Category Archives: light verse

Jump-rope Rhymes: Pulling Punches


Pulling punches,
fixing lunches—
something has to give!
 
Having hunches
and long brunches—
what a way to live!
 
See, she scrunches
as she munches
carrots from a sieve!
 
Plant some runches,
harvest bunches—
don’t forget your shiv!

 
Poem © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Weekly Scribblings #56 at Poets and Storytellers United

Convoluted Kinships


I don’t want to be my mother,
I don’t want to be my dad;
Maybe I will be the brother
To the sis I never had.
 
Convoluted kinships? Got ’em!
You can tell my life’s a mess,
Just about to hit rock bottom—
’Cause I’m not my mom, I guess!


 
Poem © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Weekly Scribblings #55 at Poets and Storytellers United

The Kill


The stump of a tooth was tethered to stars.
At five till midnight three men puffed cigars.
One of them lathered his whiskery chin,
Using a brush soaked in whisky and gin.
One plowed through the soil, one raised a harpoon,
Hurling it carefully right at the moon.
The moon with a sigh crashed into the sea;
Monstrous waves followed and splintered the quay.
Once he’d accomplished this feat of great skill,
The harpooner bragged of making a kill,
A kill so complete the moon shines no more,
Except when wild women dance on the shore.

 
 

Poem © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #301
 
More Writers’ Pantry #48 at Poets and Storytellers United

It’s All in the Bones

First there was this:


fingers framed by light
clutching an old rosary
carved of human bone

 
 
And now there is this:
 


My rosary isn’t mere stones.
It’s carved out of various bones:
Bones of a lizard!
Bones of a wizard!
In some darkling way it atones.

 
 
Poems © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher

A Is for Aardvark


A is for aardvark, and also for ass—
The donkey disporting itself in the grass.
You’ll also need A for apple and apt,
For azure, anointing—alas, not for sapped.
Keep those A’s handy, you’ll use them, I’m sure:
Aroma, armada, anoint, and allure.
Whatever you do, don’t stop your A’s now:
Spell African, aching, along, and allow;
Amber, anathema, alley, antique—
You’ve enough A’s now to last for a week!
A few more won’t hurt, so try out afar,
Anacoluthon and asp—not cigar.
And while you are at it, use more A’s, my child:
Aspersion, assembly, afflicted, and aisled.
Had enough yet? Oh, I think you have not!
Try ample, ambiguous, Alice and aught,
Along with androgyny, ample and Anne;
Acrid and acid, but not Candy Man.
Antique and Antigua are not the same,
So both of them are allowed in this game,
There’s nothing about you untoward or unstable,
So keep writing A-words as long as you’re able!

 
 

Dancers with Candles


Dancers with candles are lurking around
Places where mistletoe is to be found,
Hoping their empty lips soon will be kissed,
Fearing their footsteps will turn into mist.
Suddenly sleepy the dancers do swoon,
Not caring at all that it’s only noon.
Could this be deep magic doing its work,
Or am I dreaming like some lonely jerk?
Soon I’ll be nodding, my air will be gone,
And it will be time for me to pass on.
Please don’t forget me when I am no more;
Give heed to my wisdom, this I implore.
Of all I’ve told you, try to remember:
Dance with your candle every December!

 
 

Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #295
 
More Writers’ Pantry #49 at Poets and Storytellers United

A Crow and a Hoe


A crow that I once knew named Joe
Fell madly in love with a hoe.
A rake wouldn’t do;
Past shovels he flew—
Joe just couldn’t dig ‘em, ya know?

 
Limerick © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Which Is Better


Which is better for my vat—
Eye of hurricane, or gnat?
One is better for a curse,
While the other one is worse.
Which one shall I add and mix
To produce the vilest tricks?
If it’s hurricane, I’m sure
Everything will be a blur.
But a gnat would add some spice,
Which, I think, would be quite nice.
So I ponder on this heath
As I wail and gnash my teeth:
Which is better for my vat—
Eye of hurricane, or gnat?

 
Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Jim


Somewhere is better than nowhere, grinning is better than grim;
Bourbon is better than bibles, but nothing is better than Jim.
He’s the old guy with the bedroll, who’s had a hard knock or two;
He sleeps in a rusty wheelbarrow, parked every night at the zoo.
Jim hasn’t a care in the world, though ashes cover his beard,
And all the grownups who cross his path think he’s completely weird.
But children think Jim’s a wonder—he teaches them letters and sums,
And never asks for a penny, and lets them pound on his drums!
The children all think that Jim’s tale is something that ought to be told,
So here’s to all the Jims of the world, who cannot be bought or sold!

 
 
Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #290
 
More Writers’ Pantry #44 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

What Is the Price?


What is the price of a bucket of rice
Found in the market at dawn?
If you don’t pay it—how shall I say it?—
You will be sad when it’s gone.
 
What is the cost of a salad that’s tossed,
And dressed, and ready to eat?
You think it tastes good? Then I think you should
Crunch it along with your meat.
 
How much will you pay for a bale of hay
To feed to your sheep and goats?
Remember, my dear, as winter draws near,
That horses are fond of oats.
 
The price that you pay, I think I should say,
Is what something’s worth to you;
So open your purse, things could be much worse,
And pay for your Starbucks brew!


 
Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher