The Jester’s Jester

the jester and her jester

 

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. 18Γ—14 in. 46×36 cm. Acrylic on panel.

Painting and poem by clinock.

3 thoughts on “The Jester’s Jester

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