The Ringmaster

A Poem by David Lewis Paget

There were tigers, bears and elephants,

The day that the circus came,

And dwarves and clowns in our tiny town

It never would be the same.

The people stared as it passed on by

It was like a grand parade,

If only we’d known what was going down,

It was time to be afraid.

The tent went up in the open field

Behind old Barney’s store,

And lines of booths for the local youths

At a penny or so a draw,

While lines of coloured bulbs lit up

Where the fairground rides were set,

And musical hurdy-gurdies sounded

Just like a passing jet.

Then girls in flimsy bikinis flew

Up and under the top,

A giant net underneath them, yet

In case that one might drop.

The Ringmaster with his hat and whip

And his giant, curled moustache,

Kept all of the bareback riders straight

In line, and under his lash.

The elephants were herded in

And stood on their great hind legs,

Trumpeting sighs, and rolling their eyes,

Just like a dog that begs.

The clowns raced in and disrupted all

Clambering over the seats,

And roused the crowd, that laughed out loud

At all their ridiculous feats.

At ten, the tent had begun to whirl

And the audience went still,

As hounds had bounded in and around,

The Hounds of the Baskervilles.

A massive bell had begun to chime

The Ringmaster’s coat turned black,

He grew in size right before their eyes

And some had a heart attack.

He grew two horns on top of his head

That made him look like a goat,

And then a shimmering tail of dread

Slid out, from under his coat.

‘You pays yer money and takes yer choice,’

His voice boomed out in a bit,

The prayers prayed and the screamers screamed

As the floor sank into a pit.

The first three rows fell into the pit,

The rest of us stood and cowered,

While he just floated and cracked his whip

Over his pit of power.

And flames shot up from the pit below

To the chime of the Black Mass Bell,

We knew we stood at that terrible hour

By the Seventh Circle of Hell.

Our lips were sealed, and I risk my soul

And any future of grace,

By telling you all just what went down

In this, now devilish place.

You’ll see the field behind Barney’s store

Lies burnt, still black with their blood,

Where once the Devil’s own circus came

And set up in our neighbourhood.

David Lewis Paget

© 2017 David Lewis Paget

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Barbz

Your poem, in a way, depicts the actual, eventual fall of the circus. Years ago it was an event that families looked forward to. However with reports of animal abuse, especially elephants, and the very sad display of human oddities, it became less of an attraction and led to its downfall. You penned it perfectly!! Barbz