Category Archives: The Whirligig

In This Morgue

Feb 23

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In this morgue, this dismal place,
A blind beggar hangs his face
By the mirror on the wall
In the stinking bathroom stall.
Sipping brandy in the loo,
He remembers what to do:
Look for a new walking stick,
One that will not clack or click.
Sideways now he tilts his head,
Living man among the dead,
Happy man with no tattoo—
Love will show him what is true!


 

Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #254
 
More Writers’ Pantry #8 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

Posted in light verse, Rhyming poetry, The Whirligig

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Let the Lint Fall Where It May

Feb 16

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Let the lint fall where it may,
In the dirt or in the hay.
The clock is stuck at half-past one,
Desolation has begun;
Now the table won’t be set
For the meal I’d hoped to get.
Things have turned out to be worse
Than this twisted, tortured verse.
All my feelings go awry
When a stick’s poked in my eye,
And the sound of heavy metal
Grinding every flower petal
Seems to last for forty years—
Who will wipe away my tears?

 

Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #253
 
More Writers’ Pantry #7 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

Posted in light verse, Rhyming poetry, The Whirligig

17 Comments

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Onion Sandwich: A Haibun of Imagination

Feb 9

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My mother used to say, “It’s hard to improve on an onion sandwich.” She’d peel three small beauties, slice them, and lay the slices between thick slabs of buttered brown bread, sprinkling them with salt and pepper. She chewed slowly and thoughtfully until she had eaten every pungent morsel. Then brushing the crumbs from her lips, she’d reach across the table for her garden catalog, delve into it and dream of planting peas—and more onions—in several parts of her garden.


Winter afternoon—
two jays at the bird feeder
fight over one seed.

 

Haibun © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #252
 
More Writers’ Pantry #6 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

Posted in 5-7-5, haibun, haiku, Poets & Storytellers United, The Whirligig

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Cups of Tea

Jan 19

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Cups of tea increase our pleasure.
Moments that we cannot measure
Suddenly turn dark as coffee—
Are we craving English toffee?
Down we go, the house is shaking!
Moved by snow, there’s no mistaking
That an avalanche is sliding
Into places we’d be hiding
Were they splashed with gin or rum.
Aloud we pray: “Let no harm come!”


 
DISCLAIMER: This ditty is strictly the product of my overactive imagination.
  

© 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #249
 
More Writers’ Pantry #3 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

Posted in light verse, Rhyming poetry, The Whirligig, Writers' Pantry

18 Comments

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