Don Magin
( Don-Magin-Author )
New Release
Matthew 19:14
But Jesus said, "Let the little children come to Me, and do not hinder them! For the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."
Children are mentioned in the bible. Not often, but they are mentioned. Not featured, but they are mentioned.
This book features children. Children from biblical times. Children who may or may not have existed. It doesn’t matter—they could have. Children for whom the kingdom of heaven belongs.
Call the episodes in this book stories, or fables, or parables. Call them fiction, fantasies, or anecdotes. If you like big words, call them apocrypha or apologues.
In all of them, something just rings true. Something sounds right.
Something makes you believe children have peeked into the kingdom of heaven.
And they are still doing it.
“…for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
Order from Amazon
Frog and Gate
they live a simple quiet life
away from bustling daily strife.
by day they work the fertile ground
amidst God’s beauty so renowned.
needing not the gifts of others
these two monks, these holy brothers,
as daylight fades and light grows dim
they brush the dirt and sweat from skin.
they season grain with sage and thyme
and drink brew from the fruit of vine.
after supping at end of day
their work all done, they kneel to pray.
in chapel built of wood and sod
their praises raise in song to God.
the tall one’s voice is like a frog
Like bark that’s falling off a log.
the other’s voice, a rusty gate,
fingernails on a board of slate.
but every night they sing their love
hymns of praise to the Lord above.
a caterwaul, but so sincere
with no one else around to hear
one day as they complete their chores
a knock vibrates the abbey doors.
a handsome lad with gold for hair
seeks shelter and some bread to share.
they take him in and offer food:
squash that’s braised, tomatoes stewed.
they ask him if he’d like to stay
and join them while their hymns they pray.
his favorite is “On Eagle’s Wings”,
with lilting voice the hymn he sings.
as sweet and clear as velvet fog
it stifled both the Gate and Frog.
the two monks hear with breath in lung
the way they think it should be sung.
so overwhelmed with awe and doubt
they never let their voices out.
that night they couldn’t get to sleep
remembering his voice so sweet.
but as the night turned into morn
they heard the voice of God, forlorn,
My sons, I am so very tired
I couldn’t sleep when I retired
No singing came to end my day
You didn’t raise your voice to pray
God, something must be very wrong.
Did you not hear our guest’s sweet song?
Oh, him, of course I heard his voice
But don’t you know he has no choice.
He’s just an angel, nothing more,
I sent him on an earthly chore.
like all angels, it’s his duty
to offer praise and songs of beauty.
not like you, you have a choice,
you choose to offer me your voice.
I got so used to hearing you,
all those beautiful hymns you do,
I couldn’t fall asleep last night.
I worried you were not all right.
but Father, we are Frog and Gate
our voices must make your ears grate
my precious sons, you’ve got it wrong.
I love to hear your voices strong.
I made the frog and rusty gate,
I like the things that I create.
please don’t be silent any more,
and don’t you dare your God ignore.
they break their fast and grab their clothes,
and head to field with rakes and hoes.
they cannot wait for day to end
to sing their God to sleep again.
Originally published: Pure in Heart Stories, Issue 3, May, 2022
He walks with purpose
​
He walks with purpose
A long white beard
Always with a knit cap
And plaid suspenders
He carries a plastic bag
And a long device to pick up
Things without having to bend over
He picks up trash as he walks
He is old, much older than I
And his eyesight must be failing
For he misses butts and small scraps
But every day he fills his bag
And takes it home to discard properly
(I know not where he lives)
Now I am retired
I walk for pleasure and exercise
And I see him more often
He always waves and says
Good morning, or afternoon,
As the case may be
I wonder where I can pick up one of those picker-upper things?
And some plaid suspenders?
Originally published: WestWard Quarterly: The Magazine of Family Reading, Winter, 2022
Grandfather Tree
Stronger than it was
weaker than it will be.
More gnarled than it used to be
less knotted than it will become.
It is as old as I.
Rooted.
Grounded to provide a stable base
from which to reach to the stars.
I wonder
does it wonder,
what will become of
the seeds of its seeds?
​
Originally published: Vita Brevis Poetry Anthology Series, III, Nothing Divine Dies, December 29, 2021
The Fog and the Swan
Dreary, that's what it is.
The smoke from my pipe
and my condensed breath
mesh seamlessly with the dense fog.
Not a good idea to be walking
on a busy road in this murkiness.
