Category Archives: Poets United

A Day at the Museum

Mother took me by the hand,
Took me to a magic land;
Crafted birds were on display—
My heart almost flew away
When I saw an eagle there,
Woven out of human hair.
Near the birds a tiny elk
Carved from sandstone, not from whelk,
Pranced across a sea of moss,
Gave his handsome head a toss,
Looked at me as if to say:
“Child, do not get in my way.”
Room on room we wandered through,
Seeing everything on view.
It was an exciting day,
And we wished that we could stay.
What do I remember most?
Jesus on a piece of toast!

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Museum”

Love Gave Up

Dark and light spoke fragrant things,
Gardens gathered strength by night;
Love, though fragile, sprouted wings,
Crying out as it took flight.
Fighting chance? Oh, love had none!
Hearing that a storm would pass,
Blotting out the noonday sun,
Love gave up—alack! alas!

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #227
More Poetry Pantry #490 at Poets United

They Televised the Drama

They televised the drama,
Although it was obscene,
Between your dad and mama
Down at the Dairy Queen.
They hoped no one would notice
That they were standing by,
When suddenly a snow cone
Came sailing through the sky.
The lens was cracked and shattered,
The broadcast stopped right there,
While the filming crew slunk off,
Their gear in disrepair.
The moral of this story,
If moral there may be,
Is that domestic dramas
Are not made for TV.

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Televised”

In a Creative Fashion

In a creative fashion I was cutting film with knives
By the road to a location that was littered with beehives.
’Twas a scene from the Inferno (what I’m telling you is true),
With a backdrop that was bursting into flame—or was that you?
Bystanders taking pictures to upload to Instagram
Watched in admiration as the river reached the dam
And pulverized the concrete to a billion little bits,
And then continued onward with neither starts nor fits.
It’s time to end this story, it’s getting much too long,
And turning into something besides a simple song.
You’ve read this far with pleasure (at least I hope that’s true),
But now I’ll take my leisure and say goodbye to you!

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #226
More Poetry Pantry #489 at Poets United

Send Me Silver Messages

Send me silver messages on wings of bees or bats.
Send them to the sad café, where I wear many hats:
Baker, barber, barkeep—even chairman of the board;
Table number three is mine, beside the safety cord.
Also in the library, where dancing Buddhas shine,
You may find me barely sober (I’ll be drinking wine).
Remember now, for safety’s sake, parking’s not allowed
Near the curb, or where bad news is breaking to the crowd.
If you can make some sense of this, you’re better than I am;
Farewell, dear friends, my journey starts—I’m off to Vietnam!

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #225
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Safety”

Butterfly Bandage

My four-year-old self was a daredevil. I was fearless. I’d climb trees that were off limits,
visit neighbors several blocks away without telling my mother where I was going, and put dirt in the gas tank of my daddy’s car, because I wanted to “help out.”
One day I jumped on my tricycle and raced toward the street. Instead of stopping at the curb, I kept going. As I plunged into the street, I also tumbled over the handlebars. My chin smacked the pavement. Blood spewed everywhere. I ran back to the house, screaming in terror, sure that I was going to bleed to death.
My mother gave me a towel (cloth, not paper!) to stanch the bleeding, and then put my little brother and me into the Old Black Ford (no seatbelts!) for a trip to the doctor’s office.
“It’s not that bad,” the doctor said, after his nurse had cleansed the wound with stinging antiseptic. “But I want to close it up with a couple of stitches.”
Stitches? I screamed hysterically. No needle and thread in my skin! No way! Even the doctor’s soothing reassurances could not calm me down.
Finally he relented. “All right,” he said, “I think we can take care of that with a butterfly bandage.”
After he cut a piece of tape in the shape of a butterfly and placed it over the wound, the doctor sent me on my way. “Keep that butterfly on for about four or five days,” he said, “and then have your mother take it off. You’ll be just fine.”
My mother and I agreed to follow the doctor’s orders.
Decades later, though, whenever I tilt my head back while looking in the mirror, I see a jagged scar on my chin—the price I paid for having escaped the dreaded stitches.


© 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More A Pantry of Prose #6 at Poets United: “Stitches”

The Collector

A man who collected rare stamps
Abjured them in favor of lamps.
Along with bent spoons
And old Celtic runes,
He also collected C-clamps!

Limerick © by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Hobbies”

Twice I Thought I Saw a Flame

Twice I thought I saw a flame
When the shapeless angel came.
Pure and bright she blazed near me;
In her hand she held a key.
“This unlocks your heart’s desire,
Be it water, earth, or fire.
You must choose what works for you,
Then will I your bidding do.”
Long I stood in awe and stared,
While her visage blazed and flared.
How I trembled, how I ached!
My flesh quivered and I quaked!
Then I spoke with fearful voice:
“This I ask, this is my choice:
Like you let me be a flame
Ever wilding, never tame.”
“Done!” she cried. “That I’ll allow!
I’ll set you ablaze right now!
Wear this holy fire in grace!
Every mortal, hide your face!”
Many years have passed since then,
Years beyond all mortal ken;
Still I flare and still I blaze,
And I will for endless days.

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Dance Companions

California buckwheat (Eriogonum fasciculatum)

my dance companions:
these rusty buckwheat blossoms
on the pilgrim way

Haiku and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Dance”

Keep on Singing

Sing of poems, sing of bleach,
Sing of games played on the beach.
Everything may be to blame,
But keep singing, just the same.
Sing humiliation down!
Sing to blur the monarch’s crown!
Wait not for the clown who smokes—
Make your own outrageous jokes!
Dizzy though you be with fear,
Keep on singing! Sing, my dear!

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher