Clown Poems

Bluey’s Collection of Clown & Circus Poems

Over many years, Clown Bluey has collected poems, either written by Clowns, or written about clowns and circus by other entertainers and the general public. Bluey hoped to be able to one day have this small collection of poems published and any profits made from selling the book were to be donated to The Clowns Benevolent Fund, a registered Charity set up and run by Clowns International. Debbie “Jolly Dizzy” Crawte had agreed to be the Illustrator and had supplied a series of drawings for some of the poems. Honorary Vice President of Clowns International, the late and sadly missed Spike Milligan, was to write a “forward” to the book and it was also understood that he would add one of his own witty poems to the collection. Unfortunately however, Spike passed away before he was able to write his forward to the book, and with him, it seems, went the opportunity to have the poems published, as no publishers have shown any interest in doing so since his sad departure.

Bluey has taken the decision therefore, to ‘publish’ the Poems online, with the hope that some people will take the opportunity to read and appreciate them. Bluey would like to thank and pay tribute to all the clowns and other authors who gave their permission originally for the poems to be published and also Debbie “Jolly Dizzy” Crawte who spent many hours creating drawings for the poems (not reproduced here).

Clown & Circus Poems

(in no particular order)

Baggy Trousers
by Pip [Clown] [written for Clown Bluey]

Baggy trousers
Nose, bright red,
A silly hat
Upon his head.
Squirting flower
Spinning tie,
A teardrop falling
From his eye.
Elastic braces
Going twang,
His car exploding
With a BANG!
A patchwork coat
Those flapping shoes,
A painted smile
To chase the blues.
Making us laugh
And banish that frown,
The simple duties
Of a clown.


A Prayer

Give me a sense of humour, Lord,
The grace to see a joke.
To get some happiness from life
And pass it on to folk.


A Clown’s Blessing
Author Unknown

May your noses be red and shiny,
And your smile always bright.
May your cheeks be nice and rosy,
Your eyes sparkle in the light.
May your shoes be always too big,
Your costume be perma-pressed,
Your heart overflow with laughter,
Every time your clown is dressed.
May face paint be at the ready,
And your balloons be “easy-blow”.
May children run to greet you,
Wherever you may go.



Friends are like balloons
Once you let them go
you might not get them back
Sometimes we get so busy with our life and problems
that we may not even notice
that we’ve let them fly away


by Robert Graves

Poised impossibly on the high tightrope of love
in spite of all,
They still preserve their dizzying balance
And smile this way or that,
As though uncertain on which side to fall.


by Thomas “Tom Fun” Morgan (Clown)

Lonely – what is lonely?
It’s only – yes, it’s only
A selfish, selfish feeling
That happens – yes, it happens
When you’re reeling. You’re reeling
From a sense of great desertion
When there’s no outside coercion
To take a part in Life.
You haven’t got a husband
You haven’t got a wife
There’s no help to bear the burden
Of this world’s daily strife.
You sit alone and read alone
Every evening – well, most evenings.
And you wonder – yes you wander
Why you’re on the verge of tears
For your mind is full of fears
Of what may come tomorrow
And all you feel is sorrow
For the hopes you had of living
A full and happy life
With a husband or a wife.
When next you feel like crying
Let the tears flow – don’t be trying
To hold them back inside.
Let them flow – mouth open wide
Have a bawl – ease the pressure
Let Life see you’ve got it’s measure.
You can cope with work and leisure
As it comes along your way
Each and every single day.
Then, when you feel you’re in control
Climb back out from you’re self-made hole.
Climb back up to that first promise
Of Love and Life and Light.
Be aware of the seen and seeing
Give thanks to God that you have the might
To cope with all that happens – just by “being”


Why Be A Clown?
By Thomas “Tom Fun” Morgan (Clown)

Why be a Clown?
Who’d be a Clown?
I’d be a Clown
Just to fall down
And to see all that laughter.
But doesn’t it hurt?
Yes, sometimes it hurts
But control then asserts
When you see all that laughter.
But sometimes there’s tears.
No, often there’s tears …
Frequently tears.
These often appear
When you see all that laughter.
The tears, I believe
Ease some pain, I believe.
But what should I believe
When I see all that laughter.
That the power above
Is a power full of Love
That helps us to Love.
And we all need to Love …
Thank you, God
For Laughter.


The Trouper
by Val “Raindrop” Worby (Clown)

They each came here with someone,
But I came here on my own.
Each came with a spouse, lover, family
But I walked here alone.
Yet I’m one of the reasons they’re here,
Part of the show they came to see
We don’t know each other yet,
But they’re here because of me.
And as I give my performance,
The well-rehearsed routine
Unites stage and auditorium,
With no gulf between.
Amid the tinsel glitter,
And the blazing light
We are part of each other’s worlds,
And this little star burns bright.
In their world
I play my part so well,
No chip in the veneer,
No crack in the shell.
The smooth dances, the glib joke,
Always there to hide
A very different me
Which lurks somewhere inside.
Ever ready with a cheerful song,
Another witty gag;
For ever able to pull yet another trick
From out of the bag.
To them I’m the eternal joker,
Always the carefree clown;
They only see me flying high,
They’ve gone when I come down.
As I share myself with them,
Our two worlds become one,
Briefly united…..
Then it’s gone, it’s done.
I give to them of my small talent,
They give their applause to me,
And then the curtains close,
That’s how it will always be.
I leave the stage with it’s warmth and light,
For the dressing room, cold and stark,
With it’s faded, grimy walls,
And one naked bulb, scarcely warding off the dark.
The dusty shelves, the wobbly chair,
And the old mirror, freckled with age,
Which barely reflects the greasepaint mask
I hid behind on stage.
Perhaps tonight I’ll have a pint
With a colleague from the show,
Exchanging yarns and small talk
With someone I’ll never really know.
Or perhaps I’ll just return alone,
To the dismal gloom,
The single electric bar
In my cheap rented room.
Not the smart hotel for me,
Not the cheerful bustle of a wine bar –
You can’t afford that
When you’re a very little star.
When you have nothing behind the smiles,
And the artificial pleasantries,
But long-lost dreams,
And half-forgotten memories.
In a world of maybe,
And if only,
And – – – oh, God!
I’m so very, very lonely.


A Poem

Isn’t it strange that Princes and Kings
And clowns that caper in sawdust rings
And ordinary folk like you and me
are builders of Eternity?
To each is given a bag of tools,
An hour glass and a set of rules.
And each must build e’er his life is flown
A stumbling block or a stepping stone.


