Category Archives: 5-7-5
Only a few clouds appear on a brilliant summer day in the Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona.
A padlock helps to keep tools safe in a shed at Robert J. Moody Demonstration Garden, Yuma, Arizona.
Wind, relentless wind!
I’m rattled by the padlock
swinging to and fro.
Shadows line the porches of “Winsor Castle” at Pipe Spring National Monument, Fredonia, Arizona.
With plenty of blue in the foreground and a few stray flecks of red in the background (see those red traffic lights?), a man writes in the courthouse square, Prescott, Arizona. One photo, two memes.
a place to write poetry
on a summer’s day
More Weekly Scribblings #25 at Poets and Storytellers United
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Photo and haiku © by Magical Mystical Teacher
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A labyrinth in Phoenix, Arizona attracts many truth seekers.
A blush spreads across the sky at day’s end in Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, Southern California.
A huge stone nestles in the shade of a pine tree at the Japanese Friendship Garden, Phoenix, Arizona.
It takes tons of discipline just to be a stone,
Sitting in the sun and rain, sitting all alone,
Sitting there ignored and shunned as the years roll by.
Don’t you wish you were a stone? “No, I don’t, not I.”
~~~ ## ~~ ## ~~
When the old stone sings,
even crows in the pine tree
stop wagging their tongues.
Rhyming poem, haiku, and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher
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More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Weekly Scribblings #22 at Poets and Storytellers United
This is my morning ritual, taught to me by the elders—women I met on holy ground. Turning to the east, I place a poem on my tongue, as though it were a communion wafer. Like the wafer melting in a faithful person’s mouth, I know the poem on my tongue will die if I do not sing it aloud, whether anybody hears it or not. So I sing: “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.” Five times I sing the ancient words. And after the fifth time I laugh, for things all round me have joined the song: chickadees and caterpillars; butterflies and blacksnakes; mosquitos, mergansers, and marigolds. Everything with breath is praising the Lord. And the song is glorious.
the old stone Buddha’s broad lap
now holds an ocean.
More The Whirligig #268
More Writers’ Pantry #22 at Poets and Storytellers United
An orange tree stands in need of pruning in a Phoenix, Arizona backyard.
Maple, poplar, oak—
the names of my forest friends
linger on my tongue.
Women keep weeping
because roots of war grow deep,
and church bells go mute.
In the plum tree’s shade
my skinny little daughter
rubs two shiny coins.
Mother Earth, sounding
oddly like my own mother,
says, “Mend your ways, child.”
More The Whirligig #267
More Writers’ Pantry #21 at Poets and Storytellers United