Blog Archives
Field of Strange Surprises
In a field of strange surprises, one chipped cup appears;
Yellow roses near the lip have faded with the years.
A clothesline pinned with tables, along with rusty tools,
Earns heaps of raw derision from mouths of Sunday fools.
They say the world is flooding and seas are black with ink.
But who knows what the truth is, and who knows what to think?
The end of time’s upon us, and dust coats every shelf.
But what’s the use of cleaning? Just leave that to the elf.
Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #260
More Writers’ Pantry #14 at Poets and Storytellers United
More The Whirligig #260
More Writers’ Pantry #14 at Poets and Storytellers United
Send Me Silver Messages
Send me silver messages on wings of bees or bats.
Send them to the sad café, where I wear many hats:
Baker, barber, barkeep—even chairman of the board;
Table number three is mine, beside the safety cord.
Also in the library, where dancing Buddhas shine,
You may find me barely sober (I’ll be drinking wine).
Remember now, for safety’s sake, parking’s not allowed
Near the curb, or where bad news is breaking to the crowd.
If you can make some sense of this, you’re better than I am;
Farewell, dear friends, my journey starts—I’m off to Vietnam!
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #225
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Safety”
They Gave Me Words to Work With
They gave me words to work with,
I knew not what to do.
The words were fried and swirling,
Lips, chicken, certain, stew.
I looked at my reflection,
While writing couplets down;
I looked not like a poet,
But like some silly clown.
The more I wrote, I hungered
To write some lasting stuff;
Then I threw my pen away
And shouted, “That’s enough!”
This lull in fevered writing
Will give me time to think
Of how to spread my table—
Forget the pen and ink!
I’m grateful that my table
Holds something that tastes sweet,
For writing leaves me famished,
And now it’s time to eat!
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
Three Weird Songs
I.
I will sing and laugh at table,
Tell my brother that I’m able
To eat pancakes every day—
Not with centipedes, no way!
II.
In the kitchen darker stories
Bloom like fatal morning glories;
Beautiful they are, but cruel,
Deadlier than day-old gruel.
III.
From a deep, enchanted well
Draw some water, say a spell
That will change (I know not how)
Donald Trump into a cow.
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
The Filling
Underneath a palace table hungry dogs eat husks and wings;
Even twilight does not daunt them when the regal peacock sings
Songs of anger, songs of yearning, songs of drawing forth a knife—
Runic songs that bid the Presence come as fire to be our wife.
See, she vanquishes injustice! See, she turns things upside down!
Then the fiery Presence fills us, and at last we wear her crown!
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
Famine or Feast?
In a little storybook that I read both day and night,
A man heaps feast-food on some plates, but keeps them out of sight.
His wrinkled visage dares to me reach for juice or wine,
But when I do, he slaps me with twisted fishing line.
My luck is next to nothing, I’m down and out, you see;
The table spread before me was never meant for me.
If you have hair, it’s easy to charm the serving-man
Who keeps the sideboard groaning with cake and wine and flan.
But if your hair is thinning and showing roots of grey,
The keeper of the sideboard will swat your hands away.
The moral of my story, if moral there may be:
There’s nothing wrong with hair dye, or using flattery!
Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #189
More Poetry Pantry #430 at Poets United
Feast
Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
in famine’s great hall
suddenly on my table
a feast of blossoms
Haiku © 2016 and photo © 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
Wreath
Strawberry cactus (Mammillaria dioica), Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, Southern California
a wreath of blossoms
arrayed around the table
in sorrow’s old house
Haiku and photo © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
Whirling for Good or Ill
~~ 1 ~~
her passport photo
veins bulging in her forehead
from the night before
~~ 2 ~~
ocean on the floor
the toddler’s howl of dismay
as she spills her milk
~~ 3 ~~
tangled old orchard
filling her with fear and dread—
the fruitless plum trees
~~ 4 ~~
a secret language
spoken only by bruised flesh
women understand
~~ 5 ~~
a silver whistle—
the weight of it in my hand
greater than my life
~~ 6 ~~
in the stone circle
waiting to welcome the moon—
the owl calls my name
~~ 7 ~~
empty begging bowl
not a single grain of rice
gracing the bottom
~~ 8 ~~
on a blue table
bouquet of yellow roses
dropping their petals
~~ 9 ~~
ghost of a corn stalk
blasted by hot winds and drought—
this crop of ruin
~~ 10 ~~
smashing a spider
with a granite paperweight—
the terrified child
~~ 11 ~~
names of the war dead
chiseled in a granite wall
stray dog lifts his leg
~~ 12 ~~
old haiku poet
sadness drifting through her words
still she dips her pen
© 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Poetry Pantry #241
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 201
Magical Mystical Teacher 