The Carnival
The thrill of the carnival roller coaster ride
Serves well as metaphor for human existence
A tilt-a-whirling background for the senses
While lovers wolf down cotton candy clouds…
There’s immense humor yet tragic element here
Drowning in the faces of the carnies and hucksters
The characters haven’t changed much in millennia
And the wheels keep spinning wildly…
Could it really be that we’ve been here before
And with bizarre psychic ramblings and dementia
Hold key to access wild channels of our tenure
Would that such questions be easily answered…
In metaphysical abstraction sharp lines are drawn
Purely speculative but wondrous like fine wine
All our superficially forged ideas of reality
Floating in pools of history and smarmy garb…
So neatly rendered in verse and busker’s song
While the cat girls parade and earn their keep
If a duck were to fly overhead and hear the proud din
I’d safely wager he’d keep right on going…
It’s a glorious tempest of sight and sound
The sideshows smartly dressed to draw the crowds
On the ferris wheel anxious children holler and roughhouse
Their parents afoot in the crowds below…
Win it now and go home a happy player
The salesmen of the art of forgetting call out
The season for circus in this tornado town
Casts mysterious charms on the townsfolk’s lives…
Leaving the tunnel of horrors they hear the thunder
The crashing ecstasy of a summer squall
Kids play in mud walkways with stuffed rewards
Their keepers swimming in booze and fleshly delight…
Driven to excess and madly grabbing at god
To taste of the capricious nature of love…
The Circusmasters
The circus masters so artfully
Love to choreograph the dance
And render exquisite drama
Upon the checkered slab of history
Timekeepers reckon appropriate events…
While hidden within the matrix
Ghastly witticisms and double entendres
With sublime majesty enter key players
Some as charlatans and others of noble stock
Artisans of deception and subtle subterfuge…
The audience gasps at the brilliant conception
Onlookers fidget and wipe sweaty palms
The game of illusion and chance
In the thread of history’s garments find
Sparkling gems of understanding and wisdom…
The Cosmic Joke
It was but a cosmic joke
Grandiose splendid outrageous
A masterful performance
Brilliant in conception
Comic in delivery
Try to fathom with certainty
Yet still left with lingering doubts
Is it that we are but men…
The years pile upon each other
The chaos seems to ever mount
The streets filled with the anxious
The crazed and the obedient
For some there is unspoken faith
For others there is unwritten law
It’s personal but it’s universal
To a god an ant or a man…
It’s origins date back millennia
When a dream was as real as a bird
The wild in the soul’s existence
Meant more than we’re given to know
But this we can know deep inside
The game has it’s players and pieces…
As seas broke upon distant shores
And starlight lit the desert night
Spoken softly but with all authority
The circus masters agreed upon their scheme
To create systems by which man might learn
The error of his narcissistic ways
The humor of it all they found exquisite
Laughter filled their hearts with joy…
To some was offered eternal life
Free of all earthly sufferings
To others reward of inner peace
In spite of one’s terrible deeds
For others belief in what’s noble and good
And the chance to practice on planet earth
Choose your way each mortal moment
We each and all must someday die…
On The Coach
Such a big universe our eyes can see
This planet is home to each and every one of us
Simple things like these are known
It’s there that you and I board the bus
The coach that leaves full to return empty
We are the passengers
We sit on the right or we sit on the left
Balance is essential traction imperative
The driver’s reflexes must border on perfection
His view of the road ahead in sharp focus
He knows that his mission in life and in death
Is the safe journey of his passengers
The ones sitting on the right
The ones on the left
But company policy states quite clearly
Not responsible for those in the aisle…
The Magic Way
The shepherd lost nine sheep and goats
The farmer’s oats to rot
The blacksmith’s anvil split in two
The magic way was lost…
The whore came down with syphilis
The child drowned in the pond
The priest fell prey to evil ways
His faith was but a joke…
The song was heard ten thousand times
The buildings fell to ruin
The lions dined on Christian blood
The flesh gave way to stone…
The damned brought
Caesar down to earth
The blessed drew angry stares
The words fall from the sky like rain
The simple walk on knees…
The Stuff Of Fable
Let’s be innovative
And call a plum a plum
Some people are smart
And some people are dumb
The reasons are varied
Let’s not argue with cause and effect
Fell the apple trees
And you’ll have no apple pie
But who should care
If a stone splits in two
The ground is covered with stones
Of endless variety
You’ll trip on some
And sit on others
You’ll build with one type
And throw another
You’ll find some to skip
And others to display
The stuff of dreams
The stuff of fable…
Threads
Find the threads that tie
Unravel the knots that bind
Force the string through needle eye
Be sure the tip is sharpened
Hold the needle firmly and with purpose
Don’t slip or it will prick and pull blood
Stitch the fabric tightly and surely
And watch her ride away…
Travelogue
Riddles and rogues walked among the beggars
In fetching attire by grace of good fortune
Then upon pitch by toothless urchin
The traveler paused and groped his wallet…
A meal a dime a simple good day’s wage
A pirate’s earnings feed many mouthfuls
By the well pounds an angry blacksmith
Forming iron shoes and bands for barrels…
The traveler’s test of a man sincere
Shoe the horse with silver socklets
What appears as real in square of sunlight
By fountain’s mist drips of unknown spice…
The taste of his travels yet tip of tongue
To probe the soul of a filthy whore
Smiling resting fondling tit
