Category Archives: Poets United

Three Haiku for Winter

Palo verde tree on a wintry afternoon, Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona.

Winter afternoon—
a nearly empty sky fills
with sudden birdsong.
first winter shower—
milkweed fluff from shattered pods
flying everywhere
Our ancestors knew
how to use needle and thread
to patch a torn sky.

Haiku and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher


Within a tiny shadow great surprises hide.
Come, and I’ll display for you what is held inside.
First, some blackbird laughter, threaded with fine silk,
Then some wine that sparkles, if you don’t like milk.
You’ll also see a comet blazing as it goes,
And something not as fiery: a pale desert rose.
Another thing you’ll find there (keep an open mind):
The deeds of righteous people, generous and kind.
The world holds more surprises than anyone can dream,
And in the darkest places, surprises reign supreme.
What? You don’t believe me? You think that I tell lies?
My advice to you, my friend: Open both your eyes!

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Kiss the Acrobat

Kiss the acrobat goodbye,
Do not be afraid to fly.
Play the right chord, not the wrong;
I will listen to your song
And admire your awesome skill—
Aim for dulcet notes, not shrill!
Test your apron, tie it tight—
Hope your cookies turn out right!
I’ve been missing you a bunch—
Let’s have cookies for our lunch!

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #190
More Poetry Pantry #431 at Poets United

Morning Poem

I sing praise for morning light,
Shining full and shining bright!
Praise for birdsong in the air,
Joy-notes winging everywhere!
Praise for leaf and twig and stone!
Praise for skin and blood and bone!
Praise for coffee, praise for tea!
Praise for ocean, river, sea!
Praise for rain and praise for drought!
Praise for certainty and doubt!
Praise for things both great and small!
And the One who made them all
Is the One whom I will praise:
Morning, evening, all my days!

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Famine or Feast?

In a little storybook that I read both day and night,
A man heaps feast-food on some plates, but keeps them out of sight.
His wrinkled visage dares to me reach for juice or wine,
But when I do, he slaps me with twisted fishing line.
My luck is next to nothing, I’m down and out, you see;
The table spread before me was never meant for me.
If you have hair, it’s easy to charm the serving-man
Who keeps the sideboard groaning with cake and wine and flan.
But if your hair is thinning and showing roots of grey,
The keeper of the sideboard will swat your hands away.
The moral of my story, if moral there may be:
There’s nothing wrong with hair dye, or using flattery!

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #189
More Poetry Pantry #430 at Poets United

Prayer House

 photo DSC_0038202_zpsqxmb0py2.jpg
Old adobe building, Santa Rosa Plateau Ecological Preserve, Riverside County, California.

little house of prayer
in the shadows of the oak—
come, O Spirit, come

Haiku and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher

Three Prayers for Autumn

God of the kitchen,
may nothing dreadful emerge
from my bubbling pot.
~~ ~~ ~~
God of corn and wheat,
may harvests be abundant
on my little farm.
~~ ~~ ~~
God of stone and star,
may I not forget the ways
that you sustain me.

Haiku © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher

The Sun’s in My Eyes

The sun’s in my eyes, I fear I’ll go blind.
There’s ice in the attic, and I’m of a mind
To look for a world that’s calmer than calm,
Where even the view from the bathroom is balm;
No astral projections, no blood on the floor,
Sweet music is all that I’m looking for.
How fluid is life, how fleeting, yet sweet!
Now that I’m done with this rhyming, I’m beat!

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #188
More Poetry Pantry #429 at Poets United

Old Age

Old age is a neat little trick
For people who never get sick.
But if you’re not well,
Old age can be hell—
As if you were hit by a brick.

Limerick © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher


Write your name outside the box;
Help your neighbor mend her socks.
If you use your white paint first,
Things will go from worse to worst.
Anything on page sixteen
Will remain, by Jove, unseen.
Sentences are like a thread
Leading to the living dead.
Letters written by one’s hand
Are most certain to withstand
All the ravages of time,
Quite unlike this awful rhyme.

Poems © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #187
More Poetry Pantry #428 at Poets United