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(21/12/1947 / Johannesburg)

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My First Poem - 1968

mutters the sage

he nods to himself to himself to himself

as Coolhand Luke
doomed by
his own
calls to the clown
who runs on stage

what we got here
is simply
a lack of communication

and the clown
laughing for his audience
behind his mask
paints a silent poem into their mirth
what we got here

as blood pours from his shattered neck
is a failure to communicate

he nods to himself to himself to

a thousand clowns
roll in the aisles
the audience stands alone on stage

Submitted: Sunday, March 25, 2007
Edited: Saturday, March 22, 2014

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Comments about this poem (Consummation by John Garth Raubenheimer )

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  • Mrs. Blue (11/1/2009 6:15:00 PM)

    Funny thing, like right after to himself to himself to himself, I just started nodding to myself to myself. haha i loved the beat and it flowed very easily. Great poem

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  • john tiong chunghoo (3/25/2007 10:54:00 AM)

    your poem should get the real smart audience.

  • Melvina Germain (3/25/2007 10:33:00 AM)

    An excellent poem John, very creative indeed, I truly enjoyed it. First poem you say Nah! A big (10) from me John.---Melvina---

  • Cecilia Nicoletti (3/25/2007 10:26:00 AM)

    I wish my first poem was this good.

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