The Silent Clown
by Sylvia Abraham

See the Clown
Not saying a word.
Not needed to be heard.
Why do they look so sad,
As if they want to cry?
Are they lonely inside?
I wonder, wonder why.
Do Clowns ever sigh, out loud?
Or are their sighs
Lost in the Crowd
Of people, who come to laugh
At the mime.
Would a Clown speak
Given time?
Would it break the magic spell,
The art
Of being a Clown
If but one word from his lips did depart.
Is there a happy Clown
Who will smile
And make me feel glad
For a while, to know
Not all of the Clowns are sad?


Send in the Clowns
by Cath “Shandy” Carpenter (Clown)

Send in the Clowns – Quick for something is wrong
The crowd gave a gasp where it didn’t belong.
Has somebody fallen – is death standing near
Are the Lion trainers hand’s trembling with fear?
The band skipped a beat, there were animal roars
Quick “send for the Joey’s to boost the applause”
Send for the Clowns when the Dogs won’t perform
When the Tigers are restless with on-coming storm
In motley and costume their ‘entrée’ must last
Till the cage is assembled – then get ‘em out fast.
Send for the Clowns – what d’you say? They’re all gone
Well, that’s it, we’re finished, the show can’t go on
Who’ll make ‘em all laugh – get the children involved
Till the danger is past and all problems are solved.
From when the Big Top goes up – Till the king pole comes down
That’s the power and the glory of being a Clown.


A Child’s View of the Circus
by Cath “Shandy” Carpenter (Clown)

An Elephant stood here yesterday
It was big as a house and coloured all grey
His trunk was so long it could reach to the sky
And the whole ground trembled as he walked by.
There were Clowns in the field here yesterday
All made up and dressed in a comical way
Some Horses paraded, some Lions roared
And a man ate fire and swallowed a sword.
A Big Tent stood here yesterday
It was round and striped and lit up so gay
It was still built up when I left last night
But today it’s just nowhere in sight.
“The Circus is coming” the posters did say
There’ll be magic and laughter and Bands will play
But the field now is empty, the sky so grey
And I wish that today was yesterday.


For the Love of the Circus
by Cath “Shandy” Carpenter (Clown)

For the love of the Circus. How much would we give?
Just twenty four hours of each day that I live
Travelling the road with one thought in mind
Each gaff will be better than that left behind.
A mere stretch of road boasting grass nothing more
Will suddenly erupt with excitement galore
and then overnight when we’ve passed on our way
Just memories remain to tell of our stay.
For the love of the Circus what are the rewards?
No Bouquets, Diploma’s or Glittering Awards
Just knee deep in mud – the strength of the gale
Before none of these would my devotion pale.
High out of reach the adrenalin soars
When Children are laughing and hands give applause
Roll up! Roll up! Pay your Money come in
The Elixir of life is about to begin.


The Performer
by Val “Raindrop” Worby (Clown)

No matter how many performances
No matter how long you live
As a member of the company
You’re there not to take, but to give.
However small your talent
However feeble your skill
You’re there to do your utmost
Your own task to fulfil.
If you’re only the one who sweeps the stage
Be sure to sweep it clean
Don’t let a cloud of dust
Ruin someone’s greatest scene.
And check the boards for splinters
That always find a way to get in
It’s hard to play even a corpse
With half a plank piecing one’s skin.
You, the programme-seller
Be cheerful all the while
For the programmes take the money
For free give Them your smile.
You with the electric bulbs
Light with care every scene –
Don’t turn pools of blood to blue
Or a hero’s face to green.
Remember, you with the microphones
Each needs to sound as clear as he is able
Go and muffle half their lines
And you’ll get strangled with your cable.
Tent Master keep your temper through the storms
Though it will always be the same
Whatever disaster befalls
You’re sure to get the blame.
Producer, strive to be efficient
The whole company depends on all you do
There’s an awful lot of them
And only one of you.
And you, the performer
Always there to give
You belong to Them
For as long as you live.
There to give everything
Though you sometimes wonder why
There to give your all to Them
To make Them laugh or cry.
Up to your neck in debt
And your sweetheart has gone
Your Mother died this morning
But the show must go on.
Whatever pain is inside you
Your act must be as good as it can be
For after all is said and done
You’re the one They paid hard cash to come and see.


A Dream (Or Was It)?
By Billy Cooley, aged 11

“You’ve eaten too much pie young man”
said Mum, tucking me in bed
“All that food can make a child dream”
“I’m no child, I’m ten” I said.
So, imagine my predicament
at breakfast the next day
If I’d told them about that girl,
“Dreaming” they’d all say.
If YOU listen, I’ll do my best
to try somehow to explain
what happened on the night I heard
that tap on the window pane….
“Enter” I mumbled sleepily
A girl (about eight) climbed in
She had yellow hair, big red nose
and an enormous chin.
She was, I would say, average height
though nowhere near my size
But to be truthful, I was scared,
She had these big round eyes.
She stared at me without speaking
Her track suit looked quite neat
Then we both grinned as we looked
at her gigantic feet.
Suddenly, she burst out crying
“Please” she sobbed “Listen to me,
I’m from the planet called Mirth
In a far off galaxy,,,,
Every single clown that exists
lives on the planet Mirth
God designed us especially
to spread laughter on your Earth.
But now, everywhere, your Elders
seem to echo the same untruth
They say “We can do without clowns”
.. Would they have said that in THEIR youth??
…. You children are our only hope
Support us or we’ll die” ….
Suddenly she was gone, and then,
I too started to cry.


Tears and Fears
by Val “Raindrop” Worby (Clown)

No, please don’t force her, let her turn away,
You may find me funny, but she doesn’t see things quite your way.
Perhaps some other time, some other place,
She might feel able to look upon my brightly painted face.
Please don’t ridicule her very real fears,
Don’t increase the flow of your own child’s tears;
Or say those cruel things that adults often say,
In a vain attempt to drive childish fears away.
Don’t call her silly, nor make her feel in some way to blame,
For she is just one of many who feel the same.
We each of us fear something, although few admit it’s true;
Some adults fear clown faces just as some children do;
Unable to see the real face, be it that of a sinner or saint,
Fearing what may lurk behind the bright wig and the greasepaint.
Wondering if the painted smile hides some evil intent,
Are the jokes friendly overtures? – is kindness or cruelty meant?
To you the clown is just a parody of life, – an amusing sight;
But to your child I’m gruesome and she’s taken fright.
She doesn’t want to risk what her eyes might reach, if they penetrate.
The truth behind the gaudy mask that hides the real me, so let her wait
Until she is older, when her terrors may subside
And she may feel brave enough to look at this clown, and at the real me inside.
Sometimes I too have looked at a clown and known not to trust what I see,
The fear of what sometimes lurks beneath the disguise is one familiar to me.
I love most of my fellow clowns – but there are one or two
I wouldn’t care to trust in anything they say or do.
So, until that other place, that other day
Please go! Please take your child away!
Dry your tears, little friend, I won’t force myself upon you
For, you see, today you met a clown who fears the very same thing you do.


The Clowns Prayer – 1
Author Unknown

God bless all clowns
Who star the world with laughter.
Who ring the rafters, with flying jest.
Who make the world spin merrily on its way,
And somehow add more beauty to each day.
God bless all clowns
So poor the world would be,
Lacking their piquant touch, hilarity.
The belly-laughs, the ringing lovely mirth,
That makes a friendly place of earth.
God bless all clowns
Give them a good long life.
Make bright their way, a race apart.
We love them most who turn their secret pain,
Into a dazzling jest to lift the heart.
God bless all clowns.


The Clowns Prayer – 2
Author unknown

“As I stumble through this life, help me create
more laughter than tears, dispense more happiness
than gloom, spread more cheer than despair.
Never let me become so indifferent that I will fail
to see the wonder in the eyes of a child or the
twinkle in the eyes of the aged.
Never let me forget that my total effort is to cheer people,
make them happy and forget at least momentarily
all the unpleasantness in their lives.
And, in my final moment, may I hear you
whisper: when you made My people smile,
you made Me smile.”


At The Circus
by Gavin “Malteser” Radforth (aged 13 – Junior Clown)

At the Circus
I’d like to be
Doing Circus shows
For people to see.
I like juggling, throwing knives
Risking peoples joyful lives
Everybody clapping and having fun
My Mum goes round telling
People that’s her son.
Riding my unicycle around the ring
The Ringmaster telling everybody to sing
Everyone now in a circus mood
Everybody thinks I’m one cool dude.
At the Circus
I’d like to be
So everybody, can see me.


Rice Pudding in My Lug Holes
by Charlie Chucklebucket [Clown]

I like eating rice pudding
So I stole some from my cat
But pussy didn’t like that
So she poured some in my hat
I didn’t know she’d done it
‘Cos pussy never said
So when I picked my hat up
And put it on my head:
Rice pudding on my shoulders,
Rice pudding on my clothes,
Rice Pudding in my lug holes,
Rice pudding up my nose.
Rice pudding in my pockets,
Rice pudding on my face,
Rice pudding on the carpet,
Rice pudding all over the place.
Oh my, where did that pudding go
(Sticky squidgy soggy)
I hope the stains don’t show.
Oh my, where did that pudding go
(sticky squidgy soggy)
I hope Mummy doesn’t know.


The Circus
by Benjamin Smith

When one is a young lad the Circus is magic,
If you can’t earn the price of a ticket, it’s tragic.
But I’d seen coloured posters a long time ahead,
Did odd jobs, saved my pennies, in a box ‘neath the bed.
Then through the long nights as I lay in a doze,
Conjured Clowns in my dreams. There was one with big toes,
Some others had noses, large and red, like balloons,
They threw water from buckets, played music on spoons.
Then, when I’d awake, with the day and night past,
I would wish very hard the rest would go fast.

Then at last, mid excitement, Circus opening day fell,
From my box took the pennies, had enough, all was well!
I had watched them the day past erect two Big Tops,
Joined by coloured striped canvas, many ropes, pegs and props.
Shirtless men with big muscles, wielding hammers, with scarves,
Lifting, pushing and sweating: they did nothing by halves.
Until all was ready, wooden seats placed about,
Wiped up sweat with their scarves, went to Pub for stout.

After School, how I rushed home, washed my face, combed my locks,
Changed into a pressed shirt, nice blue tie and clean socks.
It was eight when I got there, passed through flap with the throng,
Mostly toddlers and children. Adults too, came along.
The first thing that happened as we settled to seats,
A rose-red suited Conductor, who made rapid beats
On his rostrum with a baton. A quick silence fell
Among drums, oboes and trumpets. There wasn’t a knell.
Band was brassy, ‘twixt curtains, wearing gold hats and coats,
Conductor lifted his baton. As one they hit notes
Of the great Circus Fanfare, it made our ears sing.
Then in strode the Master to centre of ring.

He wore riding style suit, scarlet coat had a long tail,
And his face in the spotlight looked happy, though pale.
As he, through the loud mike, told us what was in store,
Then he left centre ring. Clowns rushed in to huge roar
Of kids happy voices, loud laughter and screams.
I loved them. They were just like the ones in my dreams.
Too soon they departed, water soaked, clothes in dregs,
They’d squirted long hoses, fallen over their legs,
Pushed each other over, made rude signs with their thumbs,
Tweaked each other’s noses, kicked each other’s bums!

White ponies soon followed. They circled the ring,
Hooves prancing and dancing. An incredible thing.
A pretty girl ran from the side of the track,
She was wearing pink tu-tu, and she leapt on the back
Of the leading white pony. He wasn’t surprised,
You could tell as he passed from the look in his eyes.
She jumped through some hoops, she sat and she stood,
All while on horseback! She was ever so good!
We gave her applause, then as she rode by
She turned, gave a big smile, then went off with a sigh.

Three men quickly erected a cage of barred iron.
Three tigers came in first, then came a brown lion.
He was huge with a mane that halo’d his head,
We watched, really worried, then shivered in dread.
As, yellow eyes blazing, light glistening on claws,
They prowled and they snarled: the air filled with roars.
Then in came the brave man in leotard spotted,
With whip in hand, to cage centre he trotted.
Made them leap onto boxes, as if in a game.
We needn’t have worried, in no time they were tame!

Then sadly, they left us. Came a roll on the drums
To herald trapezists. Kids were sucking their thumbs
In anticipation, as the spotlights moved higher,
And shone onto swings, for each was a flyer.
In glittering silver, both curved through the air,
We were gripping our seats hard, but they had no care.
The clapping was silenced for a huge final feat,
Three somersaults later we leapt to our feet.
They had arc’d high in the air, in what seemed slow motion.
Then they dropped into the safe net, having earned our devotion.

They left us exhausted. But we quickly recovered
As Clowns drove fun car on. Soon stickiness smothered
The colourful parts of both Clowns and their transport,
To be washed down with buckets. We thought it grand sport.

The sound of the trumpets brought us back with a start.
It wasn’t the band: the notes were all part
Of the elephants entry. Some were blowing through trunks,
As they held onto tails and lumbered like drunks.
They had grey wrinkled skin. It looked like a try-on
Of second-hand suits that needed an iron.
Their be-turbaned trainer, his face brown and shiny,
Lay flat on his back. He looked very tiny
‘Gainst the great Colonial Hearty, who ever so gentle
Put fat leg on his head! We thought he was mental
To take such a chance with a balancing leg.
If the Colonel had stumbled, head would crush like an egg!
Then for their Finale they lined up like W.R.A.C.S.
Slowly lifted their front feet onto the backs
Of the others in front, then disappeared
Through tent flap at the back. How we whistled and cheered.

The Band then played music while we stuffed our faces
With popcorn, gob-stoppers and liquorice laces.
To the sound of our munching four jugglers came in,
Hurling clubs in the air. My, they really did spin.
They juggled alone, and ‘tween them all,
Yet, fast as they threw, clubs never did fall.
Next they changed to white plates, which all stayed whole,
Not falling, though balanced on top of long pole
Resting up on the brow of one Juggler: clever.
I’d never seen anything like it. No, never!

Once again came the Clowns, smashed the white plates to bits,
With huge wooden hammers. It had us in fits.
Then in came a cowboy, a rangy big fellow,
With check shirt, guns in holsters, a stetson in yellow.
We all liked his name, he was called Cal McCord,
With his pretty assistant, who he stood ‘gainst tall board,
Two fresh cigarettes alight between red lips.
He aimed, one gun, then t’other, and shot off their tips.

Then, so sad. The Finale! Two hours were past,
All the acts came together, stood under the masts
Of the friendly Big Tops. So they appeared
In their bright, sparkling costumes. My how we cheered.
Animals too, raised their hooves in goodbye.
It had been so fantastic I felt I could cry.
So, at last it was all over, and we stood up and clapped,
On and on ‘til our palms ached and our fingers felt chapped.
We stood for the ‘Queen’ too, having said our goodbyes,
Then passed out ‘neath the stars with tears in our eyes.

‘Twas a night in a million I’d never forget
For the rest of my life. On that I would bet.
Later, between sheets, Circus thoughts filled my dreams,
And I was the trainer! ‘Midst audience screams,
Who cracked the long whip above the heads of wild cats.
The Big Tops my bed – Mother soothed me with pats!
When I passed the next day, all there was at the scene
Was yellowing grass where the Big Tops had been,
Yet I wasn’t too sad, for I knew even then,
In a year, pennies saved, I’d see the Circus again!


Clown Convention Time
by Val “Raindrop” Worby (Clown)

My landrover wouldn’t start;
My trailer let me down;
Guess who got a puncture,
Just five miles out of town?
I hoped that I’d get here
Without any mishap
You’d really think the roads
Could do the same thing as the map.
Prayers for sunshine were said
By each and every clown;
But He was busy elsewhere,
And the rains still pi- pouring down.
Welcome to sunny Bognor,
It’s a really friendly town.
Let’s hope they’ve an undertaker
‘Cos I fear we’re all about to drown!
I’ve got free food vouchers,
Isn’t that a treat!
The only trouble is
I ain’t got time enough to eat.
I want to go to a workshop,
And learn more than I know;
The workshop I want to go to
Is the same time as my show.
Has anybody seen my Wife?
She’s got the only chalet key.
Has anyone seen Zippo?
I’m sure that he’s avoiding me.
While trying to track down Bluey,
I’ve met almost every other clown;
Except for that old Jo-Jo
And I’d swear that he’s left town.
Shall I have time for Church,
And a photo call?
Shall I fit in lunch,
Or learn to juggle in the hall?
If this weekend is exhausting,
I daren’t let it get me down,
‘Cos Old Boots is lurking somewhere,
And he’ll notice if I frown.
The cars packed up till it’s sagging,
Now we’re ready to depart;
After three days in Butlin’s car park
I hope the wretched thing will start.
These conventions are murder,
I’m quite worn out, my dear.
What, Are we going already?
Goodbye, God Bless, see you all next year.


Mr. Merryman
by Dick Dewhurst
“Principal Elocutionist of the Grotesques and Buffoons”

I wonder how the people can
Call me Mr. Merryman!
Worn are my clothes almost out
By being whipped and knocked about;
Torn is my face in twenty places
By stretching wide to make grimaces.
My worthy cits, (citizens)
Now is it fit
That you should sit,
Gallanting it,
The whole kit,
In box and pit
To see me hit,
Boxed, cuffed and smit,
Sham dead as a nit,
And laugh at it,
Till your sides split?
There you sit,
Through requisite
To rack my wit
These rhymes to knit,
Which I have writ
To bring the folks to a house well lit,
For a great attraction all admit
Will be on Dewhurst’s benefit.


The Clown
by Susy Oddball (Clown)

The bare face is reflected in a mirror
What looks back at me
Is the real image
There are lines under the eyes, around the nose
and curved creases around the mouth.
Evidence of much experience
Of pain, trials, tribulations and joy.
The body is beginning to sag
Against the baggy trousers.
The braces are holding the clown up.
The shirt patterns of the past
Still promising beauty and colour.
A sparkling hat enclosing the clowns mind,
A protection for the shell, housing many thoughts.
The base white is carefully covering the person,
But with careful consideration to bring out a personality.
The clown’s personage.
The even stroke of the paint brush
Wiping out the lines of experience.
But producing a youthfulness,
Clear, steady smiling lips,
Creating an image of lightness, colour and fun.
Who knows what lies behind the image?
Only the Clown can know.


And All For Joey
by Monica Hoyer

In Pentonville Road his grave was found,
that clown of theatre fame,
where now there stands, on verdant ground,
a Park that bears his name.
In Exmouth Market was one of his homes,
a blue plaque shows the place;
they say that still his spirit roams
(with greasepaint on its face?)
His tomb today in wrought iron is framed,
complete with theatre mask,
and after him a day is named –
what more could Joey ask?


Just Laughin’
by Hudson W. Cady

Did it ever occur to you
Of the good that you might do,
Just Laughin’.
Did you ever stop to think
That a sorrow you could sink,
Just Laughin’.
The world is like a dream,
Your thoughts are mostly clean,
When you’re laughin’.
The whole world seems more bright,
Everything turns out right,
Just Laughin’.
Victory seems to be your pace
And love just floods most every face,
Just Laughin’.
Everyone’s so bright and gay,
Work just seems to be like play
When you’re laughin’.
You’ll find the world much sweeter
And yourself will feel much better,
Just Laughin’
Life itself would be so fine,
You can make it more divine,
Just Laughin’
It’s the little things you do
And you know God loves you too,
When you’re laughin’.


The Clown
by Renee Vincent

In the ring, the giant with big boots, red nose
Greeted with laughter and joy,
He bursts his balloon, flashes his hose
Falls flat on his face like a boy.
The children adore him, the adults do too,
Without him the circus is dull
His motley a riot of red, yellow and blue
He acts his part to the full.
Leaving the Big Top when the Show is done,
He wanders back home in the pall,
He remembers the laughter, now all gone
And is cheered by the thought of it all.


The Clown’s Baby
by Margaret Vandegrift

It was out on the Western frontier –
The miners, rugged and brown,
Were gathered around the posters;
The circus had come to town!
The great tent shone in the darkness,
Like a wonderful palace of light,
And rough men crowded the entrance –
Shows didn’t come every night!

