Category Archives: Poets United
Changes
On a wintry day in the Sonoran Desert, storm clouds form in the east.
Winter afternoon—
one dove falling from the clouds
changes everything.
Haiku and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher
More SkyWatch Friday
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Changes”
Quirky Couplets
How bothersome it is when flies
Buzz my coffee at sunrise!
If you have a fretful wife,
Be prepared for lots of strife!
Swat the spider, set it free
From its webbed captivity!
A deep hole—imagine that!
Will it fit inside my hat?
My bicycle is looping round and round the park;
Morning, noon, and afternoon—even in the dark!
Roses for the weekend, every weekday too;
Roses, darling, roses—yellow ones for you.
More Sunday’s Whirligig #242
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #6 at Poets United
Blue Monday: Abandoned Motel
Graffiti defaces an abandoned motel north of Flagstaff, Arizona.
Graffiti mars the old hotel,
It’s feeling rather blue.
Is there some way to cheer it up?
I don’t know, do you?
~~ ## ~~
deepening autumn—
the longing of broken things
to be whole again
Rhyming poem, haiku and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher
To share your Blue Monday shot, click on the Mister Linky icon below:
Great Is the Grief of the Grapes
How can the grapes endure such grief?
What forgotten strength contained within
their skins must they summon,
now that the pickers have come with shears
to fill their empty baskets?
They must be aching,
knowing they’ll be tossed in the press
that will crush every drop of life from them.
There’s nothing subtle about destruction.
It doesn’t steal over you
like the fleeting shadow of a wren at twilight,
but lands like a stone on a toe.
Great is the grief of the grapes!
More Sunday’s Whirligig #241
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #5 at Poets United
Awakening
When spring comes again, brilliant blossoms will open at Robert J. Moody Demonstration Garden, Yuma, Arizona.
I dream of blossoms
awakening in springtime—
now a chill wind blows.
Haiku and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher
Vases Made of Mud
Vases made of mud must pass
Quickly through the looking-glass;
They are bouncing with the strain.
The white pitcher groans again
In a rhythm dark and deep
Of a work that will not keep
Till your dallying is done.
See, bright smears of morning sun
Lie heavy on the table!
Sing of them, if you’re able,
Though your tongue may clang like brass—
Do not let this moment pass!
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #240
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #4 at Poets United
Watching
Snow will probably never fall on this Phoenix, Arizona yard.
Watching for winter—
how great my disappointment
when I see no snow!
Haiku and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher
Haibun: Grief Work
My grief over my father’s death has become my life’s work. Some days I drink from a bitter cup. Other days I choose to spread my bread with honey. And sometimes I lay myself down on the anvil of sorrows and let the hammer fall, shaping me as it will. Sheer stubbornness drives me to try to understand why a tear leans into the wind, hoping to dry itself; or why the dead enter our world saying nothing, giving neither comfort nor counsel, but simply watching and waiting. So far, I have failed in my quest, but I will not quit. Stubbornness, remember?
Walking through the woods
on an autumn afternoon—
this is song enough.
More Sunday’s Whirligig #239
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #3 at Poets United
Authenticity
Colorful aspen trees brighten a hillside in California’s Inyo National Forest.
Authenticity:
the aspens do not pretend
to be oaks or pines.
Haiku and photo © by Magical Mystical Teacher
Haibun: Wisdom Is Waiting
I am following a path that leads, they say, to Willow Woman, who stands in solitude. How will I find her? Stooped and ungainly? Or singing songs that she learned from her ancestors? Songs of leaf and twig. Songs of root and branch. Songs of drought and disease. In the absence of answers to my questions, I keep moving, as I have done year after year. My one desire—I have no other—is to see Willow Woman at last, for in her, wisdom is waiting.
Autumn afternoon—
in my neighbor’s tiny yard
one red rose still blooms.
More Sunday’s Whirligig #238
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #2 at Poets United
