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Sad Clown Poem

Updated on July 27, 2015
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Philip retired from investment banking to write. To date he has written 9 books on trading forex, 3 short stories, and one poetry book.

This poem was written to help out my sister when she was in school. In fact it's the first poem I ever attempted to write. I got the idea from going not to a circus but to a Roy Rogers horse riding exhibition. They had a lot of clowns larking around with the horses pretending that they could ride them. Falling off and getting back on. Doing all sorts of clever tricks and pretending it was all an accident. Then they invited kids from the audience to have a go. One kid who was on the short side just couldn't mount a pony let alone a horse. He cried and cried out of shame and the audience laughed initially but after a while it went deathly quiet and all that could be heard was the little boy sobbing. Yes you got it....that little boy was me!

Sad Clown
Sad Clown

The air is full of laughter,

Of the children sitting there,

An anticipatory roar fills the air,

As the funny man walks in

And trips over something that's not there.

The big red nose and floppy ears,

Which ring to the roar of the children's cheers.

As the trumpet he plays blows up in his face,

And although it hurts he bows with grace,

And he smiles his big white smile.

He starts to give chase, of the ringmaster there,

It's all in the show

But the children don't know,

And the roar even louder when he falls over twice,

He thinks Oh no that’s not in the show.

And he sits there holding his nose.

The tears start flowing from his big brown eyes

As he tries to stand up

But falls back and lies there,

Still holding his nose,

The pain of failure he’s unable to bear,

For his legs are too short and unable to support.

The roar of the laughter is beginning to die,

As the children see the tears falling down from his eye,

He looks around him pleading for help,

From the little multicoloured faces of different races.

He lies there sobbing, staring up at the sky.

And quietness descends on the sawdust arena,

Then a sob is heard and then another,

Now it's not the roar of the children's laughter,

But the sound of a million little hearts as one voice,

Pleading for comfort and help,

For the sad little clown.


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    • leigh anns page profile image

      leigh anns page 5 years ago from New Jersey

      I enjoyed reading...nice piece

    • Trsmd profile image

      Trsmd 8 years ago from India

      very nice poem..