Not a women’s face among them;
Many a face that was bad,
And some that were only vacant,
And some that were very sad.
And behind a canvas curtain,
In a corner of the place,
The clown, with chalk and vermilion,
Was “making up” his face.

A weary-looking woman,
With a smile that still was sweet,
Sewed on a little garment,
With a little cradle at her feet.
Pantaloon stood ready and waiting;
It was time for the going on,
But the clown in vain searched wildly;
The “property-baby” was gone!

He murmured, impatiently hunting;
“It’s strange that I cannot find –
There! I’ve looked in every corner;
It must have been left behind!”
The miners were stamping and shouting,
They were not patient men.
The clown bent over the cradle –
“I must take you, little Ben!”

The Mother started and shivered,
But trouble and want were near;
She lifted her baby gently;
“You’ll be very careful, dear?”
“Careful? You foolish darling” –
How tenderly it was said!
What a smile shone through the chalk and paint –
“I love each hair on his head!”

The noise rose into an uproar,
Misrule for the time was king;
The clown, with foolish chuckle,
Bolted into the ring.
But as, with squeaks and flourish,
The fiddles closed their tune,
“You’ll hold him as if he was made of glass?”
Said the clown to Pantaloon.

The jovial fellow nodded;
“I’ve a couple myself,” he said,
“I know how to handle ‘em, bless you!
Old fellow, go ahead!”
The fun grew fast and furious,
And not one of all the crowd
Had guessed that the baby was alive,
When he suddenly laughed aloud.

Oh, that baby-laugh! It was echoed
From the benches with a ring,
And the roughest customer there sprang up
With: “Boys, it’s the real thing!”
The ring was jammed in a minute,
Not a man that did not strive
For “a shot at holding the baby” –
The baby that was “alive!”

He was thronged by kneeling suitors
In the midst of the dusty ring,
And he held court right royally, –
The fair little baby-king.
Till one of the shouting courtiers,
A man with a bold, hard face,
The talk, for miles, of the country,
And the terror of the place.

Raised the little king to his shoulder,
And chuckled, “Look at that!”
As the chubby fingers clutched his hair,
Then, “Boys, hand round the hat!”
There never was such a hatful
Of silver, and gold, and notes;
People are not always penniless
Because they don’t wear coats!

And then, “Three cheers for the baby!”
I tell you, those cheers were meant,
And the way in which they were given
Was enough to raise the tent.
And then there was a sudden silence,
And a gruff old miner said,
“Come boys, enough of this rumpus!
It’s time it was put to bed.”

So, looking a little sheepish,
But with faces strangely bright,
The audience, somewhat lingeringly,
Flocked into the night.
And the bold-faced leader chuckled,
“He wasn’t a bit afraid!
He’s as game as he is good-looking –
Boys, that was a show that paid!”


Shakespear (Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1)
by Rylic, St. Petersburg, Russia (Clown)

To be, or not to be a clown, there is no question!
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
or to make a laughing stock against the sea of troubles
and by a chuckle to end them?
To laugh, to smile, once more;
and by a smile to say we end the heartache
and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.
‘Tis a risibility devoutly to be wished.
To laugh, to smile,
to smile! Perchance to grin! Ay, there is the rub:
for in that giggle of grin what shocks
may come when we have shuffled off this drolling coil?
Must give us pause, there’s the respect
that makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
the oppressors wrong, the proud man continually,
the pangs of despised love, the law delay,
the insolence of office and the spurns
that patient merit as the unworthy takers?
When he himself might his clown acting make
by a roar with laughter.


‘At’s Fred’s Luck
by Monty “Bonzo” Wells (Clown)

Fred was a clown that I once knew
A jolly little man
Who made us laugh and also
Was a member of our clan.
We used to meet on Sunday nights
Down at the ‘Rose and Crown’
We doyens of the Music Hall
When we were back in town.
One night we joked and supped our beer
Then someone quietly said
‘You know there’s someone missing
What’s become of Fred?’
Maurice the Magician said
‘I saw Fred last week
He was trying to avoid me
And he didn’t want to speak.
He’s very low, he’s got no work
He can’t afford the rent
His wife’s gone off and left him
For some wealthy racing gent’.
‘Well let us all chip in a quid
A present from our crowd’
‘No Fred wouldn’t take it.
You know he’s very proud!’
‘I know’ said Tom (a juggler)
‘I think I have a plan
To give old Fred some money.
Now he’s a gambling man.
We’ll pay old Fred a visit now
Before he’s off to sleep
And ask him if he’d like to
Enter our new ‘sweep’.
We’ll cut up slips of paper
On each we’ll mark a cross
Then all put sovereigns in the pool
We can stand the loss.
Each draws a paper from the hat
Pretend that ours are blanks
Fred gets the cross also the dough
And won’t have to give us thanks.
We found poor Fred dejected
Sitting in his chair
And we felt sorry for
This picture of despair.
We tried to ‘jolly up’ our mate
And told him of our game.
Though ‘skint’, he smiled and coughed up
His last sovereign just the same.
We marked the slips discretely
(Maurice saw to that)
Now something to put them in
We need a largish hat.
Looking for a big hat meant
Who’s got the biggest head?
We didn’t mean it. Honestly.
But all eyes turned to Fred.
He handed us a bowler
We placed it on the floor
Put the pieces of paper in it
And we all made the draw.
We studied slips disgustedly
With either a scowl or a frown
Then shook our heads resignedly
And threw our ‘losers’ down
Shrugged and smiled, we looked around
We’d all declared our fates.
‘What’s on your paper?’ we asked Fred.
Fred said ‘Six and seven eighths!’


The Lady Clown
by Val “Raindrop” Worby (Clown)

In those distant days of old,
When knights were still bold,
And Will Shakespeare was all the rage,
They never dreamt of letting a woman set foot upon the stage;
And, in not so far off days, it wasn’t “quite the thing”,
For a woman in motley to step into a circus ring.
I know there are still some male clowns who think
That we women should be firmly chained to the cooker and sink.
But those times are dead and gone – part of yesterday;
This is Today, and lady clowns are here, and guys we’re here to stay.
Most male clowns, I know, have more skill and talent than I could ever hope to possess,
But there are one or two who have considerably less!
And some who call themselves clown – I don’t know how they dare use the name –
When their demeanour, at times, brings us all to shame.
And, before you say I’m just another female out to have a whinge,
Remember, it’s not us girls who use vulgar jokes that make audiences cringe.
When it comes to defending lady clowns, I’ll always take the stand,
And I won’t do it with a fag or a pint in my hand!
So, come on fellows, look at me – I’m every bit a clown as any one of you,
Only …… just sometimes ……. please remember: I am a woman too.


The Smile
– Anonymous

Smiling is infectious,
You catch it like the flu,
When someone smiled at me today
I started smiling too.
I passed around the corner
and someone saw my grin,
when he smiled, I realised
I’d passed it on to him.
I thought about that smile
and then I realised its worth,
A single smile like mine
could travel around the Earth.
If you feel a smile begin,
don’t leave it undetected
Let’s start an epidemic quick,
and get the World infected.


By Carol “Nangaz” Gazzard (Clown)

We could be a circus, get ready for the show!
Great excitement, bobbing heads, shadows of faces aglow
Silence creeps over, bright light fills the tent
Shot from the cannon the human is rent.
Clumsy feet bring the Clown to the ring
Laughing, crying, breaking things
Balancing acrobats step out into space
Carefully placing each foot with grace.
Clowns in cars, charging around
Slapstick, custard pies, loud horn sound,
On with the juggler, club, rings and fire
Two, three, four, faster, higher.
Contortionist interlink like two lovers entwined
Movements so sleek, clear, defined
Intermission, explosion, babies and food
Explanations, direction, queues for balloons.
A novelty act the Strongman roars
Lifting cars, splitting doors
Skilled trapeze artistes swing high in the air
Holding each moment with professional flair.
Buckets of water poised on a pole
Wobbling Clowns threaten us all
The Circus concluded, each artiste parades
Admiration, applause, going?, which way?
Anticipation, response, then “Encore”
The majestic Ringmaster takes the floor
Unfolding a unique, spectacular love story
The Circus, the purpose, the final Glory!


by Julie Hinchcliffe

His vocation in life was to make everyone happy,
It started with Punch, Judy and a crocodile that was snappy.
I don’t think then he knew what a difference he would make
He spent a lot of time giving but rarely did he take.
Clowning became part of his life by accident one day,
James Brothers Circus were a clown short they did say.
So he stepped in and that was the start of Pickles the clown,
He showed them all in old Mablethorpe Town.
He spent many years of giving people lots of joy,
Be them young, old, a girl or a boy.
He even had many roles on our T.V.
And appeared in a Film with Sir Anthony.
When illness struck he carried on the best way he could,
His family were always there, we knew they would.
But unfortunately even with all their care,
He left this world that he did share.
People came to say ‘Goodbye’ from near and far,
To say goodbye to one of Yorkshire’s Brightest Stars.
Painted grins of the clowns could not hide the tears,
For Clown Pickles who many had known for years.
The joy that he brought will live on for many,
For his Charity work he raised many a penny.
But to all who loved him I do know,
Wish he could be here to do another Show.


I Want To Be A Memory
by Jackie “Lollibell” Garner (Clown)

As I put on my makeup, red nose and bright hair
My costume, my clown shoes, then suddenly I’m there
Right where this clown wants to be
Ready to become a part of someone’s memory
I’ll never be a Lou Jacobs or Mark Anthony
A Buttons, a Frosty, or a Mr. C
I’ll never be famous or in Clown History
But there is one thing this little clown just has to be
I too, want to be a part of someone’s memory
When I do a party, a school or a fair
A church or a hospital, and while I’m there
Let me turn the laughter loose
And set their little hearts free
Then after I’m gone
Please let them remember me
I’ll never be a Lou Jacobs or Mark Anthony
A Buttons, a Frosty, or a Mr. C
I’ll never be famous or in Clown History
But there is one thing this little clown just has to be
I too, want to be a part of someone’s memory
And when my life is over and I am called home
Hopefully I’ll find myself kneeling at his throne
And on that day I want to hear Him say
“You did your best little Clown
You passed the test, little Clown
Now go and take your place of honour
With the rest, little Clown”
“No, you never were a Lou Jacobs, or Mark Anthony
A Buttons, a Frosty, or a Mr. C
You never were famous or made Clown History
But what you did, you did for me”
“And by the way, a special thank you
From all of my children
Ages one to a hundred and three
For you see, little Clown
For them little Clown
“You are a Special memory”


Circus Fun
By Lynn “Miss Priss” Minix (North Carolina USA – Clown)

“Candy, peanuts, popcorn, coke!”
The man he yells to all the folk.
“Let’s have fun! Get some yum!”
They’re waiting outside to get in.
“Don’t be late! I can’t wait!”
I see the elephants. I hear them rumble.
Clowns so silly, fall and stumble.
Flying high, walking tall.
Bears, “Oh my!”Lions they call.
The trapeze artist, they try hardest
not to fall. Just have a ball!
But just in case, for the sake of haste,
the net will catch, and break the fall.
The circus was fun, but now is done.
We shall return! “Darn, don’t be late.
‘Coz I can’t wait”!


Yellow Hair
By Lynn “Miss Priss” Minix (North Carolina USA – Clown)

Yellow hair is good.
I really think I should
take it out more often.
Lest it sleep in a boxy coffin.

People like these curly locks
They wonder what lies beneath
Could it only be rocks?
But if my hair were pink?
Would that make me smarter
you think?

Yellow, pink, green or blue
there is a clown hair perfect for you.
Try some on and you may find
a clown inside, You can’t hide,



A Clown Poem
By Lynn “Miss Priss” Minix (North Carolina USA – Clown)

I love My clown shoes,
My crazy clown shoes.
They take My stink-a-roos
to bring you good news.
Whatever they doos, these crazy twos
is make You laugh and carry away
those blues.
– my crazy clown shoes.

I love My nose
My crazy clown nose.
Wherever I mose
along it goes.
I shall pose with My nose
and my crazy toes.
We will both take away all Your sad woes.

I love My hair with its bright yellow flair,
it is not rare
for people to stop and stare.
So be aware that I’ll take care,
not to scare – I wouldn’t dare!
But I leave You
happy and in good cheer.


Will Sommers (Jester to King Henry 8th)
by Robert Armin
(one of Shakespeare’s actors)

Will Sommers born in Shropshire, as some say,
Was brought to Greenwich on a holy day,
Presented to the King; which fools disdain’d
T shake him by the hand, or else asham’d
How er’e it was, an ancient people say,
With much adoe was wonne to it that day.
Lean he was, hollow eyde, as all report,
And stoop he did, too; yet in all the court
Few men were more belv’d then was this foole,
Whose merry prate kept with the King much rule.
When he was sad, the King and he would rime:
This Will exiled sadness many a time.
I could describe him as I did rest,
But in my mind I do not think it best:
My reason this; how ere I do descry him,
So many knew him that I may belye him,
Therefore, to please all people, one by one,
I hold it best to let that paines alone;
Onely this much, hee was a poor man’s friend
and helpt the widow often in the end.
The King would ever grant what he could crave,
For well he knew Will no exacting knave:
But whisht the King to doe good deeds great store,
Which caused the court to love him more and more.


