Category Archives: Post Your Poems Day

Whirling with Bob Atkinson

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The first line of each haiku or senryu is taken from “The Poet as a Politician” by Arizona poet Bob Atkinson.
 
 


that murky water
settling in darker places
where we dare not swim
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
By weeping mothers
the name of the street is changed—
Desparecidos.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
In spite of our way,
we are able to create
music that God sings.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
A blanket woven
from worn words and wren feathers
warms the old woman.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
In other places
the calls to die come daily—
here we stop our ears.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
Primitive demon,
I would have you change my mind—
train me in your ways!
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
We love each other,
even though March winds chill us,
causing us to faint.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
Truths devised our dream—
now we share that dream with you,
master-in-training.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
I like this writing—
it can stretch the galaxy
to admit our souls.

 
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Poetry Pantry #142
 
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Sacred Morning Song

Window Rock
 

First Shoppers

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A narrow street (callejon), San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, México
 


Hungry for bargains,
first shoppers of the morning
scurry through the streets.

 
Text and photo © 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
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Three Farewells to San Miguel

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The first line of each haiku or senryu below is taken from San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato and the Bajío by Julie Doherty Meade. (I was in San Miguel de Allende last week, and left Saturday to return to the U.S.)
 
 


The crickets’ chiming
dissipates thick morning fog—
symphony of grace.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
a charming guest house
lenient in all its ways
pillowing my soul
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
Mexican bedspreads—
I struggle to forget them
back in Iowa.

 
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More We Write Poems, It’s Post Your Poems Day, Prompt #109: “Finding Pearls”
 
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Three from San Miguel

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The first line of each haiku or senryu below is taken from San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato and the Bajío by Julie Doherty Meade. (I’m in San Miguel de Allende for the week.)
 
 


A tiny alley—
fearing the cobblestones’ wrath,
I cling to the wall.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
A lazy morning—
I murmur that I love you
just to hear you sigh.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
If your appetite
has taken you by surprise—
quick! quesadillas!

 
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More We Write Poems, It’s Post Your Poems Day, Prompt #109: “Finding Pearls”
 
More Three Word Wednesday: “Cling, Murmur, Taken”
 
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon

Six More from San Miguel

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The first line of each haiku or senryu below is taken from San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato and the Bajío by Julie Doherty Meade. (I’m in San Miguel de Allende for the week.)
 
This week’s whirling words are: bluffs, willow, corona, brush, trembled, mud, crawl, vessels, nail, stain, shadows, stones. I have used: brush, bluffs, nail, willow, crawl, stain.
 
 


a lazy morning—
I brush your lips with my own
just to hear you sigh
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
handmade tortillas—
we eat them out at the bluffs
watching a hawk swoop
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
find some live music
don’t nail your feet to the floor
Zumba till daybreak
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
A warm afternoon—
in the shade of a willow,
we three sip mint tea.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
Bounty of produce—
I crawl through the Mercado,
choosing figs and limes.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
clanging iron bells
stain the air with holiness
Sunday before dawn

 
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More We Write Poems, It’s Post Your Poems Day, Prompt #109: “Finding Pearls”
 
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Six from San Miguel

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The first line of each haiku or senryu below is taken from The Insider’s Guide to San Miguel by Archie Dean. (I’m in San Miguel de Allende for the week.)
 
This week’s whirling words are: bluffs, willow, corona, brush, trembled, mud, crawl, vessels, nail, stain, shadows, stones. I have used: vessels, trembled, mud, corona, stones, shadows.
 
 


The planting season—
we bring vessels filled with seed
to the fresh-plowed earth.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
Flowers and fruit trees
trembled when the old man came
armed with pruning shears.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
A master potter
knows the subtle ways of mud,
and how they shape her.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
Bullfights and fireworks—
I sip at a Corona,
savoring the night.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
From around the world,
gather stones the size of fists—
change them into bread.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
Altars in the homes—
in shadows spirits huddle,
hoping to be freed.

 
Bonus senryu, even though it has no Wordle word:
 

Masks and chandeliers—
who understands their stories,
told with tangled tongues?

 
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More We Write Poems, It’s Post Your Poems Day, Prompt #109: “Finding Pearls”
 
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Six More Bedtime Tales

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Tell me bedtime tales
or I will not let you go
into that good night.
 
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
 
Give me your blessing
by telling me bedtime tales—
I drink from the cup.
 
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
 
Curled around a stone,
serpent hisses bedtime tales
to her squirming brood.
 
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
 
From a cardboard box
I withdraw three bedtime tales
disguised as ducklings.
 
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
 
From a street vendor
I buy books of bedtime tales—
plumes of fragrant smoke.
 
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
 
At the bus station,
the busker sings bedtime tales,
then leaves for Dallas.

 
Text © 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More We Write Poems: “Bedtime Tales,” Post Your Poems Day

Six Bedtime Tales

original
 
 

Her own bedtime tales
will be told by candlelight
or told not at all.
 
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
 
infinite wisdom
in recounting bedtime tales—
patience with darkness
 
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
 
kneeling in the dark
listening to bedtime tales—
somewhere church bells toll
 
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
 
I cannot listen
to the ragged bedtime tales—
old grey fox knows why.
 
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
 
At the bus station
they heard seven bedtime tales,
then left for Dallas.
 
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
 
Walk out the front door—
there are no more bedtime tales
to be told tonight.

 
Text © 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More We Write Poems: “Bedtime Tales,” Post Your Poems Day

Spawning Bedtime Tales

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When I visit Zacatecas, I depend on Antonio Muro to drive me from the airport to the hotel. After I collect my bag from the carousel, I see Antonio waiting for me patiently beyond the security checkpoint, holding a sign with my name on it.
 
He shepherds me to a nondescript, battered vehicle of uncertain vintage, and we begin the half-hour drive into the city center. I can see little through the passenger-side windshield, because it is shattered. (Has it been hit by a bullet? Have the drug wars come to Zacatecas?)
 
I fish my camera from my pocket and aim it at the spider-webbed glass. I need proof that I survived this dangerous journey. Antonio laughs and keeps on driving, although how he manages to hold his vehicle on the road—no suspension, lousy steering—is a milagro!
 

many miracles
multiply in Mexico
spawning bedtime tales

 
Text and photo © 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
Photo: On the airport road, Zacatecas, México
 
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