Category Archives: The Sunday Whirl
Half a Whirl Is Better than None
The first line of each haiku or senryu below is taken from “The Hotel Normandie Pool” by Derek Walcott.
This week’s whirling words are: scrape, tongue, brittle, austere, barnacles, drenched, chalk, flinty, blur, burnished, cocoon, rough
Around the cold pool
little groups of drenched children
huddle, shivering.
~~ ~~ ~~
Now my pen’s shadow
emerges from the cocoon,
takes flight, vanishes.
~~ ~~ ~~
To a frowning sun
I sing brittle little songs
and watch them shatter.
~~ ~~ ~~
The poems gather,
golden rivers on my tongue—
honey, milk and thyme.
~~ ~~ ~~
one mango flower
burnished with afternoon sun—
we burst into flame
~~ ~~ ~~
A cloud fills my hand,
a little blur of moisture
sweet as mango juice.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 58
More The Poetry Pantry #100
You Know the Way
(This week’s whirling words are: hips, marrow, crocuses, stillness, massive, secret, flower, grief, window, perhaps, hand, clatter, colors)
What do I know of how
to move my hips and blood and marrow
from this place where they are rooted
to a land far, far away?
Perhaps some god’s benevolent hand
will write a set of clear directions on the wall:
“Here is how you know the path to take.
Renounce the empty clatter of your restless heart
and cultivate the stillness of the
secret garden in you,
where crocuses of many colors grow.
Even through the window of your grief
you see them,
along with hidden seeds about to sprout and flower
into an orchard so heavy with fruit
that ten thousand-thousand seasons will not be enough
to gather in the massive harvest.
Go, now, I think you know the way.”
Whirling Haiku and Senryu
The first line of each haiku or senryu below is taken from “August” by Arizona poet Richard Shelton.
This week’s whirling words are: hips, marrow, crocuses, stillness, massive, secret, flower, grief, window, perhaps, hand, clatter, colors
As if she owned them,
she charged her hips to swagger
down the dusty street.
~~ ~~ ~~
bruised moon and darkness
the marrow of the heavens
leaking from cracked bones
~~ ~~ ~~
a great blue peacock
seven golden crocuses—
eight spring gifts for you
~~ ~~ ~~
Our little fingers
settled into stillness,
then formed holy signs.
~~ ~~ ~~
We see her old ship,
its massive sails billowing—
no one at the helm.
~~ ~~ ~~
The lady in black
imparts to me a secret—
I decide to flee.
~~ ~~ ~~
In the market place
she buys a single flower—
then it turns to stone.
~~ ~~ ~~
She wears the postures
of grief and consternation,
mumbling to the fox.
~~ ~~ ~~
over her window
a map of all the sorrows
she has ever known
~~ ~~ ~~
We bring her our hands—
perhaps she can persuade them
to write poetry.
~~ ~~ ~~
With its dark cargo,
my hand is fit companion
for the furtive ones.
~~ ~~ ~~
Run out on the floor
with a clatter and a shout—
Spirit wants to dance!
~~ ~~ ~~
As if they belonged,
the colors settled on us—
lingering spirits.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 57
More Poetry Picnic Week 36
Whirling Haiku and Senryu
The first line of each haiku or senryu below is taken from “Dreams Are Also Wounds” by the Afrikaans poet Breyten Breytenbach.
Secretly and small
my meddlesome intention
troubles me again.
~~ ~~ ~~
How green were the birds—
or were they flags fluttering
in the Zocalo?
~~ ~~ ~~
Even a parrot
can be sacred to the one
cast aside by God.
~~ ~~ ~~
A yellow parrot
elaborated my words—
flames fell from her tongue.
~~ ~~ ~~
a scar in my flesh—
residue of rituals
carved out long ago
~~ ~~ ~~
Birds in the gardens—
a visit to six feeders
satisfies the wren.
~~ ~~ ~~
Are kings rich in trees
or only in squat demons
brooding near their thrones?
~~ ~~ ~~
Are mere husks of flesh
enough to reach the summit,
or will you need more?
~~ ~~ ~~
into walking sticks
you may transform lengths of string
by incantations
~~ ~~ ~~
destined to wither—
the indigenous peoples
that forsake their way
~~ ~~ ~~
inkdrops from my heart—
they have scant significance
for those who write not
~~ ~~ ~~
enters the poem
sexy elegant goddess
swiveling her hips
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 56
my meddlesome intention
troubles me again.
~~ ~~ ~~
How green were the birds—
or were they flags fluttering
in the Zocalo?
