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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

Fountain

Photobucket
Plaza de Armas, Zacatecas, México
 


With the same longings
people and pigeons gather
where the fountain flows.
 
In the quiet hours
stars slip into the waters—
those who drink them shine.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
“Come, thou Fount of every blessing…”

 
Text © 2015 and photo © 2011 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Blue Monday
 
More Six-Word Saturday
 
More Shadow Shot Sunday 2
 
More Carpe Diem: “Fountain”
 
More: A Prompt Each Day: “Weekend Wordle #6”

Tattered Tales

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~~ 1 ~~
 
discarded boxes
sheltering homeless people
down by the river
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
journey into night—
your heart at the beginning
fluttering wildly
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
In a perfect world
there would be no mosquitoes,
neither rats nor lice.
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
an autumn morning—
walking a misty pathway
wet leaves underfoot
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
Everything depends
on rain, a red wheelbarrow
and some white chickens.
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
a long journey to
nowhere in particular
and then back again
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
Beyond the back fence
a world I have never seen
is waiting for me.
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
a short siesta
in the silence of her room—
insomniac’s dream
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
coffee for the guests
pouring again and again
until the last drop
 
~~ 10 ~~
 
rainy afternoon—
finding a place of refuge
in the library
 
~~ 11 ~~
 
finding a table
where we can talk till midnight
nursing our whisky
 
~~ 12 ~~
 
summer afternoon
the head of one sunflower
drooping toward the earth

 
© 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #259
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #14

Grotesqueries: Take Two

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Each grotesquerie begins with a phrase purloined from One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez, the Colombian novelist who died 17 April 2014.
 


 
~~ 1 ~~
 
Bottom of the pot—
why are the lobsters keening
about their karma?
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
Nights in the courtyard—
seven tattered people snore
underneath the limes.
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
The rear of the house—
are there any hollyhocks
wedded to the yard?
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
secrets of the moth
revealed in graphic detail—
the old druid sings
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
adobe houses
at the altitude of geese
Marc Chagall at work
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
faded velvet vest
not mine but the general’s
stained with soup and wine
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
tree in the courtyard
becoming alabaster
at the prophet’s word
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
where the gypsy girl
sews chaos to confusion
with a fraying thread
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
looking for the bag
to carry home a loaf of bread
and a pound of bones
 
~~ 10 ~~
 
fermented cane juice
served in blue plastic bottles—
champagne for the poor
 
~~ 11 ~~
 
Upset by the news
of the latest disaster,
she made friends of gnats.
 
~~ 12 ~~
 
When she could not sleep,
she would force herself to read
from Leviticus.
 

 
© 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #202
 
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 161