Description: Like a puppet on a string it often seems one spends much time hanging in the closet.
The Role -------------------------------------------
Let it roll
Let it role
birds of a feather hung together
nie for seasons quite unknown
nie for reasons never shown
in keeping with the bone avoid contention
He said so
through pitter skirt and patter shirt
be swept along as though a song
no right from wrong know write from dong
and wait just like the stone you are
one cannot skip too very far
from wrong nor write
might will incite
The flow and twist of turbulence
in fluid dry or wet
of dreams to prod or fumble yet
the ball to drop
is not your call
though willing fool
It's not your ball...
a piccolo depletes your blow
while Maestro sounds cacophonies
to untrained ears of learned fears
of drifting tones and shifting phases
sampled crazes purple mazes
softly mumbled phrases
Watch out! Madness is never an answer to anything. As confusing and misleading as things may seem sometimes you should know that madness doesn't offer any answer or conclusion at all but rather more confusion...
I am so pleased to read a new submission from you!
Youve started with quite a disturbing image.
Oddly, I wasnt bothered by clowns until becoming an adult with knowledge of John Wayne Gacy and the experience of reading "IT"...
besides, clowns always have masks...
So, this creepy guy is jerking the strings? It's always a creepy guy with the strings...I guess the benevolent dont desire the control...
I had to look that up...and you could be speaking in any one of a few languages...
I'm taking it to be a broad negation...
and the next stanza made me feel a bit mossy...its much easier and peaceful to simply play along,
or at least 'make no waves'.
Your ending is brilliant!
Of course I am partial to purple mazes, but that isnt the heart of it. The words roll quite naturally off the tongue and within the mind...and a bit mystic as if the mumbled phrases are incantations...
You're always a bit enigmatic, and this is quite you...yet, my vague understanding didnt obscure the pleasure of the reading.
it's something about going along with the crowd, not being our own person and making our own decisions...free will no longer happens...we are just one amongst a group...fated to go whatever direction we are pushed and pulled by the majority.
reminds me of the 60's and how different it was then...people spoke up, people rebeled, they didn't just Go along...yes factions joined hands, but not as puppets...more like individuals coming together.
i love the word play here and the way this bounces along rhythmically...because it is like a marionette bouncing about on a stage...
i wonder if poets really have free will...or are we puppets controlled by the muse?
at the beginning of the last stanza, the beat went off just a bit for me...but overall, you just have that knack for putting words together so naturally...and they flow with ease.