~~ ~~ ~~
Even a parrot
can be sacred to the one
cast aside by God.
~~ ~~ ~~
A yellow parrot
elaborated my words—
flames fell from her tongue.
~~ ~~ ~~
a scar in my flesh—
residue of rituals
carved out long ago
~~ ~~ ~~
Birds in the gardens—
a visit to six feeders
satisfies the wren.
~~ ~~ ~~
Are kings rich in trees
or only in squat demons
brooding near their thrones?
~~ ~~ ~~
Are mere husks of flesh
enough to reach the summit,
or will you need more?
~~ ~~ ~~
into walking sticks
you may transform lengths of string
by incantations
~~ ~~ ~~
destined to wither—
the indigenous peoples
that forsake their way
~~ ~~ ~~
inkdrops from my heart—
they have scant significance
for those who write not
~~ ~~ ~~
enters the poem
sexy elegant goddess
swiveling her hips
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 56
Whirling Haiku and Senryu
The first line of each haiku or senryu below is taken from “Torture Chamber” by the Chilean poet Enrique Lihn, English translation by Mary Crow.
The door of your house
has been painted cobalt blue—
why are you weeping?
~~ ~~ ~~
I disguised myself
so that when I had the chance
I could disappear.
~~ ~~ ~~
The only hotel
with elephants emerging
is The Proboscis.
~~ ~~ ~~
Your German shepherd
will not let me clear the fence,
so I slink away.
~~ ~~ ~~
My indecision,
in contrast to your boldness—
guttering candle.
~~ ~~ ~~
Your tranquility
is a little dot of cloud
on the horizon.
~~ ~~ ~~
My tribe is concerned
about the hook in the mouth
sewing tongue to cheek.
~~ ~~ ~~
When I go begging,
I wink at the passersby—
nothing to lose now.
~~ ~~ ~~
Tearing your clothes off,
my tongue begins to vibrate—
which part shall I lick?
~~ ~~ ~~
Some friendly country
where they print the years in breath—
this is what I seek.
~~ ~~ ~~
Your fork is my spoon,
but I cannot align it
with my crooked mouth.
~~ ~~ ~~
Your torture chamber
will grind the life out of me—
blood and cell and bone.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 55
More The Poetry Pantry #99
has been painted cobalt blue—
why are you weeping?
~~ ~~ ~~
I disguised myself
so that when I had the chance
I could disappear.
~~ ~~ ~~
The only hotel
with elephants emerging
is The Proboscis.
~~ ~~ ~~
Your German shepherd
will not let me clear the fence,
so I slink away.
~~ ~~ ~~
My indecision,
in contrast to your boldness—
guttering candle.
~~ ~~ ~~
Your tranquility
is a little dot of cloud
on the horizon.
~~ ~~ ~~
My tribe is concerned
about the hook in the mouth
sewing tongue to cheek.
~~ ~~ ~~
When I go begging,
I wink at the passersby—
nothing to lose now.
~~ ~~ ~~
Tearing your clothes off,
my tongue begins to vibrate—
which part shall I lick?
~~ ~~ ~~
Some friendly country
where they print the years in breath—
this is what I seek.
~~ ~~ ~~
Your fork is my spoon,
but I cannot align it
with my crooked mouth.
~~ ~~ ~~
Your torture chamber
will grind the life out of me—
blood and cell and bone.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 55
More The Poetry Pantry #99
Whirling Haiku and Senryu
The first line of each haiku or senryu below is taken from “Falling” by James Dickey.
heat from the cornfields
rising green in the morning
Iowa summer
~~ ~~ ~~
the last of moonlight
a sea of darkness washing
over the prairie
~~ ~~ ~~
from pastures of beans
and intractable meadows—
the keening of bees
~~ ~~ ~~
night air of Kansas
cicadas beating the stars
with their tattered wings
~~ ~~ ~~
The last wisp of fog
lifts from the maple-lined lane—
still she is stumbling.
~~ ~~ ~~
While farmers sleepwalk,
their flocks wander through starfields
nibbling shards of light.
~~ ~~ ~~
She could have made it
had she chosen to follow
the well-worn walkway.
~~ ~~ ~~
from her chosen ground
an alley on Second Street
the tinkling of glass
~~ ~~ ~~
for something to live
and not squander all its breath
it must have a dream
~~ ~~ ~~
my God it is good
to accommodate your lips
up against my own
~~ ~~ ~~
groaning for coffee
served in polished pewter mugs
oceans of caffeine
~~ ~~ ~~
She can no longer
use her eyes for seducing—
old Aztec princess.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The April Heights: “Poet’s Choice”
More We Write Poems: NaPoWriMo #29
More The Sunday Whirl
rising green in the morning
Iowa summer
~~ ~~ ~~
the last of moonlight
a sea of darkness washing
over the prairie
~~ ~~ ~~
from pastures of beans
and intractable meadows—
the keening of bees
~~ ~~ ~~
night air of Kansas
cicadas beating the stars
with their tattered wings
~~ ~~ ~~
The last wisp of fog
lifts from the maple-lined lane—
still she is stumbling.
~~ ~~ ~~
While farmers sleepwalk,
their flocks wander through starfields
nibbling shards of light.
~~ ~~ ~~
She could have made it
had she chosen to follow
the well-worn walkway.
~~ ~~ ~~
from her chosen ground
an alley on Second Street
the tinkling of glass
~~ ~~ ~~
for something to live
and not squander all its breath
it must have a dream
~~ ~~ ~~
my God it is good
to accommodate your lips
up against my own
~~ ~~ ~~
groaning for coffee
served in polished pewter mugs
oceans of caffeine
~~ ~~ ~~
She can no longer
use her eyes for seducing—
old Aztec princess.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The April Heights: “Poet’s Choice”
More We Write Poems: NaPoWriMo #29
More The Sunday Whirl
Whirling Haiku and Senryu
The first line of each haiku or senryu below is taken from Shu Ting‘s poem “The Singing Flower,” translated from the Chinese by Carolyn Kizer.
Who comes at your call?
Little origami cranes
fluttering their wings!
~~ ~~ ~~
Your little blue star
has begun to ferment, child—
time to bury it.
~~ ~~ ~~
If the bullet comes
to slay the sleeping dragon,
do not be dismayed.
~~ ~~ ~~
Into your poem
build an exquisite sweetness—
the flavor of light.
~~ ~~ ~~
Under the streetlamp
the two begin to shimmy—
God, how their loins ache!
~~ ~~ ~~
Into your poem
write something about spangling
and bronze temple bells.
~~ ~~ ~~
For the time being,
let cacophony soothe you—
wilding lullaby.
~~ ~~ ~~
Among the lucky
are those who have not been shelved
because they are old.
~~ ~~ ~~
Raise your lamp, my love,
even though your left arm aches
and the cure is death.
~~ ~~ ~~
To confront winter
you need the coda of spring—
a whiff of lilac.
~~ ~~ ~~
I asked the olive
for some ethereal oil—
she shrugged off her fruit.
~~ ~~ ~~
Follow the pigeons
and their abstract reasoning?
I think not, thank you.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Sunday Whirl, Anniversary Wordle
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More We Write Poems: NaPoWriMo #22
Little origami cranes
fluttering their wings!
~~ ~~ ~~
Your little blue star
has begun to ferment, child—
time to bury it.
~~ ~~ ~~
If the bullet comes
to slay the sleeping dragon,
do not be dismayed.
~~ ~~ ~~
Into your poem
build an exquisite sweetness—
the flavor of light.
~~ ~~ ~~
Under the streetlamp
the two begin to shimmy—
God, how their loins ache!
~~ ~~ ~~
Into your poem
write something about spangling
and bronze temple bells.
~~ ~~ ~~
For the time being,
let cacophony soothe you—
wilding lullaby.
~~ ~~ ~~
Among the lucky
are those who have not been shelved
because they are old.
~~ ~~ ~~
Raise your lamp, my love,
even though your left arm aches
and the cure is death.
~~ ~~ ~~
To confront winter
you need the coda of spring—
a whiff of lilac.
~~ ~~ ~~
I asked the olive
for some ethereal oil—
she shrugged off her fruit.
~~ ~~ ~~
Follow the pigeons
and their abstract reasoning?
I think not, thank you.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Sunday Whirl, Anniversary Wordle
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More We Write Poems: NaPoWriMo #22
A Whirling Baker’s Half-Dozen
(Each haiku or senryu below begins with a phrase taken from Carl Sandburg’s “Many Hats.”)
