The Juggler

by Lake Sagaris

 

The three-ring circus

has a double-breasted

leggy proud high-heeled

woman juggler doing

what we all do from when

the alarm cracks dawn's

ice Forcing us from dreams'

slow motion depths. She

tosses rings & roses

children crackling

flames husbands

lovers and salad's

blend of live

ingredients Held up

an example Helped up

a lady Hung up A case

Made up Make up

Make love

& beds dinner &

dishes curve smoothly

over gaping mouths Smooth

curves under rough hands To Do Well

done Hard-done-by Done up Hard-on Undone Her sequined shoulders shoot sparklers toward false stars and apples bitten and biting applause

stinging singing stinging palms

We spill from ourselves into her

hands Offered a future of

flight, that is, flight

fleeing, being

flown or

flying

Juggler Enters Heaven

by Mark O'Hara

 

It's only a crowd of Cub Scouts

he's here to entertain. Parents

and their blue and gold boys

laugh at his clown outfit:

he's rolling even before

the magic tricks.

He floats his newest jokes;

the air around his head is awash

with their laughter. He wrings

and braids balloons into fish,

stars, flourescent plumed hats,

hands them to boys who grin

like grateful nephews.

The finale worries him,

but the clubs and pins go easily

into the air, their shafts like tools

his hands have worn for years.

To close he sets five balls

the size of tangerines into a ring.

He adds another. A white,

twisted rictus of a grin that comes to his face as he stares at the balls - now seven ­

so hard that phosphenes shine

around them like sparklers in a darkened room, stares at them until the stage

in his lower periphery begins to bow,

and sliding down its camber

he is deafened by their applause

as by the roar of horns,

and the audience exults,

picks up and passes him

over their shoulders, the balls

a blurry halo above his head.

The Juggler Defines His Art

by MeKeel McBride

 

It matters little to him. He can take stones

in his hand or birds or bits of burning wood

and storm the sky as sure as a meteor shower.

Ask him how and he will sigh, saying

''Ah, I have married Lady Gravity

and these, these are my children."

Then ask him what it is

he loves so much that he is able to suspend

all belief in the solid world.

And he will say, "The heart is an orange,

a porcelain cup, a closet

that has not been opened in years.