I turn off onto a side road
that takes me toward the ponds.
Two small lakes straddling the tarmac.
Walking alone
a week before Chrismas.
A gaggle of Canadian geese totter
across in front of me
their black and grey and brown
pretty, but
moving away from me
as if signaling an ending.
Fitting, I think.
Movement in the other pond
causes me pause
and I stoop to see what could be
emerging between water and fog.
A flossy featheriness emerges.
Silently
as the swan approaches
and stops,
its bottomless black eyes merely inches
from my own.
We stare at each other for a brief eternity,
and then I start to walk again.
She glides along silently next to me,
her regal neck a snowy question mark,
her crowned head swiveled so her gaze won't part from me.
Where the path leaves the water's edge
I look back.
Her head bobs.
and the fog lifts.
​
Originally published in Central Virginia Poetry Bard Magazine, 2019
Mountain Clouds (Haiku)
White cotton pillows
Fallen from a blue skybed
Soften craggy peaks
Originally published: 50 Haikus, Issue 16, 2020
Aftermath
​
Not
one
tree still
standing up.
Hurricane's upshot.
Tipped and tangled and demolished.
Thor's puny playthings.
Once mighty
oak trees,
now
scrap.
Originally published: The Fib Review, Issue #41, Winter 2022 (Muse-Pie Press)
Dilemmas of a Lonely Man
Should I buy deodorant
Or simply anti-perspirant?
Whatever will my darling think?
Will she forgive me if I stink?
Or would it cause her much more pain
To see me with an armpit stain?
That's not the only choice I have
When choosing products for my lav
My mouthwash too leaves me perplexed
Does mint make me seem oversexed?
Or will my medicin-y breath
Bring about romantic death?
Toothpaste choice, another blur.
Which do I think she would prefer?
Does she look for whiter teeth
Or does she see decay beneath?
Will baking soda be the best
Or paste plus gel provide the zest?
My hair will also be a focus
Of some serious hocus-pocus
What should I get to halt the friz
Check shampoo analyses
Dimethicone might do the trick
(or is that just expensive shtick?)
Will stearates leave a pearly finish
Or make my hair appear too thinnish?
What’s this sodium lauryl sulfate,
Does it affect fertility rate?
Can what I use to groom my pelt
Affect, you know, below my belt?
Ignoring body hair removal
Now meets with lusty disapproval
Girls didn’t use to give a hoot
If I was classified hirsute.
Beware “Down There” of being fuzzy,
It’s tantamount to being scuzzy.
Decisions like this give me pause
Are not there romantic laws?
From what I see on my TV
It seems that surely there must be.
If fresh and clean is how I seem
Then she will love me -- in my dream!
Originally published: Winamop Magazine, Winamop.com, April, 2022
Campaign Promises
Vast is my vision
and deep is my support,
and keen is my attention,
to all that I purport
will fuel another round
of intentional misreport.
I mean to raise my racket
and serve into the court
of House and Senate matters,
and civilly comport
with grace and age and reason
as I subtly distort.
Originally published: 50-Word Stories, Nov. 11, 2021
Out of Love
When the spectre of cancer appeared at the door
He met it like he always did a stranger.
He barked the warning: You can't come in.
There are precious people here.
Babies, young children, old grandparents.
If you want to come in—if you must!—
You'll have to come through me.
Do what you will to me,
But I won't let you touch them.
God sent me here to protect them
And I will protect them.
***
Please precious family, don't be sad.
I'm doing what I was created for.
My only pain is your pain of separation.
Do what you always did for me
And I will do what I always did for you.
Out of love.
​
Originally published: Founder’s Favorites Magazine, Issue 18, March, 2022 (page 5)
You Just Had to Be There
Eight millimeter flick'ring film
Boys in full-button sport shirts,
Solid color and checked.
Slacks and leather-soled dress shoes.
Girls in ruffled dresses,
Colorful plaid and flowered.
White socks and paten leather party shoes.
Playing stoop-ball or hopscotch
Or tag or hide-and-go-seek
On sidewalks and in city streets.
They stop to look
At the camera, and smile
A response to what must have been Dad's words.
They start playing again,
Awkwardly, still looking at the camera
Because Mom reminded them it was a movie.
The innocents of the Cold War.
The innocence of the Cold War.
Originally published in Creatopia Magazine
Winter 2022 Issue
(page 19 in Flipbook)
​