The gentle tone of her teaching,
In wonderous melodies, orchestral knowledge from a sweet teacher,
Education set by the awareness of harmonizing, delicate instruments,
Wisdom and foresight, cast by no other judgement but of a conductor,
Whomst hand leads to the ups and downs of the intensity, recognised
Ensembling in the beauty of a sinfonietta, sounds flows uninterrupted
Let the singing pendulum to your mistress's pleasure fall to the bottom, attached to the chipped illusionists mask of anticipation!
To this dance the mascarade does not crack in the shadow of sound,
A wise scholar would not sacrifice one topic relevant to learn to the passing time, to her students unfortune that is, cast in pure grief,
A wise conductor does the same with musical notes, the story flows,
With the moon high in the sky, time stands in her way, questioning her to dance with the devil amongst a distorted, whicked dark,
But resillient to the end, tough and with no distraction taking her focus the director of this event finishes the creation of art, an orchestra
A craftwoman of tempo and elegance always stands out after all, bringing the musical score to life.

~ Umi

finger-paint yourself a picture
on a canvas destined for nothing more
than late-night
one-night
kisses

arrange fabric on a doll
that was store bought
for perfection
owned by jealousy
mocked by
lessers

stain lips
to never speak
gentle words
train lips
to reside
in perfect pouts

school eyes
in fluttering
slitted
hooded
gestures
arrange toes
into smooth, unbroken shapes
to be molded
in a set of high heels
high ballers
high flyers
being higher on the food chain
only makes you
more likely
to be consumed
and if we are anything
we are
consumers

limited
to materialistic consumption
we dress ourselves up like
a sweetshop-confection
topped with gucci
and laced with victoria's secret
lucidity

it's not hard to see
what we're about
if this is a judgement
of clear intentions
we are the clear
winners

our faces are perfect
optical illusions
standing on an assembly line
waiting for someone to take a shine
to the curve of our hips
lips
chest
there is nothing to confess
our cards are laid
only after
we
are

I have nothing with or against you
and this really means nothing
but the fact that I am free

the world is full of  love-slaves
illusionists and pretenders
politicals or apoliticals
atheists or christians
each one is only saving his appearance

tell these thieves to *******
and let us be kidnapped by The Circus
let us be made Princes and Frogs

in this ******* happy end
of the world

We hide behind the illusion of the words
"I'm okay."
Silently hating ourselves for waiting for the phone to ring so we can know we aren't alone.
Pretending to be alright when we need a hand to lift us out of the grey misery of our lives.
Imagine that. Illusionists pretending to be okay, but no one thinks the irony to be true

Step right up just come inside
We've got food, attractions and rickety rides
It's only ten cents to lose your mind
It's the carnival-circus of Cedric and Clyde

The magic man cuts the conjoined twins in half with giant shears
Then makes them instantly disappear
Then shows you your card as he chugs a beer
"Who's next?" "How about you my dear?"

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The sword sallower has something to say
But can't for hes devouring a flame
He tells the audience to try and imitate
He has them **** themselves then goes on his way

The snake charmer plays his tune
Down at the midway people lose
They throw the ***** but the bottle are glued
And the bearded lady and amazon women have decided to get ****

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The fortune teller looks into her crystal ball
And predicts society's failure and fall
And insists that you put up a wall
She gives you the number of a contractor to call

The muscle man and ****** are doing lines
As the lion tamer ***** on lemon rinds
You ask if everything's fine
They answer you in some sort of coded rhyme

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The clowns ****** each other for a laugh
They use exploding pies and poison gas
You see the fully loaded clown car crash
And they all lay lifeless and gashed

The merry-go-round is going mach five
The freaks and weirdos come out to say hi
The geek takes you on the Ferris wheel and get you high
And shows you the spot where they put those who have died

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The fun house mirrors are all cracked
Except for the one that makes you look fat
The roller coaster has run off the track
Those who went on can never come back

The contortionist talks backwards
The acrobats are up in the rafters
One is pregnant and plans on seeing the back alley abortionist after
She just needs to knock and give him the password

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The rabid animals come out from the petting zoo and under the tent
The elephants tear up in lament
The tigers eat the trainer and smile with content
And the escape artists swims with shoes of cement

The ringmaster walks out with his top hat and cane
And says "thank you all for coming, we'll return again"
With his handle bar mustache, hes looks absolutely insane
The whistle blows and they all board the train

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The jugglers and unicycle bears all have gone
The illusionists and tight rope walkers pass on
As have the knife thrower and human cannonball
The haunted house comes down, the brass band plays a good bye song

So there you are surrounded by dead bodies and horse ****
Stale popcorn and some kind of hit list
Of souls and cities they plan to visit
It's the Cedric and Clyde Carnival-Circus

All proceeds go to Mr. Jacques

Since the beginning of our lives
The very first second of birth
Reek of the pigs
Has filled our scent
And our conduct
To this feeling and fragrance
We have become so senseless
And through this path that we walk

Our eyes are blind
We need some act
To clean our minds
We don't need no pact
To wash out our lives
(From) this emptiness
That rules our hearts

But, no more we'll show fear
We will make the world hear
Their hearts, our names, so near as death,
For them to their ears

Distracters of minds
Will be distracted
Invaders of hearts
Shall be dismantled
Controllers of thoughts, desecrated.
Illusionists...will be disclosed

These orders, for us to follow
These borders to make us narrow
These lies to take our clearance
These wars to take our existence

No, no more we will show fear.
We will make the world hear.
Their hearts, our names, so near as death,
For them to their ears.

