Why are we not all born with a jester attached?
To be with us until we die. To keep us awake.
To remind us of the truth.
To fill mortality with laughter and the jingle of bells?
If the jester listens to her jester as the brain listens to the heart
She may eventually find peace amongst the flow and thrust
of our twisted ribbons.
Are we finally saved then, can I relax now
or did i get it wrong again?
It was only yesterday was it not
that the ferryman winked at me?
And although the days are losing definition
I’m certain it was the same day
you made a necklace out of acorns
and hung it around my neck, laughing.
We are blessed and sacrificed at the same moment.
The breast to the memory stone.
Not a circle but a spiral and all is suddenly Carnival,
bright and loud and gilded,
showing the folds and creases of pockets and wallets and bags
as we leave them at the door.
And unburdened
we are now
free to dance.
The Jester’s Jester. 18×14 in. 46×36 cm. Acrylic on panel.
Painting and poem by clinock.
art rat cafe 