Category Archives: light verse

Mother Baked a Cake


Mother baked a cake that morphed
Into one that tasted bitter;
I would never reconsider
Eating Mother’s waiting cake.
 
But I walked down to the lake,
Where some strange thoughts I pursued:
Isn’t cake a healthy food,
Though the frosting tastes like rust?
 
Hunger moved me: Yes, I must
Go back to that modern kitchen
Where my mother was just itchin’
To serve slabs of birthday cake!
 
Homeward then I ran in haste
Zooming through the maple trees
Faster than an old dog’s fleas—
Couldn’t wait to eat that cake!

© 2022 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #364
 
More Friday Writings #20 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

I Peered Into the Pantry


I peered into the pantry to see what I could see;
A seed was there, I ate it—it tasted good to me!
I found some rich, ripe compost atop the highest shelf;
Since I’d no one to share with, I ate it all myself.
I love the taste of crude things, things rare as crystal seas;
They heat my brain and belly, and make me want to sneeze!
I know the changing climate is something I’ll survive;
In my pantry habitat I’ll always grow and thrive!


/

© 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #342
 
More Writers’ Pantry #94 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

Nothing Common


Nothing common in her tweets,
For she’s fortified with sweets!
What she tastes she somehow sees
Always tucked between her knees.
 
Autumn’s version of her face?
She knows just the perfect place:
In a corner of the zoo
With a peckish kangaroo!
There the campfire stories burn
And odd children come to learn
How to brand themselves with stars
That have slipped between the bars.
 
If you’ve suffered through this verse,
Don’t forget: It could be worse.
You could be among the dead,
Plunged in darkness, plagued by dread;
But you’re here, you’re having fun—
Keep it up, your life’s not done!


/

© 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #341
 
More Writers’ Pantry #93 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

Got No Lucky Shoes


Got no lucky shoes, and I got no magic ring;
Got some silly stories, though, and songs I like to sing.
Got no magic wishbone, got no lucky sox,
But I can think my way, my friend, right out of a box.
Some say I’m peculiar, others say I’m weird,
But folks like me are treasures—not something to be feared.

© 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 

I See You


I see you, but wish I did not;
Your presence is like a dark blot
That can’t be scrubbed out.
(Of that there’s no doubt.)
I’m stuck with you—that is my lot.
 
 

Limerick © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Fair Time!


1.
I think I’ll go down to the fair;
I know I’ll find tasty treats there.
Ice cream would be nice,
Topped off with brown mice
And maybe some platypus hair!
 
2.
The Ferris wheel goes round and round;
It’s quiet, not making a sound.
But all those aboard
Are screaming, “Dear Lord,
We want to get back to the ground!”
 
3.
That panda without any hair,
The one on the shelf over there?
I’ll win it for you,
Yes, that’s what I’ll do,
By tossing a ring fair and square.
 

Limericks © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Right Way, Easy Way


Sometimes the right way is easy,
And sometimes the easy way’s right;
But how to choose between the two
When there’s only darkness, not light?
It’s easy to say, “Just choose one!”
But what if I make the wrong choice?
That’s why I wish my ears could hear
A sweet supernatural voice,
Saying, “This is the way—stick to it!
Don’t veer to the left or right!
By walking the way I tell you
Your darkness will turn into light.”
But no voice shatters the silence
At morning, at noon, or at night,
So I keep walking and walking—
And hoping the easy way’s right!


 
Poem © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Weekly Scribblings #75 at Poets and Storytellers United


If Poems…


If poems were written as lists,
Or tattooed on foreheads or wrists,
We’d see them quite well,
But after a spell,
We’d tire of their turns and their twists.


Limerick © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 

Let Me Go


Things related, things alike—
I will take them on this hike.
 
Remember that my part was chosen;
In that role my life was frozen.
 
Each breath leaves me sorry, dear;
The results are crystal clear.
 
Promise me you will not fast
When my life is past at last.
 
Cover me with Grandma’s quilt;
Over that toss Grandpa’s kilt.
 
Total everything I owe.
Now I’m ready—let me go!
 

Poem © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #317
 
More Writers’ Pantry #69 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

Retreat

Hogan at Hubbell
The stone hogan, at Hubbell Trading Post, Ganado, Arizona often serves as a retreat for artists.
 


This little retreat’s made of stone,
A great place for being alone
And working on art.
You’re ready to start?
Good! Make sure you turn off your phone!

Photo and limerick © by Magical Mystical Teacher