Pompoms and Parables
by David “Jolly Jack” Girt (Clown)

Into the timeless, spotlighted world
steps the actor, the clown,
Greasepaint smiles of new horizons
Arched lips of sorrow and care.
Masks confronting our self-deception
Teaching bitter truths.
Shocking, scandalising.
With the terrible freedom of love.
Expectant face of explorers
peer beyond the immediate
In the hope to the unknown future.
Feet skipping the dance of friendship,
Together with the outcast and the forlorn,
Steps light as a children’s dreams.
Lips smiling at our too serious assumptions,
Preoccupations and grandeur;
Wisdom of a different kind.
Eyes weeping at mankind’s misunderstandings,
Exploitations and cares and woes,
Tears of compassion and love.
Wisdom in foolishness, strength in weakness,
Joy in sorrow. Dancing, laughing, weeping
with the Harlequin of Galilee.


How The Money Rolls In
by Julian the Juggler (Clown)

One clown on the corner is juggling
Another is shaking a tin…
People, suspicious, just hurry on by.
Oh boy! How the money rolls in.
They were up really early this morning,
Putting the make-up all over their chins.
Now they started at 12 and they finish at 6.
Oh boy! How the money rolls in.
They were not always how you now see them,
with their colourful clothes and broad grins.
But practice makes perfect 25 hours a day.
Oh boy! How the money rolls in.
A clown’s like an iceberg, I once heard,
Two-thirds always hidden within.
As the clowns play, someone’s bound to say:
Oh boy! How the money rolls in.


Red and White Blues
by Julian the Juggler (Clown)

The happy crowds are leaving; they’ve had their fun.
The circus is finished now the show is done.
And me and my clown friends,
We’ve got the Red and White Blues . . .

The strongman is feeling a little weak.
The laughing policeman is beginning to speak.
And me and my Clown friends,
We’ve got the Red and White Blues . . .

The Big Top is looking rather small,
Now the Ringmaster has no ring at all,
The Juggler’s searching for one more lost ball,
The stilt-walker don’t look so tall,
And the Wall of Death’s now just a wall.
And me and my Clown friends,
We’ve got the Red and White Blues . . .

The Fire-Eater has at last gone out.
Everyone’s thirsty – it’s the Fireman’s shout.
And me and my Clown friends,
We’ve got the Red and White Blues . . .

The Tightrope-Walker’s not so hight.
That Wild Man is being so polite.
And me and my Clown friends,
We’ve got the Red and White Blues . . .


Watch the Clown
by Julian the Juggler (Clown)

Now we’ll try everything we know to make your day …
We’ll make you laugh . . . by being daft.
We’re gonna substitute a smile for those frowns,
So come on down! And meet the clowns …

We’re dressed much brighter than the rest we guess in style…
And we smell funny . . . for the same money.
You may have noticed that the circus is in town,
So come on down! And smell the clowns …

Although it’s sometimes harder than the ground to grin …
Each clown is different, likr the town that they are in.
We’ve made up faces and been places through this land,
Now come on down! And hear our band …

We’re always silly, telling jokes and juggling …
Doing magic … making balloons into things.
We’re riding cycles with one wheel on the ground,
So come on down! And watch the clowns …


Man in the Moon
by Julian the Juggler (Clown)

Oh I wish I was the Man in the Moon, then I could sleep all day.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten hours to play …
Oh I wish I was the Man in the Moon, then I could sleep all day.
And I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish that I could sleep all day.

Oh I wish I was Old Father Time, then I’d have weeks to spare.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday; I’s be going nowhere …
Oh I wish I was Old Father Time, then I’d have weeks to spare.
And I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish that I could sleep all day.

I wish I was Santa Claus, always in the red.
One night playing Postman Pat, three hundred and sixty-four in bed …
I wish I was Santa Claus, always in the red.
And I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish that I could sleep all day.

I wish I was a Jolly Green Giant, Fee – Fye – Fo – Fum -Fo.
Smelling the blood of an Englishman, and laughing: “Ho! Ho! Ho! …”
I wish I was a Jolly Green Giant, Fee – Fye – Fo – Fum – Fo.
And I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish that I could sleep all day.

Oh I wish I was the Man in the Moon, then I could sleep all day.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten hours to play …
Oh I wish I was the Man in the Moon, then I could sleep all day.
And I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish that I could sleep all day.


by Norman “Clown Norman” Peacock (Clown)

Clowns, are they normal, what makes them tick
Love of gaiety, making laughter, promoting friendliness, to afflict
Old and young with spontaneity, creating illusions the trick
Which conjures up fun plus frivolity, with outrageous slapstick
Nothing surpasses that ultimate smile of the slick
Sophisticate who is childlike and a true maverick.


A Clown
by Gareth “Bippo” Ellis (Junior Clown aged 12)

The clown has a painted face
When he’s around he lights up the place
When he sees the glow on your rosy red cheeks
You’ll not stop laughing for weeks
He’ll never let you down
Even when you are glum and feeling down.
A clown can make you laugh in many ways
In any place or any day
His funny antics will never stop
Even though his hair is like a mop
His clothes are always bright and cheerful
Guaranteed you’ll never be tearful.


The Computer Swallowed Grandpa

Author unknown

This is a tribute to all the Grandpas and Grandmas who have been fearless and learned to use the computer.

The computer swallowed grandpa.
Yes, honestly it’s true!
He pressed ‘control’ and ‘enter’
And disappeared from view.

It devoured him completely,
The thought just makes me squirm.
He must have caught a virus
Or been eaten by a worm.

I’ve searched through the Recycle Bin
And files of every kind;
I’ve even used the Internet,
But nothing did I find.

In desperation, I asked Google
My searches to refine.
The reply from them was negative,
Not a thing was found ‘online.’

So, if inside your ‘Inbox,’
My Grandpa you should see,
Please ‘Copy’, ‘Scan’ and ‘Paste’ him
And send him back to me!


A Smile (1)


It creates happiness in the home,
fosters goodwill in a business,
and is the countersign
of friends.

It is rest to the weary,
daylight to the discouraged
sunshine to the sad,
and nature’s best antidote for trouble.

Yet it cannot be bought,
begged, borrowed, or stolen,
for it is something that is no earthly good to anybody
till it is given away!

If someone is too tired to give you a smile,
leave one of yours.
For, nobody needs a smile so much
as those who have none to give.


