Category Archives: Poetry Pantry

The coast is clear


The coast is clear,
but the simple man knows
that the earth is about to ripple
from the inside out
and become a gigantic heap
of rubble.
 
Might as well bask in the sun
warming his bones
while he can.
Nothing to gain by putting it off.
 
In the throes of ecstasy
he peels off his clothes,
gets down on his knees,
and gives thanks,
despite the tumult to come.

 

Poem © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #142
   
More Poetry Pantry #383 at Poets United

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Watcher

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A tile depicting La Virgen de Guadalupe is affixed to a headstone. Yuma Pioneer Cemetery, Yuma, Arizona.
 


Season by season
the watcher keeps on watching
and a blackbird sings.

 
Haiku and photo © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #382 at Poets United
 
More Twelve Days of Mary and Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon

Even

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Yuma Pioneer Cemetery, Yuma, Arizona
 


Even the blackbird
pauses at the graveyard fence
before moving on.

 
Haiku and photo © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #381 at Poets United
 
More Twelve Days of Mary at Recuerda Mi Corazon

Gloomy Day


A gloomy winter day,
a day for looking forward
to the promise of spring
when everything
(yes, even stones)
begins to soften
and flowers give off
an achingly wonderful fragrance.
She can smell them already—
grape hyacinths, daffodils and tulips—
or is that the dish detergent?
Suddenly a cargo truck roars by
in the street outside her window,
jolting her out of her reverie.
“How easy to act the fool,”
she murmurs to her cat,
then scrubs the crust
from her only plate.

 

Poem © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #139
   
More Poetry Pantry #380 at Poets United

A song rising


A song rising from the wheat stubble
makes air and light and worm take note.
 
The iron door of the silo clangs
in time with the music.
 
By order of an unseen conductor
the song on which your life and
mine hinge will never be over—
it goes on forever.
 
It blows in the wind,
it floats in the water,
it glows in the stars.
Forever.
Amen.

 

Poem © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #138
   
More Poetry Pantry #379 at Poets United

To the thief who stole my guitar:


I know that Jesus tells me to turn the other cheek
and to pray for them that persecute me.
But I deeply grieve my loss,
and like the fiery prophets of old,
I have a vision for you:
May someone drive bamboo splinters
under your fingernails,
so that when you strum the stolen strings
you cry out in agony.
May you live in constant fear,
hearing voices gibbering in the night.
May scenes of hell disturb your sleep.
May peace flee from you like dust before the wind.
May regret pierce your soul
like ten thousand rusty knives,
and may the bleeding never stop.
If ever you are caught,
may you be locked up so long
that you never walk out alive.
May the jangle of the jailer’s keys
be the first music you hear each morning
and the last sound you hear at night.
And may I be privileged to hear your death rattles
just before the jailers carry you out feet first
to dump you in an unmarked grave.
So be it.
Amen.

 

Poem © 2011 and revised 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
     
More Poetry Pantry #378 at Poets United

Blue Monday: Wise Woman

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Mural in Artists Alley, Ajo, Arizona
 


A wise woman watched from the wall
To see who would stumble and fall.
She offered them truth,
But no one, forsooth,
Accepted her offer at all.

 
Limerick and photo © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
 

   
More Poetry Pantry #378 at Poets United

Tell everyone


Tell everyone
how the whole
works better
than a part.
 
Concentrate
on the right hook
for your story
(keep it short,
keep it sharp)
and you’ll catch
what you wish,
 
not fish
but people
with an appetite
for truth—
they’ll spot it
on your hook
and take the bait.

 

Poem © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #135
   
More Poetry Pantry #377 at Poets United

I almost made it to the park


I almost made it to the park,
the one smelling like an
untamed jungle,
where wild things rub
against rough trees,
leaving little tufts of fur
clinging to the bark.
I almost made it to the park,
but the spirit of the night
nudged me toward ten
thousand constellations
rumbling through the sky,
and I could not help
but take two others with me,
strangers in the flesh,
but kindred spirits,
and we watched
Cassiopeia’s Crown
crumble into dust.

 

Poem © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #134
   
More Poetry Pantry #376 at Poets United

Uncommon Questions


What do night, an owl, and a rose
have in common?
Do the birds know what caused
the sun to rise this morning?
If you found the caws of crows
in an oak tree,
would you leave them there
or put them in your pocket?
Why are you perched in the oak,
ready to flee?

 

Poem © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #133
   
More Poetry Pantry #375 at Poets United