Teller Poems - Poems about Teller

the Amazing Mort

We had a prophet in our trailer court
His sign said “the Amazing, Seer, Mort”
He told fortunes all day long
Some predictions were decidedly strong

A few naysayers tried to chase him away
But the rest of us mobbed up and insisted he stay
I will be a queen in my next reincarnated life
The woebegone neighbor will soon be rid

Bad news infects the teller

Bad news

Infects the teller..

The teller

Conveys news which

Is believed to have

Arisen in a fictitious

Past time..news

In the telling 

Colored with belief

Is what is happening

And not...


"The nature of bad news infects the teller."  Antony & Cleopatra (Shakespeare)

Meeting a Fortune Teller

There are deep creases in palm of the harried hag’s hand
Her wizen face is wrinkled, freckled, there is a brown spot on her cheek.
She has a surreal expression; her voice is gravelly and ethereal.
her tent seems mystical, with embroidered crushed velvet table cloth
taro cards are next to her left hand, she lifts a palm over

daring men teller of the truth

those daring men of the truth

The Australian who has been in jail for years to avoid
being sent to the USA, where he will get 
further jail terms 
He, I'm sure, is difficult to live with and has little tolerance for
other people's views, it goes with the terrain, famous men 
who fight for the truth tend

Fortune Teller Conclusion

                 
          You wanna know sumpin sumpin?!
               In the garden of life's relentless seasons,
  

Fortune Teller

               "Go ahead, make yourself comfortable, 
        contemplate, whisper secrets to momma moon,
        let me read you and we will phase out this bad 
  

The Fortune Teller

I wander in a trackless desert
Eyes squinting, scanning the desert horizon
Parched land, and so does my heart seem
Oh where could I find an oasis to cool my feet

Desert storms blow, I close my eyes
Some shadow approaching me
What is it, my love gone by?
The wind whistles, nay it is a fortune teller

Her wrinkled face smiles, hands

The Soothsayer

She grabbed my hand and turned it palm up
Stated the obvious and read leaves from a cup
A sigh came from her heavy breast
I thought I’d offer her a test.

I was married, I began, to a woman, not a man
An eyebrow raised as she formed a quick plan
You’ll marry again, written in your palm
I wasn’t excited,

Ode To Shelton

His knowledge was his untapped wellspring,
After 93 years of learning anew;
He valued knowing something about everything, 
From construction & farming, to baseball & screws. 

Early in life, a dairy farm taught him, 
To think on his feet, with vast common sense;
Learning math at the sawmill, he estimated lumber, 
And rebuilt old motors, appliances & fences.

Fortune Teller Tells a Clown

He was dressed like a circus clown for his grandma made him.
He thought it made him look silly, thoughtless and dim.
She was dressed as a fortune teller full of liveliness vigor and vim.
She told him his fortune and knew she would grow up and marry him.

The Story Teller

We are spellbound as she tells us her latest tale.
It is wild, wooly, wacky and weirdly wonderful.
She is a wizard of a story-teller, and she knows her audience.
She gives us just the right amount of juice to push us to the edge.
We are ready to scream when she pulls us back in, 
Reeling us into

She Is Not Merely a Soothsayer

She distributes the wands and the cups.
Her client taps a card, choosing it.
The death card comes up.
The client gasps.
She takes her hand and begins to explain.
She has Bambi brown eyes, and a kind soul.
The client settles down, wanting to believe 
in her explanation, in the cards, in a happily ever after.
She is not merely a

She Was a Story Teller

She was a woman full of stories.
They oozed out of her and onto her skirts.
When she shook them, verbs and adjectives flew onto the floor.
I watched them congregate around her ankles
Forming run-on sentences.
No wonder story-telling is so easy to her
She doesn’t even need a muse
She has all the fixings at her fingertips and her toes

Paper Fortune Teller

Unfold, now behold
The truth of how all answers
Are hidden within
Every folded, small facet;
Every fibre part of you.

Story Teller

We spent the day at Grandpa’s house.
At bedtime, as we would often do,
By the fireplace we did rendezvous
While Grandpa stoked his corncob pipe.

When he leaned back his rocking chair
And asked with a wink of his eyes:
“Anyone like to hear a story?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” we all would then cry.

We never knew quite what he would do
Much

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