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If You Dance


If you dance, you’ll need some salt.
Tumble down into the vault,
Where the salt is mixed with wind—
No, my dear, it’s not been tinned!
 
Best to take the salt at once,
Lest you turn into a dunce,
Crying with the living dead,
Who do not care what you’re fed.
 
Still, the best is yet to come:
See the dead man bind the drum
To his forehead with a string?
And you thought it was just bling!
 
Do not dread what is to come;
Though the dead man beats his drum
At least he’s not beating you!
All is well, and this is true.

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #216

Bread and Broken Dreams

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~~ 1 ~~
 
tangled old orchard
filling her with fear and dread—
the fruitless plum trees
disguise themselves as women
spilling vowels from their tongues
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
first calligraphy
written in the wilderness—
foxes sniff the lines
of a swart poem, wanting
to brush dark things of their own
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
In the dusty streets
she stabs the tip of her cane,
dotting her way home—
beside her hobbles a crow,
who imagines it’s her child.
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
She hears a drummer,
and then with new clarity,
understands her call:
to live among the poorest,
sharing bread and broken dreams.
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
Uncanny vision—
she smothers it with cobbles
lifted from the street,
where dreams run down the gutter
over broken bits of glass.

 
Tanka © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #267
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #22