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One thing I ask


One thing I ask:
that I might know true love
before I have no strength,
and the undertaker measures
how long I am, my length,
for the coffin he’s prepared,
from which my waxen face
will stare at those who pass.
Is this desire wrong?
Am I a fool to ask?
It makes me rich to think of love—
thus, I write my song.

 

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #149
   
More Poetry Pantry #391 at Poets United

Weird Little Tales


winter afternoon—
a rich layer of new snow
blanketing the earth
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
In weary silence
she gazes into the flames,
seeking an omen.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
nothing fancier
than her cream-colored straw hat
with its pink ribbon
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
A wooden clothespin—
she touches it to her tongue
and then to her palms.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
Over her shoulder
she tosses a tangerine,
hoping for good luck.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
Spiteful old women
hurl curses at their husbands
for small transgressions.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
Through a small window
she sees the plural of goose
landing on the pond.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
A life for herself—
no more peeling potatoes,
she thinks with a sigh.

 
Haiku © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #146
   
More Poetry Pantry #388 at Poets United