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Last Words

The last words she spoke were dark, they were grim,
Not words from a psalm or even a hymn.
Nothing about them seemed hopeful or kind.
(Was the poor woman quite out of her mind?)
Her last words were these (I tell you no lies):
“Just let the crows come and peck out my eyes.”
I did what she asked, and let the crows eat
Both of her eyeballs—a savory treat.
I’ve thought of her fate for many long years;
When I remember, I shed bitter tears.
Now crows are coming for my eyes as well;
Pecking hungrily, they’ll sound my death knell.


Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Phoenix, Arizona

Phoenix, Arizona keeps burning, and the heat
Is brutal on the brains, and murder on bare feet.
(It’s slightly less oppressive from midnight until dawn.)
God help us all, and keep us, till summer’s heat is gone!

Poem © by Magical Mystical Teacher


Yuma Pioneer Cemetery, Yuma, Arizona features many old graves.

resting in the sand
bones of weary pioneers
free, thank God, at last

Haiku and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher

A Firm Foundation

Not much remains of an old stone house near the shores of Willow Lake, Prescott, Arizona.

Around the stone foundation, weeds and grasses grow.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear a mocking crow:
“You thought your house would stand here for all eternity,
But it has turned to rubble, as you can clearly see.”
I turn from the foundation in sorrow and in grief;
The crow and its bleak message have brought me no relief.
I seek a weeping willow, and there I make my bed,
And let the willow’s tresses cool my fevered head.
Revived, refreshed, and ready, I plan another house
A place to welcome strangers, and even the stray mouse.
Upon a firm foundation, I’ll build my house anew;
It will be a resting place for pilgrims just like you;
A place where song and laughter bind humans each to each,
In bonds that can’t be broken by hurtful, hate-filled speech.
And when the journey’s over, and day has turned to night,
My house on its foundation will still be shining bright.


Poem and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher

A Swallow Screams for Dinner

A swallow screams for dinner,
But no one hears its plaint,
Even though it’s desperate
And about to faint.
So scream no more, dear swallow,
Though ravenous you be,
For you’re really all alone
In your misery.

© 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher

I Am Explaining a Few Things

What I’m about to tell you may seem to make no sense,
So you may need to lean yourself against a good, stout fence.
Take a breath, a deep one; slowly, slowly close your eyes,
Then whatever leaves my lips will come as no surprise.
If sticks and stones should break your bones, do not reject the pain.
Embrace it as you would a friend—you have a lot to gain.
If Rosie and her rings come singing death chants at your door,
Fling some ashes in her face, and shout, “Begone, you whore!”
Last, if Mother Goose shows up with her flock of geese,
Greet them with some heartfelt words: “Welcome, Mother. Peace!”

© 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher

What Causes Me to Smile?

What causes me to smile?
Hot tea on a cold day.
The fragrance of fresh hay.
Watching children at play.
What causes me to smile?
A white butterfly’s wing.
Listening to birds sing.
Watching my grandson swing.
What causes me to smile?
Sunlight on a fencepost.
Grape jelly on fresh toast.
Listening to crows boast.
What causes me to smile?
By now it must be clear:
Little things bring me cheer
Wherever they appear.

Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Jump-Rope Rhymes

Fiction, grammar, prose, and mood—
Keep on jumping, don’t be rude!
Edit, conflict, stanza, plot—
This old rope is getting hot!
Punctuation helps the pace—
Jump up higher, jump with grace!
Rhythm makes good poetry—
Keep on jumping, and you’ll see!

© 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Food for Thought

Here’s a little food for thought:
What I have, dear, you have not.
If you did, I’d be bereft—
Even now there’s not much left!
Maybe we could share a crumb.
Of my store, I’ll give you some.
Surely you’ll reciprocate;
Thus our hunger we will sate.

Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Weekly Scribblings #29 at Poets and Storytellers United

Blue Monday & Ruby Tuesday Too: Jazz Guitar

A jazz guitarist in pre-pandemic days rocks an outdoor concert in Yuma, Arizona. One photo, two memes.

“Am I seeing things?” said she.
“Does he play songs just for me?”
“No,” I answered, “not at all.
Everyone, the short, the tall,
Loves the music he can play—
Now let’s dance the night away!”

More Weekly Scribblings #28 at Poets and Storytellers United
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Photo and poem © by Magical Mystical Teacher

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