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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

Cryptic

 photo OrganPipeAug2013092_zps8cf71352.jpg
Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
 


dead trees and no moon—
the cryptic constellations
of the shifting sands

 
Text and photo © 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Carpe Diem Special #116