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Unprepared


On seeing the world about them go splash,
They put on their helmets, ready to dash
Into the glimmering, shimmering waves
That will soon carry them into their graves.
 
They haven’t a prayer, they haven’t a chance,
They run through the door, preparing to dance
With spiraling waves that will not forgive—
Deadly the moments the boys won’t outlive.
 
Could ever there be a much sadder song
Than that of a day when all things go wrong?
Maybe the wrong would turn right, if we cared,
But plague time is here, and we’re unprepared.

 

Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #264
 
More Writers’ Pantry #18 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

Plotlines

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Midwinter sunrise, Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
 
Each breath-of-a-poem begins with a phrase purloined from A Year in the World: Journeys of a Passionate Traveller by Frances Mayes.
 


~~ 1 ~~
 
on a yellow plate
a stack of toast tall enough
to touch the full moon
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
Against a stone wall
the notes from a temple bell
cling like morning mist.
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
adorned with flowers—
some scarlet, some lavender—
his daughter’s casket
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
a tall limestone cross—
seven dead chrysanthemums
scattered at its base
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
a few splats of rain
and her daydream is ruined—
midsummer morning
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
searching for a house
where three children play jump-rope
till the supper call
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
Under an awning
the desperate lovers touch
and kiss each other.
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
plotting the places
where she might run from his threats—
not enough to count
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
The man who sells forks
hides them from a group on tour—
his suspicious eyes.

 
Haiku © 2016 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 240

Four Tanka

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~~ 1 ~~
 
Sing me a riddle:
How many crooked pathways
make a journey whole?
How much food for sustenance
will you need on the long walk?
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
Making no progress
while trying to navigate
her soul’s deep waters,
she struggles to breathe slowly
to conserve her energy.
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
Murmuring prayers
that could double as weapons,
a renegade priest
transforms wine into water—
his convoluted world view.
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
Run to the orchard!
It is time to name the fruit
clinging to the trees,
and to pick the juiciest
with your deft and practiced hand.

 
Tanka © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 221

No Idea

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She had no idea
that merely sitting
with a book in her hands
on the bench
outside the shop
where records were sold
would be her invitation
to go elsewhere
along a way that she could
neither walk nor run—
as if she were a letter
dropped in a mailbox
sorted by a hundred hands
until at last she
reached her destination
slipped through a narrow
slot in her
lover’s front door, and
announced her presence.

 

© 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #258
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #13