Category Archives: Poets & Storytellers United
Delicate Letters
1.
My ribs are branches
on which invisible birds
perch on winter nights.
2.
Enter, acrobats!
Begin your parade through town,
though the north wind moans.
3.
I lower my eyes
when I see the light in yours,
Sister Winter Moon.
More The Whirligig #407
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Friday Writings #61 at Poets and Storytellers United
Shadow Shot Sunday 2: Stones
At day’s end, shadows form around a group of stones in Yuma County, Arizona.
We are not alone—
stars, ravens, and river stones
keep us company.
Photo and haiku © by Magical Mystical Teacher
To link your shadow shot, click on the Mister Linky icon below:
Three Free-Wheeling Haiku
1.
In distress my heart
seems to turn into liquid—
bitter winter draught.
2.
Desperate for wings,
I’ll pay whatever they cost—
my new year’s desire.
3.
Cold-weather longing:
to see Paris glittering
while a freight train moans.
More The Whirligig #405
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Friday Writings #59 at Poets and Storytellers United
Reclaim Life, Sip Tea!
1.
First tea of the year—
on the surface swims a swan,
singing to the moon.
2.
How lucky I am,
in the absence of a lake,
to have new year’s tea!
3.
O swan with hurt wings,
you won’t die, but be revived
by the year’s first tea.
4.
My mood? Indigo,
but only for a moment—
now, some new year’s tea!
More The Whirligig #404
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Friday Writings #58 at Poets and Storytellers United
Shadow Shot Sunday 2: Message of Joy
A message of joy stands out from the shadows surrounding it on an Arizona Christmas tree.
one thin note of joy—
enough to light my darkness
on a winter’s night
Photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher
To link your shadow shot, click on the Mister Linky icon below:
Haibun: Tabanca
“Here, try this word,” my friend says, and gives me tabanca. She says it means missing something beyond words. How does she know of my longing? Even though there are parades and music and family gatherings during the holidays, I ache for something more. How can I describe it? While grocery shopping, I reflect on being a teacher. I wonder if students everywhere will be safe from gun violence. After so many school shootings, it’s hard to know. I move through the store, picking out things I need: sugar from the bottom shelf, cinnamon from the top. My indescribable longing increases. “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!” blares out from the store’s sound system, directing my thoughts back to a baby born in a barn in Bethlehem long ago. Love incarnate, the story goes. Love made manifest in human flesh. A Love that never ends. Could it be Love for which I am longing so deeply that I have no words?
My next-door neighbor
makes his house cozy with lights
for the Holy Child.
More The Whirligig #400
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Friday Writings #56 at Poets and Storytellers United
Fever Dream
1.
In a fever dream
I thought I was a red fish
flirting with autumn.
2.
On a starlit night
a boat floats down the river
skirting chunks of ice.
3.
On one wing an owl
bears the waxing gibbous moon
on this icy night.
4.
With longing I gaze—
a ripening persimmon
tempts me with its flesh.
More The Whirligig #399
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Friday Writings #55 at Poets and Storytellers United
Ordinary Moments
1.
The bread remembers
when it was grain in the field—
autumn abundance.
2.
On my autumn walk
I found a breath the raven
left beside the path
3.
For smudging ourselves,
we gather some mountain sage—
November blessing.
4.
Autumn afternoon—
a story told by strangers
causes me to smile.
More The Whirligig #397
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Friday Writings #53 at Poets and Storytellers United
Sweet
On Dia de Los Muertos, the dead are honored at altars like this one in Guadalajara, Mexico.
Sweet the memories
of those who’ve passed through autumn
to their resting place.
Photo and haiku © by Magical Mystical Teacher
Haibun: The Trip
After my father dies, I make the trip to his house for The Great Cleanup. I wonder how he accumulated so much junk during his lifetime. I open a drawer. Old razor blades. A piece of turquoise. A broken thumb drive—probably filled with the advice that my father liked to give, unbidden. I can see his face: “Listen, child, no one’s going to pull you out of the water. It’s sink or swim. So, you swim, hear?” And then he’d hug me fiercely, as if he’d never let me go. But he did. And here I am.
Autumn’s first nightmare—
all the oceans in the world
shrink into puddles.
More The Whirligig #393
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Friday Writings #49 at Poets and Storytellers United
Magical Mystical Teacher 