Category Archives: Poets United
A Bit of Sunday Morning Nonsense
Minus your face, dear, you bring me to tears.
A spot of confetti seems to last years.
The grit in the ashes soon turns to brass;
Shelves in my memory shatter like glass.
Come here, my darling, and bring me more wine;
Bear with my foolishness, make my face shine!
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #236
More Poetry Pantry #497 at Poets United
Stones
A decorative planter is offered for sale at a New Mexico gift shop.
Some little red stones
looking good enough to eat
top the blue glazed pot.
Haiku and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “The Food We Eat”
Grapefruit
A grapefruit ripens slowly at Robert J. Moody Demonstration Garden, Yuma, Arizona.
Autumn’s first letdown:
the fruit I craved for breakfast
hasn’t ripened yet.
Haiku and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “The Food We Eat”
Do Not Menace Me
Do not menace me with rope, swaying from a tree,
Even though the hangman winks, while phantoms laugh with glee.
Cheer me as I’m sleeping, darling, underneath the sod;
Hear me through the casket’s keyhole as I pray to God,
Begging that the creep who hanged me won’t outlast this day;
Quiet now, the storm winds welter, wailing on their way!
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #235
More Poetry Pantry #496 at Poets United
The Shopper
A shopper returns home after an early-morning visit to the mercado in San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, México.
From the marketplace
she carries in her basket
daily bread—and light!
Haiku and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Everyday Living”
October: A Wilderness Walk
October. The month of the dead and the dying.
As I shuffle through the arroyo, I keep dropping to my knees. An onlooker might mistake me for a pilgrim making my painful way to Lourdes. But the healing I seek cannot be found at some distant, holy shrine. It is here in the dust at my feet: palo verde twigs snapped off by windstorms; brown clumps of parched grasses; and small stones quickly losing their warmth as the daylight fades.
I pause before some tattered sunflowers, bleached and bitten by the unforgiving desert sun, to quench my thirst. Words from a letter written long ago come to mind: “God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are…” (1 Corinthians 1:28, Revised Standard Version).
Low and despised is nature’s detritus in the wilderness, but it heals my battered spirit as I kneel in awe and wonder before it.
While three crows argue,
I gulp tea from my thermos—
autumn’s first chill wind.
A Bit of Truthiness
What’s the truth about myself?
I am not a dusty shelf,
Where the cups and saucers sit,
And the crickets never quit
Making noises all the night,
Thinking that they bring delight.
Nor am I a blast of air
Roaring here and roaring there,
Knocking wigs off women’s heads,
Ripping oak leaves into shreds.
Here’s the truth, if truth be told:
Older than the stones, I’m old!
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Truth”
Six Takes on ‘Autumn Afternoon’
Autumn afternoon—
softly a cat mounts the steps
leading to the porch.
Autumn afternoon—
rows of red automobiles
mimic maple leaves.
Autumn afternoon—
she waters red begonias,
careful to miss none.
Autumn afternoon—
a man in a dirty suit
blends in with the leaves.
Autumn afternoon—
one stitch in the white doily
keeps unraveling.
Autumn afternoon—
I assist an old woman
hobbling with a cane.
Haiku © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #233
More Poetry Pantry #495 at Poets United
Honey
The honey I gather at noon,
I spread on my bread with a spoon.
I haven’t a knife.
Besides, it’s my life,
Not yours, so don’t judge me, you loon!
Limerick © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Honey/Bee”
Small Doses
Wanderer, painter, or potter—which role is the best for me?
A clay pot follows the end of a straw into the roiling sea.
All who are guilty cause chaos; things without names cannot be;
Mercy comes in small doses to sinners who sin without glee:
Number them, mercy’s particles, number them One, Two, and Three!
From darkness create something of light and savor the mystery.
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #232
More Poetry Pantry #494 at Poets United
