::imaginative introspection::

Imagine that all life is an illusion. All that exists is this moment. No past, no future, each memory, every plan, a part of the illusion. Life, in a photograph.

Do you like the image of yourself?

Friday, March 18, 2011

The Act

the magician stood silent,
waiting for quiet
before he began the show.

he sang and he danced,
he spoke of romance,
flashy smile, all bright lights and promises.

oh, he did quite well,
fooling crowds with his spells,
the illusions all formed from science.

but physics,
you see,
is no child's plaything.

and miscalculations

some say he planned it.
some say he fell.

those who were there, oh they said they could tell.

midway through the act,
he stepped on a tack,
caught himself on a lever,
which wasn't so clever,
and he hung from the rafters,
loose rope now tight round his neck.

The audience gasped,
then burst into claps,
thinking, of course, this was part of his act.

But their praise was cut short,
as they saw his effort,
ending, as his face amort


he hit the stage--limp body bowing as if controlled by an unseen puppeteer.

So they cut him down,
and all gathered 'round,
half expecting him to jump up alive.

The magician was silent,
for one final show,
a slow vanishing act.


  1. I like your poem alot. It shows that something serious is happening in front of us but we don't realize it until someone is dead.

  2. I really enjoyed it! Great rhyming! you have a talent!