Stanley Pelter

Book 8

Bertram Mill’s Circus

 

Won a competition organized by my Comic: 2 ringside tickets to Bertram Mill’s Circus. Know what a Circus looks like because of a colouring book with pictures of women standing on backs of palomino horses that run around a sawdust ring making cyclic rhythms. It was a long time ago but can still image it. Did dad take me? Let’s say he did. Not sure but low slow ‘ee’ sounds sound so good.

 

dream grows

in imagination

lights sparkle

 

Everybody adores trapeze acrobats. Even with a safety net upside down swings somersaults coiled catches scare startled eyes closed. Still see whirls of stars flash across a sawdust arena stage. Shadows enter unbidden. Never thought to think what dad thought about these beyond thought actions what with his missing limb. Bet he wishes for something different as he pushes up a heavy body before a drop onto clutch crutches.

 

high atlantic wind

catch twisted clouds

no one blown away

 

 

 

 

queue

 

They push. They barge. They bang into anyone or anything coming any other way

 

inside silence

between dirt filled moments

transparent screens spread

listen to that heated crackle

inside dark grey smoke

 

Pedestrian walkway narrows into a quagmire that ends at death camp path of sloshy food detritus, garbage noises and mixed-up bones.

 

not a long time

before that final meet

try to assess this day

against others that burst

with heart pounding stars

 

In STARBUCKS coffee queue is long. There are insufficient seats for all. Blonde hair, over an underlying base of another black undercurrent, is wind rambled. Dark grey clouds break into torrential rain.       Few escape STARBUCKS

 

longest walk

of an unexpected epoch

young rabbits

swim thin inside watery pies

and short term concubines

wizard of landescapes and of things scalpel

short tomorrow

beyond flow of daffodils

deep grey clouds layer

 

Valley floats in frost skin shimmers. Under cover of

dark, copycat fields stirs a brew of decaffeinated carols from a

combination of owls, sleepy sheep, squawking geese, choirs of

Primary School children. Ice-clinging branches glisten. For a

moment stars cover dreams that are more Yes than No. First

dragons drug into sideway rhythms. Small ones from Llandysull,

up valley north of Carmarthen, arrive late. Push before pull.

Chased into corners, rushed shadows fade inside wet orifices.

Wee tree fairies tinkle into smiles before a puff raise them

above circling bats. Covered in lights, fluttering tinsel, they

explode into bits that blizzard onto a frost skin valley, dark

copycat fields, owls, sleepy sheep, squawking geese, children.

Images on mirror frames plagiarize this pick-and-mix landscape.

forever hill

strains over waterways

more icy road

In such a night, silent snowflakes fill gaps with faintest

of scents. So want to be a living part of it, attached to a silk

stocking fantasy from which come most bedtime pictures.

Against a grey background, new cirrus clouds overlap.

High winds drag edges into wispy webs. Below, a line of hills

layer behind a lake’s broken surface, play passion games. Sated,

we are lured along a long beach that appears as if from within

silver blurred poetry. No reason to complain. High, inside grey

colours, movement is slow as you like. Here they come, finding

a way through fluffy fools-gold pierced by a grey prism.

gossamer thread

filters sun gold patina

cloud shadows impinge

In front, pink drift of sun conjures colour risks. Mouth,

open to clouds, talk at a mobile telephone: “Learning to taste

smells inside false flower colours. I am. Yes I am. Can tell what is

different about triads when held under water. That’s not it.

Mean…where are sounds for it? Helicopters fly over. Pilots look

down on a fuzzy edged furrow. Intermingled sexes follow each

other along its fenced-in length. So it seems to swerving pilots.

Supermarket reached just in time. Buy sacks of mixed daffodil

bulbs. Drive home. Plant them higgledy-piggledy just in time for

water enhanced clouds to burst above a Yellow Flood.”

blue flock undercloud

rainbow follows rain

into golden dusk

So many shores in so many lands over so much time.

Dunes escape waves. Oozing river mud roads drown. Incoming

layers full of outgoings. Unranked voices seem to coo, to woo,

to glue blue-grey clouds onto me onto you. Glad you caught me.

Sound clefts open to shape of duller night. “Yes” we say. “We

accept fuzzy edged furrows seen from helicopters, grey caves darker

at both ends, echoes of wind-resonating stories, make light of

swords waving a guttural swish.” Determined daffodil leaves

appear. It is time for us to dissolve into smoke twists. “Quick.

Hide inside Sea Scroll adventures” I advise her.

stifled grass

top cover for burials

with no coffins

Late March morning, sunny with a crisp tang at ground

level. Plain fields lacerate. Others are wild with primal daffodils.

Thousands of yellow-headed sculptures sway. It is late evening.

Sudden throbs of luminescent white disappear inside an allround

smile. Emerge when full. Play turns to me. Pokers in

hand, bending, firebricks are rattled into steaming heat.

“Win” you order.

“I’ve lost. Sorry!” Cover nakedness with a clump of limp foliage.

room for sale

from an internet event

new murmurs

“Cast aside those wishy-washy ochres. It’s not becoming in a

landscape. If you take it seriously I’ll talk you through a dream”.

“OK. I take it seriously. I do. Take me through a dream.”

“There’s this bed. In my bedroom, but not my bed. ‘Haven’t seen

you for ages. Why?’ A woman smiles a distracted smile. ‘Undress.

Quick. I’ve other patients. Nights are busy’. ‘Everything?’ ‘Of

course. Lovely. I’d forgotten how tactile are your dips, your rounds.

Pure magic.’ Runs fingers over an electric quiver. ‘Now for whatever

is internal’. Reaches in. Harsh search. Then out it comes; blood,

musty smelling clots, decayed seaweed, foliated branches. Calls

over doctor of indeterminacies. ‘Look at this. Long hairs of mussel

shells.’ ‘Where’s mussels? Where’s mussels?’ Pulls out handfuls

of slime-covered mussels that agglutinate into dog shapes whose

legs thin into transparency followed by bodies until only seethrough

skulls remain. No one else sees, even after pointed out to

three boys over-concerned with a bit of a little girl’s body. Doctors,

beyond my pink blossom cleft, still forage for red gold. With a

stream of yellow grey bile everything fades out of existence.”

“What do you think? Can you understand?”

Me? Look down, eyes screwed to simulate involvement. Silent.

Stay long inside silent.

“Look at that grey area of cirrus clouds. Must be a high wind. See

how it is dragging edges into sticky wisps.”

Reach for your quivering hand. Still silent. Look up carefully.

This time I lose All and Everything

only U now

death of black back cloud

forms web attachment