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The Kill


The stump of a tooth was tethered to stars.
At five till midnight three men puffed cigars.
One of them lathered his whiskery chin,
Using a brush soaked in whisky and gin.
One plowed through the soil, one raised a harpoon,
Hurling it carefully right at the moon.
The moon with a sigh crashed into the sea;
Monstrous waves followed and splintered the quay.
Once he’d accomplished this feat of great skill,
The harpooner bragged of making a kill,
A kill so complete the moon shines no more,
Except when wild women dance on the shore.

 
 

Poem © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #301
 
More Writers’ Pantry #48 at Poets and Storytellers United

Small Consolations

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~~ 1 ~~
 
in a field of maize
southward seven miles or more
three marauding crows
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
puzzling over why
the brown donkey at daybreak
still sleeps in the straw
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
a Kansas farmer
still leaning into the wind
after forty years
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
planting a garden
twenty years in the same place—
corn pollen poems
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
a famished people
looking to depleted soil
for their daily bread
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
a strand of brown hair
the width of a dying breath
caught in the wren’s mouth
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
an open Bible
warning of the pestilence
that lurks at noonday
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
her longing to be
a mystic on the mountain—
no more scrubbing floors
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
her feeble attempts
to stay her wandering feet—
one more trip to Rome
 
~~ 10 ~~
 
hollow promises—
tongues clattering empty vows
on their wedding day
 
~~ 11 ~~
 
purple rebozo—
trying to ward off the chill
after the bad news
 
~~ 12 ~~
 
on the pilgrim way
consolation of ravens
and comfort of stones

 
© 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #251
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #6