Empty Theater Poem #1

The clown stumbled to the center of the stage,

Into the spotlight for a tinker’s age,

“I’m guessing that I now must talk,

Since I am no longer allowed to walk,

And I cannot claim I am a mime,

So, now I have to deal in rhyme.”

The seats were empty, so no one cheered,

But that also meant that no one jeered.

The Silent Orchestra of the Universe

“Poetry is Music,” the clown said, “And there is music in the stars,

Silent music, of course, made of light and novas, asteroids. and comets,

Dancing through the cosmos, and not stopping in at bars.”

Then he burped the alcohol inside him with a face portending vomits.

“Words are music, rhythm, rhyme, and melody.

We make our way from day to day upon the primrose path they lay.

I speak now, fulfill my part, and so, I speak my soliloquy…

As my very instrument, in the universal orchestra, I play.”

A ghostly moan in the empty seats was nearly really heard

And the clown, he gawked and stared about in every spin-necked way.

“I do not believe I find relief in this absent throng… with words

That come from no one nowhere… so, I’ll be on my way.”