Blog Archives

Flee From the Kitchen

Flee from the kitchen, live on the porch;
August is glowing hot as a torch.
Cover yourself with rags or with strips,
Drink from a bucket, smacking your lips.
Dream of crisp apples, cinnamon toast,
A knife too dull to carve Sunday’s roast.
As the Earth turns and takes you along,
Make up a ditty, sing a new song!

Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #280
More Writers’ Pantry #34 at Poets and Storytellers United


The Pimple Ripens Slowly

~~ ~~ 1 ~~ ~~
The pimple ripens slowly, so everyone can see
That this unsightly blemish is clearly part of me.
~~ ~~ 2 ~~ ~~
Cancer turns a man to dust.
What is this, if not unjust?
~~ ~~ 3 ~~ ~~
Empty your closet, toss out your belts—
With global warming everything melts.
~~ ~~ 4 ~~ ~~
Is anyone clever enough to measure
The actual weight of the thing called Pleasure?
~~ ~~ 5 ~~ ~~
My horse will wear silver, my horse will wear gold,
He’ll walk where he wants to, and not where he’s told.
~~ ~~ 6 ~~ ~~
Your spine belongs behind you, not in front, my dear,
For if your spine were frontal, where would be your rear?

Poems © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #175
More Poetry Pantry #416 at Poets United

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