Category Archives: Rhyming poetry

Jump-rope Rhymes: Pulling Punches


Pulling punches,
fixing lunches—
something has to give!
 
Having hunches
and long brunches—
what a way to live!
 
See, she scrunches
as she munches
carrots from a sieve!
 
Plant some runches,
harvest bunches—
don’t forget your shiv!

 
Poem © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Weekly Scribblings #56 at Poets and Storytellers United

Convoluted Kinships


I don’t want to be my mother,
I don’t want to be my dad;
Maybe I will be the brother
To the sis I never had.
 
Convoluted kinships? Got ’em!
You can tell my life’s a mess,
Just about to hit rock bottom—
’Cause I’m not my mom, I guess!


 
Poem © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Weekly Scribblings #55 at Poets and Storytellers United

Knowing


What I know now is not what I knew then;
If I could know how, perhaps I’d know when.
But why should I want to know anything
When knowing’s the root of all suffering?


 
 
Poems © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Weekly Scribblings #54 at Poets and Storytellers United

Strident Voices


Strident voices fill the room,
Stripped of reason, dripping gloom;
In the yard among the ashes
Lie three shattered window sashes.
Mention them enough, they say,
And you’ll turn the night to day.
Later on when winter’s over
And the fields are white with clover,
And our conversations rust
(As we knew they surely must),
Maybe then the world will see
Everyone in chains set free.

 
 

Poem © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #302
 
More Writers’ Pantry #54 at Poets and Storytellers United

The Kill


The stump of a tooth was tethered to stars.
At five till midnight three men puffed cigars.
One of them lathered his whiskery chin,
Using a brush soaked in whisky and gin.
One plowed through the soil, one raised a harpoon,
Hurling it carefully right at the moon.
The moon with a sigh crashed into the sea;
Monstrous waves followed and splintered the quay.
Once he’d accomplished this feat of great skill,
The harpooner bragged of making a kill,
A kill so complete the moon shines no more,
Except when wild women dance on the shore.

 
 

Poem © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #301
 
More Writers’ Pantry #48 at Poets and Storytellers United

A Is for Aardvark


A is for aardvark, and also for ass—
The donkey disporting itself in the grass.
You’ll also need A for apple and apt,
For azure, anointing—alas, not for sapped.
Keep those A’s handy, you’ll use them, I’m sure:
Aroma, armada, anoint, and allure.
Whatever you do, don’t stop your A’s now:
Spell African, aching, along, and allow;
Amber, anathema, alley, antique—
You’ve enough A’s now to last for a week!
A few more won’t hurt, so try out afar,
Anacoluthon and asp—not cigar.
And while you are at it, use more A’s, my child:
Aspersion, assembly, afflicted, and aisled.
Had enough yet? Oh, I think you have not!
Try ample, ambiguous, Alice and aught,
Along with androgyny, ample and Anne;
Acrid and acid, but not Candy Man.
Antique and Antigua are not the same,
So both of them are allowed in this game,
There’s nothing about you untoward or unstable,
So keep writing A-words as long as you’re able!

 
 

Dancers with Candles


Dancers with candles are lurking around
Places where mistletoe is to be found,
Hoping their empty lips soon will be kissed,
Fearing their footsteps will turn into mist.
Suddenly sleepy the dancers do swoon,
Not caring at all that it’s only noon.
Could this be deep magic doing its work,
Or am I dreaming like some lonely jerk?
Soon I’ll be nodding, my air will be gone,
And it will be time for me to pass on.
Please don’t forget me when I am no more;
Give heed to my wisdom, this I implore.
Of all I’ve told you, try to remember:
Dance with your candle every December!

 
 

Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #295
 
More Writers’ Pantry #49 at Poets and Storytellers United

Dreams that Call


Do you hear the dreams that call,
Dreams your hands still hope to find?
Stand in wonder of them all,
Pillow them within your mind.
In the shell of your old life
You could stand until you die,
But it’s time to slip away
With the hawk that rides the sky.
Onward through the wind and fire!
Push yourself, do not give up!
You will find your heart’s desire
Waiting in a brimming cup.

 
 

Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #294
 
More Writers’ Pantry #48 at Poets and Storytellers United

Celebrate

IMG_7608
Fading bougainvillea blossoms have been tossed on a trash heap in Wellton, Arizona.
 


Can I truly celebrate
When the brilliant blossoms fade?
Can this heart of mine rejoice
When such folly is displayed?
 
Yet even as they’re fading,
And although they cannot sing,
The blossoms clearly show me
Life on Earth’s a fragile thing.

 
Poem and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher

Which Is Better


Which is better for my vat—
Eye of hurricane, or gnat?
One is better for a curse,
While the other one is worse.
Which one shall I add and mix
To produce the vilest tricks?
If it’s hurricane, I’m sure
Everything will be a blur.
But a gnat would add some spice,
Which, I think, would be quite nice.
So I ponder on this heath
As I wail and gnash my teeth:
Which is better for my vat—
Eye of hurricane, or gnat?

 
Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher