Category Archives: Rhyming poetry
Sunset in the Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona.
She lifted her voice against the sun,
Cursing because Good Friday was done.
The coming of night would make her feel blue,
For none of her dreams would ever come true.
She pillowed her head and turned off the light,
Preparing to face the terrors of night;
But then came a voice, a voice not her own,
Whispering things from the past she had known:
You are the daughter of wisdom and light,
The child of mercy and goodness and right.
Be not afraid of the terrors ahead.
Lie down and sleep, child, for safe is your bed.
Over her heart washed a wave of relief,
The voice in the night assuaging her grief.
Good Friday evening—
singing dark songs, Sister Death
slips into my room.
Poems and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher
Mother baked a cake that morphed
Into one that tasted bitter;
I would never reconsider
Eating Mother’s waiting cake.
But I walked down to the lake,
Where some strange thoughts I pursued:
Isn’t cake a healthy food,
Though the frosting tastes like rust?
Hunger moved me: Yes, I must
Go back to that modern kitchen
Where my mother was just itchin’
To serve slabs of birthday cake!
Homeward then I ran in haste
Zooming through the maple trees
Faster than an old dog’s fleas—
Couldn’t wait to eat that cake!
More The Whirligig #364
More Friday Writings #20 at Poets and Storytellers United
I peered into the pantry to see what I could see;
A seed was there, I ate it—it tasted good to me!
I found some rich, ripe compost atop the highest shelf;
Since I’d no one to share with, I ate it all myself.
I love the taste of crude things, things rare as crystal seas;
They heat my brain and belly, and make me want to sneeze!
I know the changing climate is something I’ll survive;
In my pantry habitat I’ll always grow and thrive!
More The Whirligig #342
More Writers’ Pantry #94 at Poets and Storytellers United
Nothing common in her tweets,
For she’s fortified with sweets!
What she tastes she somehow sees
Always tucked between her knees.
Autumn’s version of her face?
She knows just the perfect place:
In a corner of the zoo
With a peckish kangaroo!
There the campfire stories burn
And odd children come to learn
How to brand themselves with stars
That have slipped between the bars.
If you’ve suffered through this verse,
Don’t forget: It could be worse.
You could be among the dead,
Plunged in darkness, plagued by dread;
But you’re here, you’re having fun—
Keep it up, your life’s not done!
More The Whirligig #341
More Writers’ Pantry #93 at Poets and Storytellers United
Got no lucky shoes, and I got no magic ring;
Got some silly stories, though, and songs I like to sing.
Got no magic wishbone, got no lucky sox,
But I can think my way, my friend, right out of a box.
Some say I’m peculiar, others say I’m weird,
But folks like me are treasures—not something to be feared.
Sometimes the right way is easy,
And sometimes the easy way’s right;
But how to choose between the two
When there’s only darkness, not light?
It’s easy to say, “Just choose one!”
But what if I make the wrong choice?
That’s why I wish my ears could hear
A sweet supernatural voice,
Saying, “This is the way—stick to it!
Don’t veer to the left or right!
By walking the way I tell you
Your darkness will turn into light.”
But no voice shatters the silence
At morning, at noon, or at night,
So I keep walking and walking—
And hoping the easy way’s right!
Poem © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Weekly Scribblings #75 at Poets and Storytellers United
Let us create a liminal space,
One that’s suffused with mercy and grace;
Perhaps in the barn, or someplace out back,
Where time like cold water leaks through a crack
And spills to the bank of the river that comes
Roaring through gorges and blots out the sun.
So what if the stones are stacked ten feet deep?
So what if the path before us is steep?
So what if we slip while trudging along
Singing our watery, liminal song?
All will be well, for nothing will last;
Soon we’ll be gone—the night’s coming fast.
Poem © by Magical Mystical Teacher
Blackbird, blackbird perching in the tree,
What is this song you’re singing to me?
Where did you find it? Under a stone?
Maybe it came from the dead man’s bone.
Strange is the tune, and odd are the words—
Mysteries held by no other birds.
Blackbird, blackbird, the stories you tell—
Some are of heaven, some are of hell.
Everything’s cryptic, nothing is clear;
You sing, I quake with frissons of fear.
Blackbird, blackbird, will you ever cease
Singing dark songs and give me some peace?
Poem © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
Lockett Meadow Campground, Coconino National Forest near Flagstaff, Arizona.
Blue sky, golden leaves—
a perfect day in autumn
etched in memory.
## ~~ ## ~~ ##
Over the mountain a patch of blue sky
Catches my wandering, vagabond eye.
I look past the golden, shimmering trees,
And dream of sailing on distant blue seas.
Photo and poems © by Magical Mystical Teacher