Women in the photograph
Do not smile and do not laugh.
“Bones,” they croak, “are fine when brown.
Can we buy some in your town?”
Skin of language, weight of air,
Ravens weaving patterns there
In the presence of your friends—
See the way the sunlight bends?
Poem © by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #207
More Poetry Pantry #445 at Poets United
now flooding the valley
after three weeks
of steady rain with no slits in the
clouds, no patches of light,
must be a sign.
With one hand
I grab my guitar,
with the other
I begin scribbling a tale
about the distant waterfall.
fed by the recent rains,
that keeps thundering into an abyss.
I could have drifted
been swallowed by deep waters,
if sunlight had not
come to the valley again.
This is my tale,
this is my song.
Sing with me.
Chapel of Santo Niño de Atocha, Chimayo, New Mexico
Pedestrians on a semi-shady street, Guanajuato, México
Along the beach, Puerto Nuevo, Baja California Norte, México