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If You Dance


If you dance, you’ll need some salt.
Tumble down into the vault,
Where the salt is mixed with wind—
No, my dear, it’s not been tinned!
 
Best to take the salt at once,
Lest you turn into a dunce,
Crying with the living dead,
Who do not care what you’re fed.
 
Still, the best is yet to come:
See the dead man bind the drum
To his forehead with a string?
And you thought it was just bling!
 
Do not dread what is to come;
Though the dead man beats his drum
At least he’s not beating you!
All is well, and this is true.

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #216

Unpunctuated

 photo DSC_0054204_zps5zs6izvf.jpg
Indigo Bush (Psorothamnus fremontii), Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
 


in tangled places
stories tumble line by line
unpunctuated
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 


Within the shadows great surprises hide.

 
Haiku and photo © 2016 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Six-Word Saturday
 
More Shadow Shot Sunday 2
 
More Carpe Diem’s Summer Retreat 2016: “One with Nature”

Bits

198 photo 198_zps5af75095.jpg
 
 


 
~~ 1 ~~
 
another country
without a single border
touching the Black Sea
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
fleece of the black sheep
tossed on the shearing room floor
among the white ones
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
Fill the empty cup
with your broken promises
and your hollow words.
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
seal beneath the pier
keeping out of the limelight
till the tourists leave
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
glass jar of pickles—
summer captured in a quart
for the winter feast
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
clown on the corner—
no one pays him any mind
except on Sundays
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
wound round her forehead
a crimson strip of muslin
stained with her own blood
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
sound of glass breaking
in ten thousand Jewish shops—
Hitler’s thugs at work
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
burst of energy
just before the finish line
claiming victory
 
~~ 10 ~~
 
tumbleweeds rolling
down deserted avenues
heralds of despair
 
~~ 11 ~~
 
(instill)
 
~~ 12 ~~
 
(emit)

 
© 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Poetry Pantry #238
 
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 198

Convoluted Whirl

 photo 156_zps11a26a93.jpg
 


 
~~ 1 ~~
Three redwing blackbirds
swear an oath to the north wind:
We will outlast you.
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
To be in fifth grade
is to sip from a dry brook—
your tongue turns to wood.
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
Through an April fog
three strange women are stumbling—
one begins to chant.
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
a porcelain doll
without a stitch of clothing—
enigmatic smile
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
singed with fires of hope
a dozen souls in limbo
crying out to God
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
on her wrists and palms
a dozen faces held fast
by tattooer’s ink
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
tumbleweed heaven—
ten thousand miles of fences
on the Kansas plains
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
three crickets chirping
papers littering hallways
my house is too small
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
gaudy little gifts
clutched by desperate tourists
for the folks back home
 
~~ 10 ~~
 
Park bench at midday—
the bag lady rests briefly
before shuffling on.
 
~~ 11 ~~
 
listening deeply
hearing a cry of distress—
from her eyes falls frost
 
~~ 12 ~~
 
moonlit this evening—
Jaffa, the port where Jonah
runs away from God
 

 
© 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Sunday Whirl #156