Murphy
- Thread starter RJM
- Start date
From 2011
The title is MURPHY
or it could be
The Clown
The last knife thunks into the board
Between her shoulder and her jaw
She steps away to loud applause
Knives trace her outline on the wood
She quickly moves beneath the crowd
They test the blindfold, try it on
They turn it over, check for holes
She asks someone to bring it down
She takes his arm and leads him out
Into the middle of the ring
To where the knife-thrower allows
The volunteer to blindfold him
She stands again ten yards away
Within the pattern of the knives
Parting her legs deliberately
To leave a gap between her thighs
The knife-thrower is dressed in black
The leather mask around his eyes
Tossing from hand to hand an axe
The metal glinting under lights
A single drum begins to roll
A sudden blur, a cobra strike
A spinning lightning bolt of steel
Slams into wood between soft thighs
The crowd erupts in wild applause
He pulls the mask off, throws it down
He holds his hand out to the girl
And hand in hand they take a bow
They start to exit arm in arm
But do they leave?
No, they cannot
For now a frantic little clown
Jumps up and down in front of them
Gesticulating with a boot
It’s broken, see?
The sole hangs loose
He’s tired of walking like a duck
It makes him fall, it trips him up
He flaps the boot around: quack, quack
It begs – no -- it demands the chop
Falling over, spilling paint
Custard pies mashed in his face
Eggs are never safe with him
Life isn’t easy for a clown
Now work is over for the day
He wipes the grease paint off his face
And stores his working kit away
Nose in the nose drawer, wig in place
The night is indigo and warm
The big-top empty, quiet and dark
The chimps and tigers in their stalls
The side-amusement stands all locked
The honest mirror now reveals
The face behind the silly mask
A stubble chin, dark, clever eyes
A firm, uncompromising mouth
He looks alright when sitting down
Bit of a gut, strong hands and arms
A little overweight perhaps
But not too bad for sixty-one
A person’s legs are half his height
But he’s proportioned differently
The problem is that when he stands
His feet are where his knees should be
His mobile home is custom built
To suit somebody of his size
The music system cost a lot
In fact, he’s rather proud of it
He rubs his jaw, decides to shave
It’s Friday night, it’s half-past-ten
A dwarf, no longer middle-aged
He spins The Dark Side of the Moon
Within the darkness of the void
A thudding heartbeat gathers force
A haunting scream of madness born
Into the madness of the world
He takes a drive into the town
To him, by now, they’re all alike
He finds a bar that looks ok
He parks the van and goes inside
They’re curious, it’s natural
The lowered heads, the sudden quiet
Nobody ever stares at him
It’s only children who do that
He’s not embarrassed but they are
And if they're tense, he can’t relax
He climbs a stool, pays for a beer
Then tells the guy behind the bar:
“You got a dwarf joke I ain’t heard
You get two tickets to the show
But if I get the punchline first
You buy my beer? I never lose.”
They laugh, the tension disappears
His short legs hang, the barstool high
He sits there chatting, drinking beer
Like any other normal guy
A seated handshake now and then
It doesn’t matter who you are
“Robert Murphy,” just the name
All men are equal in a bar
“One for the road, Rob?”
“Nah,” he says:
“I got one drink-and-drive arrest.”
He pockets cigarettes and keys
Then stands, bar level with his head
The next part is no easier now
Than it was forty years ago
He slowly lights a cigarette
Then makes the long walk to the door
The circus is his place, his home
He has his problems, that’s no lie
But he’s a skilled comedian
Well paid for doing work he likes
The animals make quiet sounds
The elephants clink on their chains
He locks the gate and parks his van
Home smells of canvas, dung, and hay
The fridge spills light onto the floor
He pops a beer, lets the door close
He takes the bottle to the bed
And presses ‘play’, the volume low
Within the caravan in darkness
Dave Gilmour’s quiet guitar chords
Replace the loud, abrasive voices
Din and babble of the bar
Overdrafts and operations
‘The lunatic is on the grass’
Death, divorce and separations
Repayment bonds on houses, cars
‘Hanging on in desperation’
Lyrics hanging on the night
Voices raised in competition
Rising taxes, rising crime
‘And if the dam breaks open’
Endless human misery
Voices, faces, words and places
Ever changing, all the same
The fool may have a greater wisdom
Than the king, for he is free
My father’s house has many mansions
Lost lovers lust for unity
It’s:
“Ask Rob -- Rob will know the answer”
“Talk to Rob -- ask Rob, he’ll know”
Rob doesn’t always, but he listens
And his door is never closed
He is a true professional
Rewarded well financially
His job secure, his age protected
The circus is his family
A little drunk, nothing unusual
Still half awake, but half asleep
He mutters words into the darkness
A clown’s prayer, and this is it:
“Oh God, You made me like I am
And me the lucky one for that”
(2011 RJM Corbet)
for @wil ?
The title is MURPHY
or it could be
The Clown
The last knife thunks into the board
Between her shoulder and her jaw
She steps away to loud applause
Knives trace her outline on the wood
She quickly moves beneath the crowd
They test the blindfold, try it on
They turn it over, check for holes
She asks someone to bring it down
She takes his arm and leads him out
Into the middle of the ring
To where the knife-thrower allows
The volunteer to blindfold him
She stands again ten yards away
Within the pattern of the knives
Parting her legs deliberately
To leave a gap between her thighs
The knife-thrower is dressed in black
The leather mask around his eyes
Tossing from hand to hand an axe
The metal glinting under lights
A single drum begins to roll
A sudden blur, a cobra strike
A spinning lightning bolt of steel
Slams into wood between soft thighs
The crowd erupts in wild applause
He pulls the mask off, throws it down
He holds his hand out to the girl
And hand in hand they take a bow
They start to exit arm in arm
But do they leave?
No, they cannot
For now a frantic little clown
Jumps up and down in front of them
Gesticulating with a boot
It’s broken, see?
The sole hangs loose
He’s tired of walking like a duck
It makes him fall, it trips him up
He flaps the boot around: quack, quack
It begs – no -- it demands the chop
Falling over, spilling paint
Custard pies mashed in his face
Eggs are never safe with him
Life isn’t easy for a clown
Now work is over for the day
He wipes the grease paint off his face
And stores his working kit away
Nose in the nose drawer, wig in place
The night is indigo and warm
The big-top empty, quiet and dark
The chimps and tigers in their stalls
The side-amusement stands all locked
The honest mirror now reveals
The face behind the silly mask
A stubble chin, dark, clever eyes
A firm, uncompromising mouth
He looks alright when sitting down
Bit of a gut, strong hands and arms
A little overweight perhaps
But not too bad for sixty-one
A person’s legs are half his height
But he’s proportioned differently
The problem is that when he stands
His feet are where his knees should be
His mobile home is custom built
To suit somebody of his size
The music system cost a lot
In fact, he’s rather proud of it
He rubs his jaw, decides to shave
It’s Friday night, it’s half-past-ten
A dwarf, no longer middle-aged
He spins The Dark Side of the Moon
Within the darkness of the void
A thudding heartbeat gathers force
A haunting scream of madness born
Into the madness of the world
He takes a drive into the town
To him, by now, they’re all alike
He finds a bar that looks ok
He parks the van and goes inside
They’re curious, it’s natural
The lowered heads, the sudden quiet
Nobody ever stares at him
It’s only children who do that
He’s not embarrassed but they are
And if they're tense, he can’t relax
He climbs a stool, pays for a beer
Then tells the guy behind the bar:
“You got a dwarf joke I ain’t heard
You get two tickets to the show
But if I get the punchline first
You buy my beer? I never lose.”
They laugh, the tension disappears
His short legs hang, the barstool high
He sits there chatting, drinking beer
Like any other normal guy
A seated handshake now and then
It doesn’t matter who you are
“Robert Murphy,” just the name
All men are equal in a bar
“One for the road, Rob?”
“Nah,” he says:
“I got one drink-and-drive arrest.”
He pockets cigarettes and keys
Then stands, bar level with his head
The next part is no easier now
Than it was forty years ago
He slowly lights a cigarette
Then makes the long walk to the door
The circus is his place, his home
He has his problems, that’s no lie
But he’s a skilled comedian
Well paid for doing work he likes
The animals make quiet sounds
The elephants clink on their chains
He locks the gate and parks his van
Home smells of canvas, dung, and hay
The fridge spills light onto the floor
He pops a beer, lets the door close
He takes the bottle to the bed
And presses ‘play’, the volume low
Within the caravan in darkness
Dave Gilmour’s quiet guitar chords
Replace the loud, abrasive voices
Din and babble of the bar
Overdrafts and operations
‘The lunatic is on the grass’
Death, divorce and separations
Repayment bonds on houses, cars
‘Hanging on in desperation’
Lyrics hanging on the night
Voices raised in competition
Rising taxes, rising crime
‘And if the dam breaks open’
Endless human misery
Voices, faces, words and places
Ever changing, all the same
The fool may have a greater wisdom
Than the king, for he is free
My father’s house has many mansions
Lost lovers lust for unity
It’s:
“Ask Rob -- Rob will know the answer”
“Talk to Rob -- ask Rob, he’ll know”
Rob doesn’t always, but he listens
And his door is never closed
He is a true professional
Rewarded well financially
His job secure, his age protected
The circus is his family
A little drunk, nothing unusual
Still half awake, but half asleep
He mutters words into the darkness
A clown’s prayer, and this is it:
“Oh God, You made me like I am
And me the lucky one for that”
(2011 RJM Corbet)
for @wil ?
Last edited:
Quite interesting...but now I wanna know the back story..... I thought I were the only clown around here with sideshow friends!
I have a number of Ringling Graduate friends from back when clown college was a thing.
At graduation ringling would make offers to the cream of the crop. And various other circuses would pick up the rest. There was a huge influx of South American clowns at one time and then when Russia collapsed and all the state run circuses and schools collapsed all sorts of circus folk migrated.
We know the names and faces of the most successful clowns over the years...the rest remain in the blur of the circus ring.
At graduation ringling would make offers to the cream of the crop. And various other circuses would pick up the rest. There was a huge influx of South American clowns at one time and then when Russia collapsed and all the state run circuses and schools collapsed all sorts of circus folk migrated.
We know the names and faces of the most successful clowns over the years...the rest remain in the blur of the circus ring.
Last edited:
It is a good story ... As boss clown he well could be towing his own trailer from show to show...
juantoo3
....whys guy.... ʎʇıɹoɥʇnɐ uoıʇsǝnb
My favorite clown to this day, is Red Skelton
But wil is a close second...
But wil is a close second...
Omg...Clem was fantastic. Ever seen his oatmeal cooking? Amazing. Mark Victor Hansen (of chicken soup for the soul fame) said he was his favorite as well.My favorite clown to this day, is Red Skelton
But wil is a close second...