storm porch

once, on the western porch

once, on the western porch
of Nashville’s concrete Parthenon,
I watched lightning flash west south and north
while one man played flamenco tunes
beside the deep set brass doors
and another discovered silver and giggles
in ears and rain-wet hair.


From Not Without Poetry

Prompt #07: Wrong Hands

Today’s prompt bought to us by Mike Ferguson.

Start by watching this video.

Mike says: I am recently obsessed with magic. Not just any magic. The top shelf stuff. Homer Liwag is an amazing slight of hand artist, and yet he is known for having “the worst hands in magic.” By some bad luck of the genetic draw, they are chronically as dry as the desert. This is one of the reasons I find Homer’s performance so poetic, the striking contrast between the beauty of the movement and his “retired” hands. They seem like the wrong hands…not to mention the fact that when you’re looking for the coins, you are almost always looking at the wrong hand.