was quite alone in fact.
To stop his hunger,
he stole a bread
and ate it in the grave yard,
surrounded by the dead.

And so it went for many months
the clown became a thief.
To avoid the law his stays in towns
they all became quite brief.
On feet or in a railroad cart
always further south.
Tormented by his drowning girl
consumed by Neptune’s mouth.
The dust it blew right through him
as he walked the wind swept land
not enough of food to eat
neither fresh nor canned.
He was heading straight into a drought.
On his long and lonesome way,
way, way, way down south,

Then one day as the clown
walked into a town
there was a circus in the square.
A tiny little horse drawn show
with a Strongman and a bear.
The half starved and thirsty clown,
walked up like he belonged.
He tried to tell the circus men
he was a clown from far away
who had by life been wronged.
The strong man laughed and told him
straight up to his face
“You, a clown, I doubt that’s true.
You look like a disgrace.”

The jester he would not give up
He wanted bad to be on show
on a stage, in a big top.
But they did not want to hire him
as a funny man.
They didn’t think he’d have a plan
to make crowds laugh until they’d weep.
Instead they saw the poor old man
as a homeless creep.
But finally he got a job
as a low paid geek.
He got his board
and two bucks per week.
So the clown that lost his luck
now made a living eating snakes.
He found he didn’t mind
If he imagined they were steaks.

They traveled in the horse drawn carts,
from town to town,
but every village, just as bad
there just weren’t no cash around.
The shows were empty
but the fairground full
of people looking in.
The children looked so awfully thin.
Trying to get a man to gamble
a game, he couldn’t win
was crime as dark as sin.

When people starve
then no one wants
see the Wildman eat a snake.
With enough days without a bite
you have such a belly-ache,
seeing a man in a pit
bite the head right of a snake
does not repulse a bit.

Then after many weeks of this
they arrived into a town
Every river had run dry,
with deep cracks in the ground.
There had been no rain for months,
perhaps even for years.
The sound of crying, thirsty babes
filled their dusty ears.
Just before the show should start
the promoter called them ‘round,
famous for his armored heart,
he told them that the world they knew
had begun to fall apart.
The fat promoter climbed atop
the wagon filled with poles.
He raised his hands and cleared his throat
to the parched cries of a dancing goat.
“There is no money in any town
neither here nor there,
all the water has turned brown,
we are miles from anywhere.”
His eyebrows furrowed as he said
“We are sorry to have to tell you this
but the Carnival is Dead.”
He took his hat so solemnly
of his sweaty head
and placed it right before his heart
as an example for the crew,
but his face, a tad to smug,
the Strongman yelled
“screw you”
But there were no doubt in any mind
That the fairground did unwind.
And the carnival disbanded when
the management ran off
there were many hefty quarrels
and plenty fight and scoff
before they all went separately
out in the world, all free.

So there you have it folks. The Carnival is Dead. But where does this leave us? Can life be any worse? Is there no respite? Fear not, fellow travelers, all will be revealed before the end. Click here for the third installment.
Your truly,
Captain Frodo

No comments:

Post a Comment