Juggler's World: Vol. 42, No. 1

Poetry

American Juggler on Grafton Street

Dublin, October 1988

by Pat Boran

Portlaoise, Ireland

Quiet as Bohr's
celebrated model of the atom,
the balls seem held there
in space and in time
for our scrutiny.

Even the raindrops
are reluctant to fall
before such understanding.

Start young, summarizes
an old voice not unwearily.

Perhaps in the laboratory
with a handful of electrons
after school is out?

"Balls" Carboni

by Charles Mount

Juggling's my life, the park is my home
For me not a wife, not a hearth, not a home.
Women distract me, and put me through hell,
The park people love me, and pay me as well!

I practice each day without an exception,
Avid for aerodenetic acrobatic perfection.
And now I'm the greatest, I haven't a match,
I don't have to say it, just look at that catch!

I began as a boy trading fruit from a truck,
I tried to, albeit, without too much luck.
Till I started to juggle the fruit in the street,
Whirling and twirling to an eurythmical beat.

"But an apple, banana! Buy something!" I cried!
And they did, and that's when I first realized,
Something to which I was then unaware,
There's money in throwing stuff up in the air.

But the throng is the reason I come to the park,
(As long as I'm out of there long before dark.)
To keep them, because I know no love's forever,
I offered them my single most dangerous stunt ever.

"Japanese machetes, razor sharp and foot long!
(Please, God, don't let me do anything wrong!)"
A crowd quickly gathered out in Washington Square,
My public, my parish, my loved ones all there.

I appeared and they cheered as I bravely began,
Passing blades back and forth from left to right hand.
I was stunning, stupendous, divinely adept,
They loved me so much I quite nearly wept.

I glanced at the crowd, I shouldn't have, though,
For there I saw Betty, down in the third row.
With the blades I began to now battle and struggle,
For Betty, who left me, was watching me juggle.

I started to shake, my synchronicity waning,
"God! Concentrate and remember your training!
Your feet are a fixture of the pavement below,
Every feat is a picture, each pose a tableau!"

"Show her your skill, your deeds and dexterity,
Show her until she concedes her temerity!
Here we go, Betty, I'll show you now how,
Many people here love me when I take my bow."

"Big finish folks, this feat's never been done,
I flip up the blades and catch them all! One,
Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine!"
Unfortunately, I was juggling ten at the time.

I stood there a moment, alas and alack,
A foot-long machete stuck in my back.
Next morning I died, we all have our flaws.
Love, though, survived, you should have heard the applause!

Poetry / Index, Vol. 42, No. 1 / jis@juggling.org