Poetry by CP Butchvarov
At The Circus 1
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On The Coach
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... CP Butchvarov
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 havn’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... CP Butchvarov
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... CP Butchvarov
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 And someone to formulate rules And those who win and those who lose... 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... CP Butchvarov
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... CP Butchvarov
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
Gods work in ways
Mere mortals can understand
But not without a price
Quit all the dancing fools
Stand before the circus master
Fell the apple trees
And you’ll have no apple pie
When the zen becomes the christ
Becomes the crack
Coursing through your veins
There’s something to be said
For the living dead
The full effect
Acid burns and wrecks the mind
But who should care
If a stone splits in two
Cause really folks
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...
CP Butchvarov
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... CP Butchvarov
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... CP Butchvarov
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