Pigs!

The idiot box sings my tunes today,
Dancing stars and grainy images,
Words that don’t mean what they say,
My stars, you should burn with sages

For centuries, illusionists built shrines,
Tombs and tomes that tell of medieval tales,
Hah! Come forth and tell them now!
The ignorant chooses to ignore you,
And the naive will desert their faith for you,
A congregation of folly-minded beings

A black figure stands before me,
Darkness shrouds every corners, tonight I am alone,
The owls hoot from swaying trees,
The cloaks emit depths of despair,
Fiery red eyes, ***** of fire in a heated night,
The thin bony fingers rise up to me,
His lips move, “The hounds of hell await you!”
The fingers wrap around my arms,
“The rest you had, will be the last you ever had”

Dragged through the walls of shame,
Chains bind these hands that hit and hid many more,
Ropes cut through flesh that tasted many forbidden pleasures,
Spikes pierce through the eyes that saw sin,
I am paraded for the pleasure of the unholy souls,
Tonight, they dance in their graves,
Today, the stars burned with their saints,
Tomorrow, all that you knew is no longer true.

Inside me carried on a little *******. I didn't

put stock in enchantment, however the *******

was a sucker for the stuff. Mystics,

illusionists, arthritics who'd foresee

the precipitation. That was the year I experienced difficulty

strolling. I over-thought it and proved unable

get the cadence right. The ******* re-showed me.

"This foot. Indeed, at that point that one. Also, swing

your arms as though you're going to trial

to be absolved of a wrongdoing

you've most unquestionably dedicated."

Next, inconvenience resting in light of the fact that

I'd have to wrench the generator in my chest

so much of the time. Seeing I was exhausted,

the ******* at last pulled it out—

it looked sparkly and new, a silver dollar—

also, hurled it into a rush of feathered creatures

who needed to fly far to discover well being.

I knew then I was an expansive and perilous man,

what with this ******* living inside me,

however, felt pointless. One day, amid

a last lesson on relaxing,

the ******* solicited what kind of pants

I was wearing. I stated, "The serious ones."

"Poor child." "So will you remain on

for a third year, *******?" "No. I think

I ought to leave soon. I think

I ought to go and anticipate your landing next to

the folded waterway." "Yes, I assume

you have numerous vital issues to go to,

be that as it may, perhaps one day I will come and go along with you

for a drink, or maybe, for a short rest."

Undeserved by plenty
Misused by many
Masqueraded and always asking for a penny
When you're out clowning everything seems funny
But give too much kindness and be mistaken for a dummy
Tastes of bad intentions are sugar coated with honey
It took some time to open my eyes and see
That some individuals just aren't my cup of tea
And what seemed real all turned into fantasy
But perfected illusionists have only seen the last of me
I have real ones but forgive me when I'm distant I just need time alone
Quiet nights no interruptions i need space to let my mind roam
I'll get with you when I tie up all my loose ends
Sometimes you have to apologize take a bow and make amends
Take it or leave is my only offer
I just want us all to prosper
And be friends
(How many of us have them)

Safety
is
a card trick
a slight of hand
a conjure
something
people
fabricate
to
help them
stay
alive -
We
are all
illusionists
at
one time
or
another -
Without
a little
magic
we
just
can't
survive

reality television comes a very poor second to the moment you're living in and some live for that moment only to be rubbed out by the artificial lighting of virtual reality which is only virtually real.

Illusionists are only good if you fall for the illusion
most do, leading me to ask again,
what is real?

Special effects that affect only a few, it's
only a trick to those who know what they do
and how it is done,
real for some though.

When I pass like a ghost through the walls when I dream, where love calls, is that real?
thoughts flow like blood and congeal on the floor, but there's
always more blood, another flood in which to drown.

and sometimes when I'm wondering I am wondering, is this real?
how do I feel and is that real?

I really don't know and I don't know
if that's real or not.

I was born to agitate, it is the
purpose of a poet, (not to write
about roses or lost love), no, we
are the presenters of a lateral
vision, of the diffused ones you
are not seeing for yourself, we
think differently, we clarify, no,
I'm not here for your joy, but pain,
because if you are happy, then you
have been sufficiently dumbed down
by the illusionists your shepherds, Baa.

Some of us sell pretty versions of our ugly selves and call it truth; others fold our pretty truths into ugly lies and call it even. We are illusionists, realists, the gamblers of souls, and we all pay the poet, in the end

In times of nocturnal
camouflage when the
illusionists of dubious
deceit are flavouring
our palates with their
subliminal seduction
we may sleep together,
for me it's woke alone.