The Magician

We laughed
When right away he pulled a rabbit out of his hat,
when he pretended to saw a stranger in half,
made disappear my friend Mathew Graff,
when he mimed eating a distressed fat rat,
spat
fire and drank blood-red wine and became a bat,
swallowed a sword and threw up a cat,
then flew away on a winged giraffe.
Now I no longer heard anybody laugh.
Then a man came in, as we had begun to nervously chat,
and said "I'm the magician." We shouted, "So who was that?"

Under the Spell of Rhymes

I came across the third word, spell,
in the local library's lost and found,
next to a smartphone heavy as a dumbbell.
The second word, the article of the,
was bestowed upon me by a grand poobah,
the young, recently crowned Maharajah.
My readers shall not wonder much longer
where I found the very first word, under:
I discovered under right above
the fourth word, the preposition of.
The last word, though I seeked many times,
it was only at the end that I found rhymes.

Chloe's Dramatic Exit

People sat, enchanted. 
Stood, the old magician,
on the stage, then hovered  
over Chloe reposing 
in the smoke.  His whiskers,
painted lilac purple, 
and his face, a crimson
red, with garish azure 
eyes projecting madness
packed inside enigma.

Chloe was gone (abruptly)!  
Reappeared a moment
later, as the smoky 
air on stage was clearing.
Chloe was nervous, laughing,
"Sorry had to tinkle."