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At your touch


at your touch on this cold night
I lean into your hair
which smells of moons and stars
gratefully inhaling the scent
that makes me tipsy
as a hummingbird
too full of nectar
 
the faces of our children
not yet born
will glow with wonder
when we tell this story
thirty years from now
and they will tell it to their children
speaking in hushed voices:
 
how a farmer loved his wife
through sixty years of drought and plenty
while suns and stars and planets
kept whirling round the fields
and wistful neighbors spoke with reverence
of the fertile pair

 

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #144
   
More Poetry Pantry #386 at Poets United

Variations on ‘Caged Bird’

163 photo 163_zpsc8a0516a.jpg
 
Each little poem-breath begins with a phrase purloined from Maya Angelou’s “Caged Bird.” Maya Angelou died on 28 May 2014.
 


 
~~ 1 ~~
 
On the grave of dreams
place a thousand paving stones—
let no wraiths escape.
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
the fat worms waiting
as the tractor keeps plowing—
hundred-acre field
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
on the distant hill
a fireworks launch at bedtime
children ooh and ah
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
the back of the wind
carrying a pungent scent
through my open door
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
with a fearful trill
and flapping of sturdy wings
cormorant nabs fish
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
Through the sighing trees
a lean and fluid roebuck
flees the hunter’s bow.
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
Till the current ends,
I have no need to propel
my raft with a pole.
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
He opens his throat,
spilling out jovial notes,
gracing all who hear.
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
Through his bars of rage
he glimpses freedom’s terrain—
one breath out of reach.
 
~~ 10 ~~
 
In the orange sun
seven crows chase each other,
crying raucously.
 
~~ 11 ~~
 
of another breeze
piping countless melodies—
why the caged bird sings

 
© 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #204
 
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 163