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Vases Made of Mud


Vases made of mud must pass
Quickly through the looking-glass;
They are bouncing with the strain.
The white pitcher groans again
In a rhythm dark and deep
Of a work that will not keep
Till your dallying is done.
See, bright smears of morning sun
Lie heavy on the table!
Sing of them, if you’re able,
Though your tongue may clang like brass—
Do not let this moment pass!

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #240
 
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #4 at Poets United
 

Bits of This and That

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This week’s words: infinite, hit, invisible, emits, rhythm, impulse, distance, kneel, creation, whisperings, fists, precise

 


 
~~ 1 ~~
Singers and dancers
shaking their timbrels and hips—
holy the rhythm!
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
A frank confession:
I peer into the distance,
but I see nothing.
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
Where the faithful kneel,
a golden light is shining—
galaxies draw near.
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
A brown paper bag
clutched in a child’s hand can hold
all of creation.
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
Cattails speak in tongues
wisdom taught them long ago—
reedy whisperings.
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
From around the world,
gather stones the size of fists—
change them into bread.
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
infinite wisdom
in recounting bedtime tales—
patience with darkness
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
invisible hand
stirring up the Milky Way
leftovers tonight

 
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Poetry Pantry #174
 
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 133