Sunday, July 12, 2009


It's been months since any new poems have forced themselves out of me. Of course, poems hatch less often when I don't do the things that help the process along. I've been thinking more in images and less in words. And when I was thinking in words, I was writing more in irony and humor and less in metaphor. I enjoy the medium of blog. It has a freedom to mix and match.

But for whatever reason, poems -- or poems that look like poems (as opposed to blogs which may be poems that look like blogs) -- have mostly being lying quiet and heavy in my gut like a too much of a spaghetti dinner.

But this one showed up last night before I went to sleep and while I usually type them up and let them sit in a file for a year or so before releasing them to the air, I'll throw it out this morning. Presto, Chango!

Disappearing Act Revealed

Magicians never tell their secrets so

the first time, I saw you


from within

a crowd in a closed room of conversation

I applauded with abandon and vowed

to watch more closely if an encore came.

The next time the curtain went up

I studied how bouquets of flowers sprang forth

from both your hands,

the eyes of your fans rolling up with surprise

and the scent of sweet perfume.

Silken scarves, a pastel cloud of flirtatious words,

veiling those who would come closer,

the sudden snap of your wrist that created a cane,

solid and prodding that drove the last resisters back.

And always the abracadabra patter

of politics and art, the well-timed joke,

the conversational smoke and mirrors

that hid the trap door through which the

actual you could slowly slip.

Until you noticed the last remaining set of eyes

and pulled your masterpiece smile from the hat,

and threw it at me like flash powder.

I blinked in your light and then you were gone again

leaving me fooled again, but without applause --

instead of your smile, I’d rather have your lips.


  1. My daughter's husband, Jeff is a magician. Jeff and his friend Blaine were attempting to build the "Bed of Death" when my daughter married him. Jeff sawed Kathy in half a couple of times. She hated it. It's too cramped in the sawing table. I love your poem. It's magic! Magic is so captivating.
    By the way, your texture is looking way better today. I'm still smiling.

  2. B&B...your words always paint such a fascinating picture!

  3. And so she got away? It was probably for the best. Smoke and Mirrors can get so confusing.

  4. Jeepers B&B I am glad you wrote that down. It had a rhythm that flowed with the smokey hazy words on the page. Nice job.Blessings

  5. I have been fooled many times myself.

  6. Hello Mark

    that is a great poem. I wonder what it is in gullible us that wants to fall for the illusionist...are we the dreamers, the idealists, the romantics, ..I think I have become a my old age...or have I learned to see through the tricks...and tactics ...

    Happy days