Category Archives: poetry

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

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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

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

A girl is marching


A girl is marching
through secret gardens,
pounding a drum
with silver sticks
stolen from carnivals.
Her imaginary parrot
is rattling its beak—
no talking is allowed
on the gardens’ paths.
The girl and her parrot
find it comforting
to make sounds together,
and lemon trees
lining the pathways
seem to blossom more freely
as they lean toward
the silvery beat of the drum.

 

Poem © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #131
   
More Poetry Pantry #373 at Poets United

The cup


The sprinklers go round
and round and round.
You smell the water
as it streams over the lawn
over the flowers,
over your afternoon languor,
over you.
How damp you are!
How tangled your hair!
You undress yourself,
and find that you are thirsty.
Someone fills a cup
sitting empty on the shelf.
Someone fills a cup
with salt and lemons,
setting your mind aflame
with poetry, not prose.
Someone fills a cup,
and you drink deep
and deeper.
Someone fills a cup,
and the cup
is
you.

 

Poem © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #130
   
More Poetry Pantry #372 at Poets United 

Look at the women


Look at the women
in their enormous jackets.
Some are writing
and some are drawing
on this crisp autumn morning.
They have stories to tell,
some short and some long,
in words or in charcoal.
You see them here
and elsewhere,
and think:
I will tell my story too.
Even if it falls flat,
it will be worth the effort.

 

Poem © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #129
   
More Poetry Pantry #371 at Poets United 

Press One for English

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

 
 

The palms,
filled with songbirds,
bow low to the earth.
Butterflies ravage
the carcass of a fox.
A farmer,
dazzled by his tomatoes,
flows in and out
of the here and now,
munching something
hallucinogenic.
The end is near,
and all the players know it.
Press One for English.

 

Poem and photo © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #127
   
More Poetry Pantry #369 at Poets United

One-Eyed Crow

IMG_3016
Caged bird for sale, Mercado San Juan de Dios, Guadalajara, Jalisco, México
 
 

A one-eyed crow
glares at me from atop
the roadside birch.
If it had hands,
it would be waving me on,
disgusted by my clothes and hair,
which are caked with mud.
But crows have no hands,
and they cannot wave,
nor can they carry sabers
to cut down their foes.
If I could capture that crow,
I’d put it in a cage
lined with newspapers
and sell it—cheap—
at Saturday’s flea market.
Instead, I am retreating
from its mocking tongue.

 

Poem and photo © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #126
   
More Poetry Pantry #368 at Poets United