The wind has a song
richer than buckwheat honey
spread on thick brown bread.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Across the desert
a forceful wind is roaring—
only sands rejoice.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
We will give a name
to all things sweet and fragrant—
try not to lose hope.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
The broken pieces—
push them all out of your way
and build something new.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
You can see her bones
and how flexible they are—
grind them into bread.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
I met four people,
dramatic in their smallness—
they looked just like me.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
I saw a blackbird
but he did not glance at me—
wingtips smeared with stars.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More We Write Poems: NaPoWriMo #15
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 52
More The Poetry Pantry #97
richer than buckwheat honey
spread on thick brown bread.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Across the desert
a forceful wind is roaring—
only sands rejoice.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
We will give a name
to all things sweet and fragrant—
try not to lose hope.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
The broken pieces—
push them all out of your way
and build something new.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
You can see her bones
and how flexible they are—
grind them into bread.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
I met four people,
dramatic in their smallness—
they looked just like me.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
I saw a blackbird
but he did not glance at me—
wingtips smeared with stars.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More We Write Poems: NaPoWriMo #15
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 52
More The Poetry Pantry #97
A Whirling Half-Dozen
(Seven more haiku and senryu with the rest of the Wordle words will follow later this morning.)
seven worshipers
coming to exchange their bread
for the flesh of Christ
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Speaker of the Word,
tell me how you blend the sounds
to bring forth new life.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
How could I forget
the energy that drove me
dancing down the lane?
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
She can do nothing
without the tricks in her bag—
what will she grab next?
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
I tell her to leave—
she turns and spits flames at me,
charring skin and bone.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
sweetening the air
with her clover-blossom breath—
Bee Maiden singing
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More We Write Poems: NaPoWriMo #15
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 52
More The Poetry Pantry #97
coming to exchange their bread
for the flesh of Christ
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Speaker of the Word,
tell me how you blend the sounds
to bring forth new life.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
How could I forget
the energy that drove me
dancing down the lane?
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
She can do nothing
without the tricks in her bag—
what will she grab next?
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
I tell her to leave—
she turns and spits flames at me,
charring skin and bone.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
sweetening the air
with her clover-blossom breath—
Bee Maiden singing
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More We Write Poems: NaPoWriMo #15
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 52
More The Poetry Pantry #97
An Easter Whirl
Each haiku or senryu below begins with a five-syllable phrase taken from the Gospel of John, Chapter 22 (Revised Standard Version), and includes one of this week’s Wordle words.
I have seen the Lord
spiked hand and foot to the cross—
bent, broken, bleeding.
~~ ~~ ~~
I see in his hands
clotted blood and shattered bones
where they drove the nails.
~~ ~~ ~~
While it was still dark,
Mary, drunken with sorrows,
stumbled to the tomb.
~~ ~~ ~~
Look into the tomb
where the faithful buried him—
something has gone wrong.
~~ ~~ ~~
Mary stood weeping,
praying dusk would come again
with its healing balm.
~~ ~~ ~~
Jesus said to her,
Why are you still staggering
under waves of grief?
~~ ~~ ~~
Why are you weeping?
Have you forgotten the songs
we sang by the sea?
~~ ~~ ~~
Do not be faithless,
although the very marrow
freezes in your bones.
~~ ~~ ~~
Those who have not seen
faith and doubt mate like lovers
will not understand.
~~ ~~ ~~
Other disciples
may not share your destiny—
still they follow me.
~~ ~~ ~~
When they saw the Lord,
they wanted the whole story—
he picked up his flute.
~~ ~~ ~~
I do not know where
addiction begins or ends—
but I know the Christ.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More We Write Poems: NaPoWriMo #08
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 51
More The Poetry Pantry #96
spiked hand and foot to the cross—
bent, broken, bleeding.
~~ ~~ ~~
I see in his hands
clotted blood and shattered bones
where they drove the nails.
~~ ~~ ~~
While it was still dark,
Mary, drunken with sorrows,
stumbled to the tomb.
~~ ~~ ~~
Look into the tomb
where the faithful buried him—
something has gone wrong.
~~ ~~ ~~
Mary stood weeping,
praying dusk would come again
with its healing balm.
~~ ~~ ~~
Jesus said to her,
Why are you still staggering
under waves of grief?
~~ ~~ ~~
Why are you weeping?
Have you forgotten the songs
we sang by the sea?
~~ ~~ ~~
Do not be faithless,
although the very marrow
freezes in your bones.
~~ ~~ ~~
Those who have not seen
faith and doubt mate like lovers
will not understand.
~~ ~~ ~~
Other disciples
may not share your destiny—
still they follow me.
~~ ~~ ~~
When they saw the Lord,
they wanted the whole story—
he picked up his flute.
~~ ~~ ~~
I do not know where
addiction begins or ends—
but I know the Christ.
© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More We Write Poems: NaPoWriMo #08
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 51
More The Poetry Pantry #96
