Category Archives: Sunday’s Whirligig

The coast is clear


The coast is clear,
but the simple man knows
that the earth is about to ripple
from the inside out
and become a gigantic heap
of rubble.
 
Might as well bask in the sun
warming his bones
while he can.
Nothing to gain by putting it off.
 
In the throes of ecstasy
he peels off his clothes,
gets down on his knees,
and gives thanks,
despite the tumult to come.

 

Poem © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #142
   
More Poetry Pantry #383 at Poets United

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Gloomy Day


A gloomy winter day,
a day for looking forward
to the promise of spring
when everything
(yes, even stones)
begins to soften
and flowers give off
an achingly wonderful fragrance.
She can smell them already—
grape hyacinths, daffodils and tulips—
or is that the dish detergent?
Suddenly a cargo truck roars by
in the street outside her window,
jolting her out of her reverie.
“How easy to act the fool,”
she murmurs to her cat,
then scrubs the crust
from her only plate.

 

Poem © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #139
   
More Poetry Pantry #380 at Poets United

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

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

Six Aphorisms


No true patriot is petty.
 
Yesterday’s cauldrons are not meant for today’s soup.
 
She who broods lives only to hate.
 
The dust will endure long after you are gone.
 
It is clear that no one will miss the sarcastic person.
 
Athwart is a word seldom used, for obvious reasons.

 

© 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #132

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 

Kick the Song

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Fishing boat, Puerto Nuevo, Baja California Norte, México

 
 

Kick the song ahead of you,
kick it into the mist and spume,
even though you are shaking,
and three women spinning yarn
are laughing at you.
Kick the song of ruin,
kick it over the boat
where the grey-headed vagrant
slips into sleep
under the spell of opioids.
Kick the song out of the way,
so that no one ever hears it again.
Do not be afraid.
Kick.
Kick.
Kick.

 

Poem © 2017 and photo © 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #128
   
More Poetry Pantry #370 at Poets United

Press One for English

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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