An air of sodden moldy bedgear…
Three whores upon the traveler lust
The things mere gold buys from a trader
Upstairs the smell of goat and whiskey
Twists a noose tight round his nose…
All spent all weary brought to bear
Dreams await of shores still distant
Morning dreamt and come alive
The flies at rest upon his forehead…
A pail of tea and a millet biscuit
His cheap amusements wave him off
The road taxed by pigs and boars
No olives grow on trees they plunder…
Near pools lay waste of men’s suppers
And rusty heaps of horse’s hooves
Path worn engaged strewn thick with rock
True test of soles hewn cattle flesh…
The breast of god spits milk before him
Lighted thunder flames air to breathe
The nearer heaven nearer hell to watch
Turn to test the clock of time…
The Deed And The Temple
The whip of the Buddha has drawn blood before
And in honest testimony the jungles hide the ruins
These places where men would kneel and cry to god
To show their faith in harmony
To be as one with one…
Temples are man’s downfall and lead to certain ruin
Honest statements are made in thought and deed
Respect the earth water and sky
Know the beauty and the pain
We each learn on our own time
All lessons needed to know…
Often to fall back maddened and angry at our flaws
But if we heed our conscience and follow intuition
We find that love is giving pure and simple
We should not question faith
We dare not question love…
Often and without conscious effort
We act out our prophesies
To then become illusions and meet fears as fate
The shrew within makes dash for cover
Returning then on sleepless nights
In tossing turning endless nightmare…
Sometimes in periods of learning
Our castles seem on firm ground
Our beliefs and conviction as truth
Then as is the grand tradition
One’s fall is ever greater
Ah! from such illusory highs
To crash into despair
But from that deepest chasm
A brand new flower grows…
The best of teachers learns as well
And listens to the heartbeat
To know a simple song
A teacher casts perspective
For students who would flee
And then becomes a student
To learn how best to teach…
Fishin With Ned
Went fishing with Ned just the other day
Wasn’t much biting but the skeeters and flies
We had a long talk about life and love
And the idea that nothing ever dies…
The waters lapped against the old hull’s side
We tossed ideas around and drank our brews
Laughed about the old gals sitting back home
Wondering why some people win and some lose…
Mysteries abundant on planet earth
Specially there on that godforsaken swamp
The hooks were sharp but the bait untouched
Wasn’t much biting on golden pond…
Ned tried to convince me that god is real
But he wouldn’t tell me just what god was
The mystery deepened when he asserted
He wasn’t sure god cared what mankind does…
His thoughts seemed odd for a man of the cloth
But who’s to say what’s the nature of god
Men say one thing but then do opposite
Our eyes met briefly and he gave a nod…
He told me faith is fine but love divine
My mind went numb at the very concept
I’d always believed that I knew the truth
My system of belief seemed so perfect…
Restless Native
A feeling…
An impression…
There’s light in the darkness
There’s stars in your eyes
There’s light in the darkness
Blue in your eyes
There’s holes in my head
And worms in my shoes
There’s answers and questions
Slugs in the gun
Guards at the gate…
At the packing plant they were unemployed
By the railroad yard mad dog was down
The men were really drunken boys
They say the world transforms
To what would invite such deep debate
Hopes and fears or dust and dread…
The land was settled by a gang of thieves
Religious zealots with special needs
You see them in the churches
You meet them on the streets
They’ll draw blood like water leeches
So what else is new under the blazing sun
We settle our differences with a holy gun…
A tightrope show at the circus is a thrilling event
But on the global stage you can’t play dead
No nets to catch your fall no nurse by your side
One slip spells the end of it all
Watch your step as you disembark
A murderous native may shoot you dead
His arrow is sharp his aim is true…
Don’t let him find you in his bed
You’ve trampled his garden
And raped his squaw
And sent him running from your higher law
So what else is new under the blazing sun
We settle our differences with a smoking gun…
A tightrope show at the circus is a thrilling event
But on the global stage you can’t play dead
No nets to catch your fall no nurse by your side
One slip spells the end of it all…
Watch your step as we disembark
A restless native hides in the dark
Land of the free means many things
This shopping mall was a wildlife park
So what else is new under the scorching sun
The hunters stalk while the hunted run
A tightrope in a circus is a thrilling event
But on the world’s stage all the rules are bent
No nets to catch your fall no nurse by your side
Only one slip spells the end of it all…
This land was settled by a gang of thieves
Religious zealots and non believers
They founded churches of drunken men
And started the cycle all over again
The virgin as pure as the cotton clouds
So where is it written that the law is a rock
When war and hate are all man’s known
This nation lives by the golden rule
Do unto others what pleases you…
Start new clubs that reveal the truth
It’s easy to do and it’s such great fun
There’s profit for all who have the stuff
There’s money to be made when times are tough…
The Old Ones
The old ones become the new ones
The new ones effect change
The change becomes the future
The future turns back the page…
The dream was as real as the sleep
The sleep was as real as the day
The day was as real as the night
In the night to find your way…
The norm becomes the way
To each a face to wear a smile
Kindness radiated sans self
Brings joy to hearts in trial…
The generations piled upon each other
Like inverted pyramid will teeter
So carefully one wrests it’s bulk
To make for solid mooring….
Change keeps soulful company
A fast foundation supports the task
The weak turn back before the fire
The strong find hope in flame…
Communication
We could of course communicate on paper
You could send me a letter I could send you one
We’d toss ideas back and forth
Undoubtedly feeling smug about it
We wouldn’t even have to see each other
I’m sure our budgets could afford postage
You can always put off reading a letter
And it’s unlikely a letter will
Impose on your privacy
Sometimes I wonder if it’s true that
People don’t need other people
But in my dreams I hear differently
The melody is simple
A common folk’s mantra
We could imagine each other’s faces
While we scribble our intellectual drivel
Our condemnations and witticisms
Of the human race we run so passionately
We could tell stories
We could even reach out to each other
Fly through postal airspace
Wrapped in words draped in ideas
Blinded by ambition by convention by dogma
And the spiritual could be the color of the ink
And the physical could be the rag content of the paper
And the imaginary could be real if only for a moment
And the tactile intercourse could be
The licking of the stamps the tearing of the envelopes
Beings from other worlds wondered over tea
These intellectuals communicate so well
Their letters ring of joy for life
But do they ever touch their hearts
Exploding in sublime eternal embrace
The human organism is a wild and beautiful thing
The human orgasm the oldest form of prayer
A man and woman together-
I suppose that letter writers have a grand time
They may even toss in a rhyme
My friends always wondered
Why don’t you ever write?
I couldn’t answer so I didn’t try
I sang a song instead…
A Stroll Through The Tempest
The road is really not any different than it ever was
Signposts by the wayside mesmerizing verse and prattle
Beneath the rocky cliffs lining the path lay the fallen
Whose strength was merely in words and intellectual blather
Whose grasp of the real was tenuous as the shifting sand…
In moonlit night and wild cacophony of critters and ghosts
To walk a shadowy realm of betrayal and innuendo
Fearing ever to tread where the magi have no control or key
If humor could account for anything but laughs and bellyaches
It would be more than circus to this trade…
If intentions counted for more than empty thoughts
This world would run precise like swiss movement
All this is for naught in the grander scheme of it all
For though it seems crazy in degrees of hardness
Over time becomes clear and beyond question…
But that road is long and hard
And rife with pitfalls tests and traps
One doesn’t want to fall or be trapped
The foundation must be firm as bedrock
There to find the peace and calm within
And bask in glowing warmth of lover’s fire…
In the ache and subtle madness lurk demons
And hope ye that your house is in order
Rest those hopes on shelves of high dreams
Fly like an angel through the fires of Lucifer
And swim like shark through that maelstrom
By this it’s reckoned you are strong…
All The Grand Illusions
We’ll talk about evolution
Like we know all the answers
We’ll cringe at the thought of predestination
We’ll believe that the thought of a god
Detracts from the essence and beauty of man
Man’s tenure is wrought with tragedy
Filled with ennui and sublime betrayal
We’ve all held deep beliefs
Only to watch them crumble
We’re all mired in the quicksand
We live day to day
We’re all filled with the passion
We’re filled with the shame
We’re a product of experience
You experience good
You experience bad
But no one knows the future
You slip through the cracks
And you live in the dark
Your childhood’s a ghost
From a bygone day
The shoes are worn and your garments thin
The cold cuts through in a mortal chill
Strike up the band and bend all the strings
We’ve all had grand illusions
We’ve all crashed and burned
And it’s anyone’s guess
Where the meaning lies
We’re so safe and warm
So free from harm
In a perfect world that never did exist
I hang from the trees
I munch on the fruit
I sip from the pond
I shoot down the run
I suspend disbelief
If I were an ant
I’d commit suicide
If I were a chimp
I’d refuse the ride
There’s more to this life
Than what’s obvious…
Tools
Gather your tools
Know what they are
Don’t be confused by falling stars
White dwarves in the galaxy
Or black holes in your mind…
Know how to use a saw
Cut a precise line
Chisel the chaff
Measure the sublime
Spin circles with your compass…
Sight lines with your ruler
Plot curves with computers
Draw plans with your pencil
But in the end the master’s piece
Is created with the hands…
CP Butchvarov 1990
Copyright © 2023 by CP Butchvarov