Category Archives: The Poetry Pantry
Forever Spent
The following poem is composed of bits and pieces borrowed from other Wordlers this morning. Those who unwittingly contributed will recognise their work, and I thank them profusely. Links to the poems whose lines and phrases I have purloined appear in order at the end of this poem.
Nearly two years have passed
since
news was shipped in from all corners of this land:
The infidels you hated
in the struggle,
who bomb the city at their whim,
promise to thrive.
What can we do but
seek shelter within the confines
of
this land of lush, bursting possibility,
even though our
hardened hearts rage against
the
shock of recognition
that we ourselves are the ones we fear?
It feels like resilience dies here,
forever spent.
“Journey of Resilience” by P. Wanken
“Complications” by Jules Paige
“Journey of Resilience” by P. Wanken
“In the Naked Glory I Forget Myself” by Gautami Tripathy
“Culture Aftershock” by Walt Wojtanik
“Caught” by Brenda Warren
“Ah Infidels” by Pearl Ketover Prilik
“Culture Aftershock” by Walt Wojtanik
“After Breaking” by Elizabeth
“Our Silent Struggles” by Leo
“Ah Infidels” by Pearl Ketover Prilik
A Dozen Whirls
The first line of each haiku or senryu below is taken from “A Room in the Past” by Ted Kooser.
~~ 1 ~~
a kitchen, its curtains
the sigh of the dishwasher
waiting to be filled
~~ 2 ~~
When she had finished
dusting the ninth tabletop,
she tossed the tired rag.
~~ 3 ~~
Up in the cupboard,
behind the cereal bowls,
she keeps a small sword.
~~ 4 ~~
She put them all back,
the cups and saucers and plates—
often in her dreams.
~~ 5 ~~
Things in their places
saturate her soul with peace—
linen on the shelf.
~~ 6 ~~
At home in this room,
at day’s end she will unwind
with books and mint tea.
~~ 7 ~~
the dishes jingling
from a slight morning temblor
then the aftershock
~~ 8 ~~
blue aprons of rain—
she hopes they might comfort her
at her funeral
~~ 9 ~~
My grandmother moved
across the darkened threshold
into the morning.
~~ 10 ~~
morning light so bright
and bold you’d think the bacon
had flashed in the pan
~~ 11 ~~
morning light so bright
even skeptical women
would think of angels
~~ 12 ~~
morning light so bright
that no one can control it
not even the gods
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Poetry Pantry #146
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 104
More The April Heights 2013: “Poet’s Choice”
Do You Know
~~ 1 ~~
What do you know, teen,
about the technology
cradled in your hand?
~~ 2 ~~
What do you know, cook,
about the delicious pies
cooling on the shelf?
~~ 3 ~~
What do you know, cock,
about the shrill notes you sing
to startle morning?
~~ 4 ~~
What do you know, monk,
about the mantra you chant
to the holy One?
~~ 5 ~~
What do you know, child,
about the smudge on your cheek
from rivers of tears?
~~ 6 ~~
What do you know, wife,
about the urge to desert
the man who beats you?
~~ 7 ~~
Driver, do you know
how to merge into traffic
when the coast’s not clear?
~~ 8 ~~
People, do you know
that unity of spirit
is the path to peace?
~~ 9 ~~
Children, do you know
that to be inquisitive
may lead to greatness?
~~ 10 ~~
Cellist, do you know
that your stellar performance
is a passing breeze?
~~ 11 ~~
Pilgrim, do you know
how to activate the map
that shows you the way?
~~ 12 ~~
Prophet, do you know
how to project the Lord’s voice
through the words you speak?
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Poetry Pantry #145
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 103
Awhirl with Richard Wright
The first line of each haiku or senryu is taken from Haiku: This Other World by Richard Wright.
~~ 1 ~~
Over steaming rice
she sprinkles magic powders—
tonight, her lover!
~~ 2 ~~
In the drizzling rain
she calls out to her lover—
three crows mark her tears.
~~ 3 ~~
Under yellow leaves
she finds the letter she lost,
sodden and unread.
~~ 4 ~~
On a wet tree trunk,
three words written long ago
tell of a lost love.
~~ 5 ~~
In a flower pot
she buries a smooth white stone,
hoping it will grow.
~~ 6 ~~
In the morning sun
a pilgrim stabs her oak staff
up the mountain trail.
~~ 7 ~~
Obscuring the moon,
an ominous mountain peak
blights the pilgrim’s path.
~~ 8 ~~
To change this cold wind
after the rose petals fall,
she will need magic.
~~ 9 ~~
Brighter than ever
the cathedral door locks glow
with unholy fire.
~~ 10 ~~
Two men are parting—
one of them walks toward a pit,
where strange angels dance.
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Poetry Pantry #144
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 102
A Dozen Whirls
Each haiku or senryu below begins with one of this week’s Wordle words, and is meant to be read as a discrete unit.
~~ 1 ~~
Hurry, they are here,
the ones you have waited for,
teeth sharp, eyes aglow.
~~ 2 ~~
Disguised as a clown,
Christ prowls the broken alleys
of the shantytown.
~~ 3 ~~
Tree in the forest,
when the axmen came for you,
great was your keening.
~~ 4 ~~
sand between my toes
scuffing the beach at twilight
searching for a sign
~~ 5 ~~
Country of my dreams,
will I walk this way again
before the sun sets?
~~ 6 ~~
jar of sweet pickles
hidden on a cellar shelf
picnic-in-waiting
~~ 7 ~~
forgotten photos
moldering in the attic
family fragments
~~ 8 ~~
Yesterday they came
to take the old man away—
the door stands ajar.
~~ 9 ~~
Across ten time zones
someone is waiting for me—
I forget his name.
~~ 10 ~~
Mind you, green cricket,
it is no small thing you ask
of my aching heart.
~~ 11 ~~
Wound me if you must,
blossom brittling into dust—
one more seed springs forth.
~~ 12 ~~
Stirred by the small bird
frantic to escape her soul,
she scribbles haiku.
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Poetry Pantry #143
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 100
Whirling with Bob Atkinson
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
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 100
More We Write Poems, Post Your Poems Day
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
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 100
More We Write Poems, Post Your Poems Day
Flinging Words Away
Written on a window in a fearsome hand—
Fourteen quaint conundrums, hard to understand.
Part of them are Hindi, six of them are Greek,
All of them are playing games of hide-and-seek.
Paint was used to daub them on the panes of glass,
Where the townsfolk gather and outsiders pass.
Intimate connections drew the strangers here
To the storefront window where the words appear.
Someone in the nighttime flung the words away,
Her whole body hopeful that by light of day
Things would be made clearer, intimate and free—
Hence the hand that painted, hence this wordy spree.
And the artful painter? She reserves the right
To remain in shadows, keeping out of sight.
Whirling with Robert Bly
The first line of each haiku or senryu is taken from “Ravens Hiding in a Shoe” by Robert Bly.
A four-year-old speaks
her first five-syllable word:
chickadeechatter.
~~ ~~ ~~
God has already
blessed both the ravens and wrens—
holy their winging.
~~ ~~ ~~
Some ancient language
may give our thoughts wings to soar
above this madness.
~~ ~~ ~~
Ravens at night hide
in blue-and-gold satin gowns—
yes, even the males.
~~ ~~ ~~
Each sentence we speak
can be a treacherous snare—
except for ravens.
~~ ~~ ~~
The end of summer
deserves a celebration—
wrens and ravens dancing.
~~ ~~ ~~
So much of your life
is crammed into the instant
just before you die.
~~ ~~ ~~
The old alchemists
tried to unbalance the scales
between lead and gold.
~~ ~~ ~~
an old woman’s shoe
bedizened with dust and grime—
her endless journey
~~ ~~ ~~
Standing near their stoves,
the cooks slap at mosquitoes
while stirring the pots.
~~ ~~ ~~
In church in wartime
you hear the gasps of mothers
frantic for their sons.
~~ ~~ ~~
Death a thousand times
may ride on his white stallion
and not be sated.
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Poetry Pantry #140
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 98
A four-year-old speaks
her first five-syllable word:
chickadeechatter.
~~ ~~ ~~
God has already
blessed both the ravens and wrens—
holy their winging.
~~ ~~ ~~
Some ancient language
may give our thoughts wings to soar
above this madness.
~~ ~~ ~~
Ravens at night hide
in blue-and-gold satin gowns—
yes, even the males.
~~ ~~ ~~
Each sentence we speak
can be a treacherous snare—
except for ravens.
~~ ~~ ~~
The end of summer
deserves a celebration—
wrens and ravens dancing.
~~ ~~ ~~
So much of your life
is crammed into the instant
just before you die.
~~ ~~ ~~
The old alchemists
tried to unbalance the scales
between lead and gold.
~~ ~~ ~~
an old woman’s shoe
bedizened with dust and grime—
her endless journey
~~ ~~ ~~
Standing near their stoves,
the cooks slap at mosquitoes
while stirring the pots.
~~ ~~ ~~
In church in wartime
you hear the gasps of mothers
frantic for their sons.
~~ ~~ ~~
Death a thousand times
may ride on his white stallion
and not be sated.
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Poetry Pantry #140
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 98
Glimpses
Through tears and patience
the prophets gently warn us
of the wrath to come.
~~ ~~ ~~
three holy women
gazing with sublime intent—
the moment passes
~~ ~~ ~~
the puzzle pieces
fly savagely through the air—
her avenging hand
~~ ~~ ~~
stealing a stale loaf—
the discipline of hunger
driving Jean Valjean
~~ ~~ ~~
eighty-year limits—
nothing heroic about
protesting hip joints
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Poetry Pantry #138
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 97
Whirling with Gary Soto
The first line of each haiku or senryu below is taken from “The Elements of San Joaquin” by California poet Gary Soto.
At a used-car lot
three naked boys are hiding
under a Kia.
~~ ~~ ~~
When the season ends,
spent root and leaf plowed under
replenish the earth.
~~ ~~ ~~
As the heat rises,
a vixen scurries homeward—
birth-time for her kits.
~~ ~~ ~~
On the river’s edge,
two women who lack nothing
hold hands, then plunge in.
~~ ~~ ~~
Little by little
the quivering candlelight
vanquishes darkness.
~~ ~~ ~~
on my wrists and palms
a dozen faces held fast
by tattooer’s ink
~~ ~~ ~~
I am becoming
an imaginary door
to another world.
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Poetry Pantry #138
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 96
More Postcards from Paradise at Recuerda Mi Corazon
