A Poem That Came in a Dream

The Jewels of Wolf Messing

Jeffrey Mishlove, 1980

I had a dream and I know that it's true

About the ancient jewelry of a great Polish Jew.

Wolf Messing, the mentalist, an entertainer by trade

Changed the fate of the world, on the day of his raid.

Alone he entered the dacha of Stalin

The guards couldn't stop him; they had to allow him!

Wolf Messing the mentalist hypnotized them with ease.

They thought he was Lavrenti Beria, Chief of the Secret Police.

He used no costumes, nor any disguises.

He had only his jewelry, his psychic surprises.

The rumor now has it that the communists were wary.

They wanted such talents for the Soviet military.

Messing became the Russian's greatest entertainer.

He traveled the continent; he served as a trainer

For small groups of scientists, trained in physiology,

Bent on discovering the secrets of parapsychology.

So that the Soviet Union would one day become

Master of the world, through its "psychic A-bomb."

It has been forty years since Wolf Messing's project.

So, have the Russians achieved their object?

Are they the masters of space, time and beyond?

Can they call forth hidden powers with the wave of a wand?

Oh, they've taken Kirlian photos, and psychotronics devised.

They've measured the "aura" and wood magnetized!

They hypnotize over distances, through mental control.

You couldn't fit all their psychics in the Hollywood Bowl.

They've measured the language of plants talking to plants.

They've studied the voodoo and juju in African dance.

They've used psychic powers against the chess master Korchnoi

Could anything stop them against our American boys?

In the past forty years, they've done many a wonder.

Made a dog with two heads; they control rain and thunder.

They can manipulate brainwaves over thousands of miles

So that millions of people will nod when they smile.

But they've missed the greatest secret, and it's been just one thing:

They've lost the magic jewelry of the great Wolf Messing.

They jewels are very ancient, garish and tipsy.

The kind you might find on a wandering Gypsy.

It was from wandering Gypsies that Wolf Messing acquired them.

They've been charged with Gypsy magic for over a millennium;

These jewels were the source of Wolf Messing's powers,

And when he died they returned to their owners.

But the Gypsies can travel all over the place

From the heart of Rumania, to the Bay to Breakers race.

There are Gypsies in boxcars, there are Gypsies on horses.

There are Gypsies doing situps in the local par-courses.

The jewelry of Wolf Messing might be anywhere.

On a ship in the ocean or up in the air!

The jewels of Wolf Messing include pendants and rings.

Whoever can find them can live like ten kings.

They have all of the powers of Aladin's magic lamp.

Are they resting in the knapsack of some grizzled old tramp?

I dreamt of this jewelry and what it can do.

I dreamt of the people who are seeking it too.

There are fashion designers an quaint demonologists,

Growth group leaders, movie producers and scientologists.

There are Mafia dons and KGB spies.

There are South American dictators with greed in their eyes.

There are seekers of power and seekers of truth.

There are seekers of sex and seekers of youth.

The rings of Wolf Messing are like the Holy Grail.

Many will seek them and many will fail.

Like the Maltese Falcon, like the ancient Hebrew Ark,

These jewels can ignite a most passionate spark.

From the steppes of Siberia to the Argentine pampas,

From the Mongolian desert to the cornfields of Kansas.

I dreamt that I had them.  I dreamt they were mine.

I could share with my friends all the pleasures divine.

My heart started pounding, my eyes rolled in their sockets.

All power could be mine if I put them in my pockets.

But such magic is an illusion from Capetown to Nome.

So I left the jewels in my dream, and brought you this poem.

How can I tell you that magic is not real?

What of psi research and the power to heal?

Why would I leave all those jewels in my dream?

Am I a skeptic after all, am I not what I seem?

No, the jewels in my dream are where they belong.

Like the power of poetry and the power of song.

Magic is an illusion and magic is real.

This is the paradox that the jewels reveal.

Wolf Messing the mentalist lived an unusual life

Full of great glory and overcame horrible strife.

Wolf Messing was a master, and more than he seems:

He had the power to live from the jewels in his dreams.