Blog Archives

My Hopes Are Dashed and Scattered


My hopes are dashed and scattered,
There’s no more grace to spare,
For flyaway potatoes
Have landed everywhere!
They’ve landed on my shoulders,
They’ve landed on my knee,
They’ve landed in the ocean,
They’ve landed in the sea.
Some folks would call it bounty,
But I call it bad luck
To live in Tater County
And drive a tater truck.
Perhaps I should be grateful
For taters, lanes, and such,
But after three bad crashes,
I am not grateful much.


 

Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #266
 
More Writers’ Pantry #20 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

They Gave Me Words to Work With


They gave me words to work with,
I knew not what to do.
The words were fried and swirling,
Lips, chicken, certain, stew.
 
I looked at my reflection,
While writing couplets down;
I looked not like a poet,
But like some silly clown.
 
The more I wrote, I hungered
To write some lasting stuff;
Then I threw my pen away
And shouted, “That’s enough!”
 
This lull in fevered writing
Will give me time to think
Of how to spread my table—
Forget the pen and ink!
 
I’m grateful that my table
Holds something that tastes sweet,
For writing leaves me famished,
And now it’s time to eat!

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher