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Dancers with Candles
Dancers with candles are lurking around
Places where mistletoe is to be found,
Hoping their empty lips soon will be kissed,
Fearing their footsteps will turn into mist.
Suddenly sleepy the dancers do swoon,
Not caring at all that it’s only noon.
Could this be deep magic doing its work,
Or am I dreaming like some lonely jerk?
Soon I’ll be nodding, my air will be gone,
And it will be time for me to pass on.
Please don’t forget me when I am no more;
Give heed to my wisdom, this I implore.
Of all I’ve told you, try to remember:
Dance with your candle every December!
Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #295
More Writers’ Pantry #49 at Poets and Storytellers United
More The Whirligig #295
More Writers’ Pantry #49 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
A Quintet of Silliness
In the tundra you’ll not find
A stand of trees of any kind.
~~ ~~ ~~
A hologram is just the thing
To make the holy angels sing.
~~ ~~ ~~
Anyone who sings at dawn
Should just shut up and be gone!
~~ ~~ ~~
No parking in the garden, no parking close to trees!
But if I cannot park there, then tell me where, O please!
~~ ~~ ~~
Touch my lips and touch my crown,
Pick me up and set me down.
Let this be your lifelong task—
Is this much too much to ask?
Poems © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #170
More Poetry Pantry #411 at Poets United
Bliss
A heart drawn in the sand by lovers, Puerto Nuevo, Baja California Norte, México
I hate broccoli—
loathe the stuff.
But it is bliss
to kick off my sandals
and draw on the beach
with my toes.
It is rapture
to wear a different wig each day
and keep people guessing:
“Who is that woman?”
And when I purse my lips
to kiss you? O what delight!
I don’t even worry about the dents
I got in my car last night!
Poem and photo © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
NOTE TO THE READER: Some elements of this poem are autobiographical, but I am NOT a hater of broccoli! The declaration of antipathy toward that particular vegetable just happened to work with this poem.
More Sunday’s Whirligig #121
More Poetry Pantry #363 at Poets United
NOTE TO THE READER: Some elements of this poem are autobiographical, but I am NOT a hater of broccoli! The declaration of antipathy toward that particular vegetable just happened to work with this poem.
More Sunday’s Whirligig #121
More Poetry Pantry #363 at Poets United
Burning Everything
burning everything—
how adept the old rhymester
at torching poems
~~ ~~ ~~
burning everything—
even edible fragments
snatched from the starving
~~ ~~ ~~
burning everything—
even the viscous liquid
seeping from her lips
© 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday Scribblings 2: “Burning Everything”
More Three Word Wednesday: “Adept, Edible, Viscous”
Betrayal
bitter fruit
sullying her lips
after their kiss
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Haiku Heights: “Betrayal”
Magical Mystical Teacher 