Category Archives: poetry

My friends leave the room


My friends leave the room,
taking daylight with them,
along with the moon and stars.
The onset of an illness makes me
morbid, not dangerous.
In my trance-like state,
I care for nothing.
What led me away from
wisdom’s eight strong pillars?
Will giving you the symptoms
of my illness point me to a cure?

 

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 

NOTE: This poem is almost entirely the product of my imagination. Any resemblances to my own life are purely coincidental.
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #154
   
More Poetry Pantry #396 at Poets United

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Blue Shirt


Every Sunday for forty years, my father
would choose the same blue shirt
to wear to church.
The cloth faded and grew thin
and some of the buttons
went missing.
(You’d think he had no money.)
Almost as an afterthought
he’d put on a tattered tie, then walk
two blocks to the Methodist Church.
Easing his bony frame down
onto the unpadded wood pew,
he’d wink and say, “I’m sure the Lord doesn’t care
what I look like, but only that I’ve come—
and here I am.”
Now, six weeks after his funeral,
I hug his empty blue shirt
and long to hear him say once more,
“Here I am.”

 

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
NOTE: This poem is almost entirely the product of my imagination. Any resemblances to my own life are purely coincidental.
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #151
   
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Money”

Carpe Diem


“Seize the day!” my mother said.
“Seize the day—you’ll soon be dead!”
 
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Dad,
“Willie is a proper lad.
 
Why should Willie seize the day?
Plan ahead is what I say.”
 
While they argued with each other,
My dear dad and my dear mother,
 
I slipped out and went to play.
So, I guess, I seized the day!

 
Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Carpe Diem”

One thing I ask


One thing I ask:
that I might know true love
before I have no strength,
and the undertaker measures
how long I am, my length,
for the coffin he’s prepared,
from which my waxen face
will stare at those who pass.
Is this desire wrong?
Am I a fool to ask?
It makes me rich to think of love—
thus, I write my song.

 

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #149
   
More Poetry Pantry #391 at Poets United

Words Are Her Companions


Words are her companions,
She takes them everywhere:
Stone and pine and blackbird,
Porcupine and bear.
  
Words are her companions,
She hugs them to herself:
Living room, dining room,
Bathroom, kitchen shelf.
  
Words are her companions,
She treasures every one;
Verbs and prepositions
Roll right off her tongue
  
Along with a salacious
Adjective or two;
Words are her companions—
She knows what words can do!

  
Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
  
  
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Word”

Frogs

DSC_0339
A palm tree near the pond, Yuma Conservation Garden, Yuma, Arizona
 
 

Frogs, as I pass by your pond,
show me your beauty.
Come out of the mud.
Taste the clear night air.
Pretend to be stars or moonlight!
Sing to the flashing planets,
sing with your flickering tongues,
sing a song of sixpence,
fill your lungs with spring!

 

Poem © 2018 and photo © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Shadow Shot Sunday 2
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #147
   
More Poetry Pantry #389 at Poets United

At your touch


at your touch on this cold night
I lean into your hair
which smells of moons and stars
gratefully inhaling the scent
that makes me tipsy
as a hummingbird
too full of nectar
 
the faces of our children
not yet born
will glow with wonder
when we tell this story
thirty years from now
and they will tell it to their children
speaking in hushed voices:
 
how a farmer loved his wife
through sixty years of drought and plenty
while suns and stars and planets
kept whirling round the fields
and wistful neighbors spoke with reverence
of the fertile pair

 

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #144
   
More Poetry Pantry #386 at Poets United

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

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