"illusionist" poems
Love has no place here in a world doused in shades of grey.
No warmth comes with winter sunshine; it's been chilled by the December Solstice winds.
The days have lost meaning within a destructive Earth.
Forever lost is the bliss they once knew.
Immortals turn their cheek in shame that no one else feels in themselves.
The apocalypse is upon a place once so promising.
How could they forget the beauty of what they had?
Why must they lust for more, to tear the world asunder?
Cast the world into an illusionist's fire!
Burn this blemish from what used to be a perfect canvas.
Paint them anew, begin again!
Exile the self made evil, the hatred.
Create with vibrant colors for a new being.
Bring about the miracle that they can survive.
They could never do it alone.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC
These optical illusions
Create an optimal confusion
When eyes are a welcome intrusion
To the brain's inevitable conclusion
We stared into the mystic mirror
I witnessed everything I ever wanted in life
All you witnessed was just two people standing there
The transparency you cast upon me
Reminded me of how the plumes of **** smoke
Were never as thick as my problems
And as those clouds left my mouth and dispersed into the air
I saw your image
Preserved in briefness
It's a shame how my magician's mind
Summons smoke and mirrors
Nobody else believes me
But magic is the only way to explain you
The way you turned me invisible
Was spectacular
Your methods of sawing me in half
Certainly weren't natural
And your teleportation demonstration
Left me suspended in ice
So I guess I'm to Blaine
For the mirrors I erected
And the truth they reflected
Because now I'm lost
In what I refuse to call a funhouse
As I search frantically for some ancient tomb
That might reveal your brilliant incantations
Attempting to ignore the horrid revelation
That every spell I learned
Had been based in your arcane aura
And all the power I had gained
Had been based in your enchantment
I want a magician
Not an illusionist
So what does it mean when your illusions are so magical?
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 5:43 AM UTC
Her face-
A thousand suns,
A cosmic dance under
The ever-expanding escape;
The curtains that fall heavily
Upon the eyes of oblivion.
Her hands-
A fox running
Through the meadow;
The open cages that
Confine gloom back
Into its prison.
Her eyes-
An indefinite eternity,
Through which both
Dark and light speak;
The great
Illusionist.
Her lips-
A bitter moonlight
Casting its shadow upon
Persisting glow;
The ripeness of a
Mango in its season.
Her feet-
A battered road
Folding upon itself
As it struggles to find
Its way home;
The seeds scattered
In every empty hole.
Her-
A desolate daydream
That runs through
Unbounded space;
The deep ocean trench
I’ve completely
Drowned in.
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
An illusionist by trade, he
Could transport her from where she stands
To a magical spring rumored
To harbor manatees that turn
Into mermaids under the sun.
He needs only one volunteer
To help him spin the great machine
Until its wheels move too quickly
To see the metal spokes between
Its three hubs and rotating rims.
Two persons, four legs, and three wheels,
Travel through time and cross the space
Between the parking lot and springs –
Voila! All appear safe and sound
At the edge of Wakulla’s gem.
And in a moment – close your eyes!
Now open them to see the sun
Shining for the first time all day,
All the way down to the bottom
Where the manatees swim and dream.
The mammoth manatees awake
And begin to grow back their scales.
They transform and wait patiently
For the human girl to toss her
Wished-upon shell into the spring.
She finds the one and makes a wish,
Then closes her eyes once again,
While the practiced illusionist
Works his magic hidden by smoke,
And the shell falls from her fingers.
It floats to the coldest waters,
Slowly shifting back and forth as
Though it were swimming – and it is!
Transformed into a mystical
Creature, it sets the mermaids free.
The human girl jumps up and down
With glee at the beautiful sight:
Shimmering scales and flowing hair
Dart through water in their delight
And invite her to join and play.
The girl jumps in and kicks her feet
But must come up for air to breathe.