A Smile (2)


A smile costs nothing, but gives much.
It enriches those who receive,
without making poorer those who give.
It takes but a moment,
but the memory of it
somehow lasts forever.
None is so rich or mighty
that he can get along without it,
And none is so poor
but that he can be made rich by it.
A smile creates happiness in the home,
fosters goodwill in business,
and is the countersign of friendship.
It brings rest to the weary,
cheer to the discouraged,
sunshine to the sad,
And it is nature’s antedote for trouble.
Yet it cannot be bought,
begged, borrowed or stolen,
for it is something that is of no value to anyone until it is given away.
Some people are too tired to give you a smile.
Give them one of yours,
as none need a smile so much
as he who has no more to give.




It’s wondrous what a hug can do
A hug can cheer you when you’re blue

A hug can say I love you so
Or ‘Gee I hate to see you go’.

A hug is welcome back again
And ‘Great to see you’ or ‘Where’ve you been?’
A hug can soothe a small childs pain
And bring a rainbow after rain.

The hug! There is no doubt about it,
We scarcely could survive without it,
A hug delights and warms and charms,
It must be why God gave us arms.

Hugs are great for fathers and mothers,
Sweet for sisters, swell for brothers,
And chances are some favourite aunts,
Love them more than potted plants.

Kittens crave them. Puppies love them.
Heads of state are not above them.
A hug can break the language barrier
And make the dullest day seem merrier.

No need to fret about the store of ’em,
The more you give; the more there are of them,
So stretch those arms without delay,
And give someone a hug today


1786 Poem: “The Grumbling Clown”
by Janice Brown

Beneath an oak a rustick clown
Lay lounging in the shade,
Complaining loud of Fortune’s gifts,
And call’d her — partial jade.

The works of Providence were wrong,
And bad was all in sight;
He knew some things were wrong contriv’d
And he could set them right.

“For instance,” cries the grumbling churl,
“Behold this sturdy tree;
“Remark the little things it bears,
“And what disparity!

“Again–observe yon pumpkins grow,
“And see! the stalks show small!
“Unable to support their fruit,
“So bulky are they all!

“Now, I, if I had power to do’t,
“Would alter thus the case:
“That this large tree should pumpkins bear,
“And acorns take their place.”

He spoke; and, rising on his breech,
Strait from the tree fell down
An acorn of the smaller size,
And pitch’d upon his crown.

“Now,” says a trav’ller, who had heard
“The whole the clown had said,
“Suppose the tree had pumpkins borne,
“What would have sav’d thy head?”


Fool Moment
Author Unknown

Clown, fool, it is me
A sparkling eye reveals in its deepness
lies the uncovered smile

Clown, fool, keep away
Say’s uncontrollable vulnerability, I will
be exposed

Clown, fool, remind me
To forget self and let spontaneous
laughter explode

Awakening wisdom
As laughter’s moment lifts the shadows
and finds my soul


A Clown’s Lament
by Garibaldi (Clown)

Twas as a clown
I first met Princess Di,
After visiting the sick,
She caught my eye.

She was so warm and bright,
She had that certain something,
That could turn ones
Darkness into light.

But now this clown, just cannot laugh,
My Queen of Hearts, has gone on high,
And with a tear, I cry:
Oh my God, why, why.


When a Clown Dies
by Jeffery “Dusty the Clown” Edmunds
in memory of Jack “Old Dad Strombo”, Christian Clown and tireless Fund Raiser

It’s very sad when a clown dies
So many of us depended on
Your gifts of laughter and surprise;
Your dodgy tricks and silly jokes.
When we were sad,
You smiled and tickled us so,
When we were too pompous
With big boots, you trod on our toes.

“Send in the clown,” they cry.
I know how to bring you back:
I just laugh and think of you,
And you’re here . . .
I’m still taken aback
By the same tricks
And a hearty crack.

Now you’ve taken
Your laughter to heaven,
Don’t forget us, sad people here.
But tell the Lord about us
And send us good cheer.

…And when the Lord calls you
To give final account,
Don’t fear to find the right words
Or the amount
Just point at us and say:
“Look at that daft lot down there,
They’re still laughing, through the day …”


Clowns Change Things
by Jeffery “Dusty the Clown” Edmunds

Yes, they do …
Clowns change things
Look – a CLOWN!
Can’t keep your eyes off her:
what will she do next …
will she notice you, and react?
Are you hoping she won’t,
’cause you’ll be embarrassed…?

“You’re a SILLY CLOWN!”
shouts the little girl,
as she grabs handfuls of his costume,
but when clown speaks
with his booming voice,
she squeals and runs to hide
behind mummy’s skirt.

Clowns change things
yes, they do
Now, you’re a CLOWN,
public property …
a cartoon drawn on flesh.
You forfeit the right to a dignity,
which is reduced to a small badge
on your sleeve.

You’re the universal giver
of good things,
the receiver of bad things,
which you must twist around, remodel
with a wry, red smile.
You must solve every problem
with the cheerful ease
of an antiques expert.

You must never be faint-hearted,
except in play
and treat your enemy like a lover spurned.
You must react to pokes, punches and stamps
but hide your real pain
under a cloak of many colours,
regard adversity with bubbles and balloons.

Clowns change things
yes, they do:
they change the people behind the greasepaint
and the people they meet.
With healing laughter, they ply their trade,
It ays so in the Book of the Prophets,
in the New Testament, too.

Read it as a script, if you dare …
put on the gentle armour of the clown
for you may have to consort
with archbishops, leaders and kings,
who will take your advice
The rewards are rich, but the price is high.

Clowns change things
yes, they do …


Hugs For You

Here’s a little hug for you
To make you smile when you feel blue
To make you happy if you’re sad,
To let you know… life ain’t so bad!
Now? I’ve given a hug to you,
Somehow, I feel better too!
Hugs are better when you share,
So pass one on and show you care!


Circus Magic For Kids
by Chris Pickles (son of the late Pickles the Clown)

Show them the magic and tell the stories
About the circus of life without any glories
Travelling through and guide the way
So they make up their minds one day

The circus has the magic ring
Where all the stars perform and sing
The clowns come in at the start
To put a big glow into your heart

As the show is going along
The music plays and they sing your song
In the interval you take a break
With sweets and candy and drinks to take

Then comes the second part
With dangerous acts that give you a start
The animals, strongmen, acrobats too
Perform this magic just for you.


Pickles the Clown RIP
(by Chris Pickles, son of the late Pickles the Clown)

The Circus World
That we must save,
The time you lived,
The life you gave.
The Clown up front
with painted face;
The hope and love
with style and grace.
The magic comes,
The magic goes,
With different kids
In different shows.
So we all must work
and play our part,
and these words of love
come from the heart.


A Clown
by Gael Turnbull, Circus

Both urchin and dotard,
he is sly, then innocent.

His effrontery is self defeating.
His simplicity a contrivance.

By pretending mischief,
he effects laughter

and confounds himself
to delight us.

More poems will be added from time to time – watch this space.