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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 

Perspectives

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~~ 1 ~~
 
ten million poppies
carpeting the soldiers’ graves
near the killing fields
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
innocent blood spilled
in a backstreet of Baghdad—
news at six o’clock
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
The soldier’s widow—
how can she ever forget
his empty left sleeve?
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
coastal snow flurries
in the middle of summer—
those wanton moments
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
summer wildflowers—
no one remembers the name
of the yellow ones
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
three dandelions
clutched in the little boy’s hand—
his Mother’s Day gift
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
aflame with desire
for something just out of reach—
teacakes under glass
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
single grain of rice
gracing the monk’s dinner plate—
enough, for a change
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
the stallion’s nostrils
flaring with indignation
at bit and bridle
 
~~ 10 ~~
 
a spool of white thread
covered with dust on the shelf—
seamstress in mourning
 
~~ 11 ~~
 
giving the old chair
another coat of varnish—
summer’s first full moon

 
Haiku © 2016 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #308
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #65