Troubling Questions

What defines your life:
an open or a closed door,
the day or the night?
 
 
How well can you know
the rain’s checkered history
in a thirsty land?
 
 
Their ways are not yours,
so why expect the screendoors
to listen to flies?
 
 
When the leaves grew mean,
did you almost drop your rake
and scream in terror?

 
 
Haiku © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #288
 
More Writers’ Pantry #42 at Poets and Storytellers 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