The illusionist watches this
From the sandy shore and he – ****
Bubbles at her feet slowly form
Into one glittering green tail
And her hair grows several feet,
Turning to gold under water.
The girl smiles wide and dives to
Join the joyful, playful mermaids.
They jump and swim and practice tricks,
Splashing around under the sun,
But the girl missed her life on shore
And looked longingly at the sand.
The illusionist saw this, too.
Since she had been the one to free
The mermaids from their trapped bodies,
He thought to grant her one last wish
And with a puff of brim fire smoke,
She was transported back to shore.
Her adventure complete, she spun
The wheels of the illusionist’s
Magic machine and was brought home
With the help of her companion,
The great entertainer himself.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
1
*In the masquerade of a poet
he acquires secret wings,
becomes equal parts real and unreal,
treading the twilight zone.
He still is an apprentice
with the conjurer,
incomparable wizard
who never stops amazing
being the anarch of slight of hand,
the illusionist grand,
we in the flow who swim or drown
in the river, known as life
that none ever defined the way it really is.
2
Inside his cubicle
transformed to a scribe by a curse
when he coveted it, was a boon
he is real, all his magical powers robbed
by the day light, realities of life
he is grappling with news
that make his heart grow weak.
He is now a sobbing poet within,
firmly handcuffed to a pact strict,
only to write reports, that's his might
anything of beauty he couldn't escape,
its all pain in forms unimaginable
most of it man made, even famine.
A life swinging between a hope
to come in terms with
the uncertainties of the ebb and flow
that breaks his heart bit by bit,
and facing realities stark that drives a knife
has become the rut, he wouldn't escape.
Dawn peeps through the window blind
he has lost meaning for day and night long time back
when this double life, has trapped him in this pen*
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
~
*Imagine a box
In shadow
Of utter regalia
Iris, dressed as a waterfall
She comes scattered
Imagine an eyelid illusionist
Praying for more palettes
Enters steelbook cathedrals
To a ministry of colour
For the street outside
Cannot offer as
Interesting a hue
As those fascinating within
The pigment of her imagination
It's compelling artistry
Like oil on canvas
A slight of hand
Smoke and mirrors
Her skilled fingers
Kohl mining
For soft medley
And the new liminality
Above the spectator's eye*
~
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 1:02 PM UTC
Those Hypnotic hazel eyes hold a map for the lost,
An illusionist can't fathom their beauty,
These eyes make you go crazy,
Those Hypnotic Hazel Eyes
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
Steel vultures dancing
back and forth,
licking each others talons,
snip sensually
the stubborn coils of
glassy illusionist thoughts
that have threaded,
spilling from the helm.
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 1:42 PM UTC
a message sent to me:
“I know you, Marrano, secret Jew of my heart, weakened by words and strengthened thereby...stout man of words”^
a stranger invasion - his technology, a new combine of words,
percentage of perception high, a ferreting scraping of tissue,
an abrasion of spoiler alerts that are not hidden but now summoned, despite being unbidden early on a Sabbath morn
and at this, my haunted hours, this secret Jew,
wanders unexplored yet familiar routes
of his well traveled innards,
pondering this sweet Shylock Accusation, nay,
this confessional truth, but more, the nut of his essence that ‘tis
his conviction, his twisted sentencing, the exact lived-level of
a hellish Dante verse that shreds the escape of sleep,
that is home
“weakened by words and strengthened thereby”
words forced to the fore, peremptorily summoned,
this inconsistency so constant, his battle,
where neither victory, loss or truce, are resolutions legitimate,
contradictory poems are the tension production
of this high wire act of the man, a performance
best assessed as one of always slipping,
more near-falling failing than cross walking,
employing his word emissions as a balancing pole,
and balancing is a sometime thing
I am not an illusionist - if anything, a disillusionist
there are stanzas writ
but unspoken
that shall not be out-spit
here or now; for lengthy answers already exist,
in a thousand prior scripts
and
the thin wire of preservation
teaches the value of brevity
stout, I think not,
man of words,
no doubt,
one who is both,
a secret Marrano and a Jew, fully exposed,
and one who is
“weakened by words and strengthened thereby”
12/2/17 The Sabbath 3:33am
<•>
extra credit reading
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/529429/the-true-tale-of-shylocks-pound/
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 1:43 PM UTC
*I urge you not to trust a magician
Leaves you in disbelief,
makes you question without permission
Perception is everything,
intercepting your understanding,
patience is wearing thin
I promise you
I was a victim of trusting
someone who’s double faced
Showing me tricks, and
they had me begging for double takes
A bitter pill that I always had trouble swallowing,
please heed my words
as I warn you about the following:
I paid to see* Fate The Fantastical
*Showing sketchy tactics and
very far from magical
Stuck in your life and you're seeking help?
He'll try to convince you
that he's the monster who played
the hand that you were dealt
A "one-way" in your journey never existed
so throw those cards back in his face,
tell him “don’t get it twisted!”
Then leave the show and get your money back,
fill your money bag quick
while making your own plans
with money stacks
I saw the power of* The Spellbinding Heart-Breaker
*He promises forever but claims he’ll see you later
I caught him backstage
rehearsing his apology
illusionist at heart
and a student of escapology
A Houdini whodunit level of disappearance
Shackled by love and commitment,
begging for interference
And my advice is that
you crash his performance
Reveal him to the audience,
damage would be enormous
The mental menace known as* Doubt The Diabolical
*The worst of the bunch since
he’s demanding and methodical
He has the gift to convince you
To give up on your dreams,
Taking the stage with volunteers,
“voices” sing his theme
Enticing suicide, heartless,
and pushes you aside
Signals your sayonara by
serving you soothing cyanide
So boo him off the stage
as loud as you can!
Steal his thunder, change the world
'cause I’m one among your many fans!*
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 11:59 AM UTC
Darling Dragon Blue,
Your life is a circus
full of ambiguities leaving you stumped,
unable to discern good from bad, truth from lies,
enemies from allies.
The Ring Master,
Master Illusionist,
Master Magician,
call him what you may,
he knows this,
he feeds off of this.
your misplaced trust
gives him power.
He targets you,
his spinning whip sings I love you,
Striking down hard on your soul,
drawing blood from your heart,
Painting hate in your eyes.
He announces you as his greatest possession,
his greatest achievement,
the love of his life.
But now the show’s over.
he looms over you
using his two faced mask to scare you back in your place
feeding off your insecurities and self doubt,
he grows stronger.
“Dance my boy Dance!” he cackles
‘STRIKE’
“Sing my boy sing!”
‘CRACK!’
he lines his whip with false love
to numb your pain.
But only for a little bit.
Only for a few seconds.
Long enough for you to believe it doesn’t hurt.
Long enough for you to forget his dagger words.
A damaged young dragon,
you burn your sorrow into the glass
when you whisper I love you to the mirror.
“I love you” it reads back.
and you feel so empty.
You realize you’re tired of performing on strings.
you yearn to dance freely, to soar high into the unforgiving sky
you want to burn this place to the ground screaming
“I loved you!” Roaring your mighty roar releasing your fright,
Spreading your mighty wings created for magnificent flight,
your bound legs unable to carry you,
you fall to the ground.
cold, helpless, the flame within you
threatening to die out.
The ring master finds you.
a confused frightened smile creeps onto his face
“I love you” he sneers
as he kicks you back into your cage
wondering why, oh why you tried to escape.
again with false love,
he manipulates you, a creature
endowed with so many beautiful talents and gifts,
not realizing he conditions his “ I love you’s” with pain, anger, and hate.
and you a mighty dragon only wish to control your own fate.
And so Enough.
you roar.
Enough.
The fire inside you erupts into a great blue star
transforming the carbon in your ribs into your
diamond heart,
melting your golden bones allowing you to change form.
For Darling Dragon Blue,
It is HE. that should fear you.
Darling Dragon Blue.
I LOVE YOU.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
I am a magician!
Just watch me go,
I can make the tears disappear when you open the door.
I can hide my feelings,
You'll never find them,
****
The frown turns upside down.
I am an illusionist,
Caught in my own snares,
Only seeing my own tricks.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 12:42 AM UTC
Will you please break me free of these memories?
You were once a friend, but now you're just a bitter enemy.
We're two strangers that know each others secrets.
If you said you still love me, I wouldn't believe it.
And I've been standing in the rain for far too long.
My body has become weak, and my mind less strong.
I’m broken into pieces, from the hammer you grip.
Though I’ll still let the phrase "I miss you" slip through my lips.
I want the good memories gone
And the bad ones to stay.
So I never come back to you
I wanna remain far away.
Because you're an illusionist,
Who has mastered hypnosis,
You have many tricks up your sleeves
Along with dead roses.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
Mulling about
The muck
The haunts we are hardbound
Foggy fetal leavings by the sea
Right before the light;
The days of purple haze
Of sallow street cars, street lamp, amped up
Yet dampened loss of desire
Pop another oxy-hydro-fire.
To be able
To muck about
With inner abandon
the abandonments deep
Numb battlements / "Hoorah!"
Semper Fi the pain
Only significant
With derivatives
From ******* plantations
Opioid addiction’s contractually binding
Lingering love notes
A vice grip on idle minds
So many now that prey
But with a side affect of
Try holding in your ****
for three-plus days
So as not to feel
Not at all
Not even the rage
We keep anxiously pacing
Clawing at
Nonexistent strings
A Beast inside our cage
Forgiven by preacher men
Proclaiming to hallelujah
Change
At war with illusionist
Freedom
The boys fight for still
A country of patriotic pill poppers
Believing in heavenly kingdoms'
Healing
Secret silent pleading
Because nothing takes away
The pain
Like Hydro Oxy foxy pills
Self medicate down wind of will
If unaffected "consult your physician"
He’s at the edge of the stage
A Spearmint rhino making it rain
For Peaches
From patient list of his *******
The business of lust
Is feeding the loss of will
If you still feel lost -- and war sure did
Give them nothing but
PTSD & bad dreams
Machine gun migraines
Pop another pill
Jagged little killer
Softly knocks you off your feet
Black is cheaper
Smoke out not to feel
The muck-about days of
Constipated pains
Reader Digesting heavily,
Numbingly unreal.
Casualty of a nameless waste
That’s his deal / what it's like :
Most fecund
A life on the toilet
In wait for relief…
Get off the ***
Can't give a ****
Like this bowel movement
His heart has called it quits
To all this unholy *******
Veteran
Patriot
Manhood’s defeat
Damnation
Mucking about...
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
So many nights I stayed up late with him
smothered by smoke and darkness,
talking about freedom, listing all the reasons
I couldn't wait to leave this place
but it was never the small town I minded so much
as the ever present loneliness.
I remember my art teacher
pointing out that all my ****** artwork
held symbols of evasion
-an open window with views of mountains
shadows fleeing from a slit photograph
an elevator open to reveal an aquarium
Always things opening
to reveal something better
My thoughts are not chiseled in stone
my eyes are not cold marble,
they do not remain still enough
to know permanence—
They only speak escapism
My dreams and fears
are not geometric and carefully calculated.
They are horribly bohemian, fluttering and
echoing the uncertainty
of a bird's f l *i g
h
t*
I am always planning evacuation routes,
building gypsy caravans in the basements of my mind
I will always be hightailing
through the hedges and fences
put up by friends and family
I have been working on my vanishing act
for the past 16 years and
none of you will see it coming.
And I do not like to show people
the ways I have been broken, so I hide the evidence
In that sense I am a perfect houdini
-a successful illusionist, a stunt performer
I've learned that many questions like handcuffs can be avoided and evaded
as I have become able to regurgitate small white lies like keys at will
There is one escape
that I have never granted myself
the release of a blade
the empty prevarication of pain
I never cut, never slit, never shed my blood
I guess I've always been smart enough to know
that a razor doesn't have the power
to stop the *tempest* in my head
I will forever remain a fugitive
and when you look at me and my eyes are glazed
it means I had snuck away to my world
I've packed up and run off
and you cannot follow me
nor bring me back
no matter how hard you try
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
How sad it is and how how veiled are we. How ashamed we should be. Staring into the mirror we tell ourselves of the imperfections we see. We cry out "UGLY". Pound our fists and beat our chests.
We mustn’t be fooled anymore, I plea, be incredulous of the Magician, for you know in the end there is no truth to his magic, only a master of slight of hand. He is nothing but an illusionist, and a charlatan if he claims to be anything more. We are being fooled in that polished sand. Every imperfection you see, darling, you're being fooled.
Imperfections are the first illusions of human nature, older than the oldest profession. I cry in sorrow at how carelessly we forget, so much and so often. We tell each other that love is the scarlet fog that blinds us from the “truth” of imperfection. We show pity for the fool in love, we laugh and judge, for he wears rose colored glasses. Oh what fools are WE! To think love, LOVE, as the fog that blinds us from seeing another truly. From seeing ourselves in our perfect beauty.
You forget so readily that the only truth is perfection. Insecurity is the mist, shame and fear the haze and fog that blind the world. And Hate, hate is the great illusionist. Hate of others, and hate in your self. The only truth in your reflection is perfection. Love is that veil lifted, we wear glasses for what else but to see clearly when we are blind.
Now speak these words aloud, repeat them and believe them. Let them burn in your brain for there are no other truths besides this. You are perfect, you are beautiful, desirable, you are worthy of all the love and joy that this dark world still possesses. Don't let that fog of sadness, and of the scared blind masses keep you from seeing how beautiful you are. Love yourself, smile into the mirror in the morning at the perfection that you see. I love you. And if your vision is blurred, take my glasses
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
I, a butterfly.
A lazy one , though.
I, a light.
But not a neon one.
I , an actress.
In my mind only.
I could hear today a waltz as I was waltzing .
One , two , three.
One two , three.
And I, a ballerina.
A laughing one.
A dreamer , an illusionist.
For myself only.
I, a rose
Without petals.
A kisser too,
with painful kisses.
I , not a swan
but the shadow of it.
I , lost.
and found.
Happy, with tears.
but anyway
it all fades...
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
You tie me up in knots that are intricately woven,
lead me through the pool of tears,each step an anguished sob,
wracked from a bruised chest that is battered from pain.
Yet still I follow you to the ends of the earth, losing myself in you.
Waiting for a smile when you see it fit to really look at me,
when you notice the tired lines round my eyes from constantly watching you.
You suspend me on a string of suspense drawing me further from what I want.
I exist in an inanimate state where thoughts of you cloud all logic.
I reach for you in the dark and my fingers go right through you,
You are merely a ghost of what I need, disintegrating with each passing hour.
Am drowning my sorrows in a pool of illusions,
seeing only what I need to, feeling only what I can stand.
I lose track of what is a manipulation of my mind and what is real.
You are here with me and yet I can look right through you.
A master of deception and flattery, I am helpless to fight your charms.
I am lost in a reality full of dreams created by you.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 4:53 AM UTC
I'm nothing more than a delusionist, making you see things that don't exist.
In this imperialist nation, i'm something more than an extortionist, making my money off these
stolen and sold-souls, taken from anyone who resists, 2 birds with one stone - i collect these broken bones
and use them as collateral against these religious drones.
I am a little less than an illusionist -
my hand's being faster than some people's witts.
The cards i clutch within my mitts.
Dealing out the hands i think should exist.
Counting these cards with little trouble, i'll put out some cash and make it double
Apr 2, 2010
Apr 2, 2010 at 10:28 AM UTC
When you said
what we have is magic
I didn't think it meant
you'd disappear.
Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 4:16 PM UTC
Dangling time in front of my face.
A rythmic ace.
East to west. East to west.
Ensnared.
By this chain as it wraps around my chest.
Hexed, dancing towards the edge of a chasm.
C ontorting for you cynicism
U nvieling for you undived attention.
R easoning for your recoilation.
S alivating for your sensuality.
E xcusing your erosion. ----
D ancing in my delusion. ---
You are the jack of spades.
A master of trades.
Colder than the queen of diamonds you've plucked from my mind and displayed.
I am the rabbit you'll rip from your mad hatter.
Impatiently awaiting my own dismal disaster.
Pounding my fists;
"Make this trick go faster!"
Getting mixed up with an illusionist was hasty and unplanned;
As my courage melts, he strokes my cheek
With his sleight of hand.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC
In a time machine, going back to past,
this disturbing thought entraps me:
if someone wants to eat me
who should it be?
rather a mystical woman, mature
than a skeptical nymph,
*an optical illusionist
who with her eyes,
showed few tricks, to me lately-
perfectly fits the bill*.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 10:33 AM UTC
He asks for a coil of wire
changes it in to a slithering snake.
The illusionist mocks
the certainty about things ,
creates a riot of laughter
irrationality sits light on our shoulders
like friendly doves, when he performs.
Tampering with reality
to cajole absurdity out of it,
was making fun of God's authority,
someone murmured,
we kids thought God claimed importance,
a bit too much,
why, at times God's actions
are no different from us,
thoughtless kids.
We loved the jiggery-pokery
of the illusionist, who made
reality stand on its hands, with his tricks.
And the anarchy he brought
in dealing with our expectations!
who would expect to pull out cow dung,
from a bag where he put a cat?
The illusionist says seriously like a scientist,
"I ape God and this world, that's all"
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
Her wasabi breath,
snake venom injected crow's feet
& chain smoking reflex could
scare a country into prohibition.
Enough ****** power and spine behind
every word to ******* the
male populous into a plethora
of soggy invertebrates.
Barnacle encrusted spinach weave,
obsidian void lip stick she squeezed
off a bat's back
& a Columbian waltz she stole
from a putrid little beasty
all mixed up & spit into a murky
cocktail glass wearing high heels.
You could feel the atmosphere tickle
a bit when she raised a brow at
You.
That silky whisper of a voice
was just an illusionist prelude
to the thundering brass of her
ringing enthusiasm.
She was the most powerful being.
A lioness among the flock of sheep.
A droplet of viscous mercury
in an oil spill.
Raw.
Sharp.
Lethal.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
Smoke and mirrors
and other illusionist effects,
are what the Ice Queen surely knows best.
She’s the queen of the chill,
the master of disguise.
Even after a year, I can’t tell when
She lies.
She’s got me fooled, the Ice Queen does,
wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger,
Dangling and swinging in any direction that she pleases.
I suppose I deserve it,
Being used and mentally abused by a girl
So cold in her own world of make-believe gold.
I didn’t know it then, and I still don’t know it now,
but her heart must look much like mine,
All but ready to be six feet into the ground.
She sits there against the brick,
legs crossed on the ground.
Her cancer cane dangles between her fingers
as she inhales and the ends flame.
Smoke veils around her face as I sit to the side,
while my mind begins to race.
She turns to me and puts her hand on my knee,
whispers something sweet,
“I think it’d be quite nice for both our lips to meet.”
With those green eyes and that devilish grin,
her hand went to my neck and she slowly pulled me in.
We crashed with a burn, heated tingles on my tongue;
She tasted of smoke, and I knew our fun had just begun.
She pulled away with that same sinister grin,
and I thought that maybe,
just maybe,
she’d let me in.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC