Category Archives: Robert Bly

Whirling with Robert and Me

120 photo 120_zps8be5f126.jpg
The first line of each haiku or senryu comes from various poems in My Sentence Was a Thousand Years of Joy by Robert Bly

~~ 1 ~~
We are still brooding
over the noonday shadow
that eclipsed our lunch.
~~ 2 ~~
Our ancestors knew
how to use needle and thread
to patch a torn moon.
~~ 3 ~~
It is not yet dawn
and already the old shoes
clamor for a walk.
~~ 4 ~~
In a dead man’s shoes
the women are sprinkling salt,
poems on each grain.
~~ 5 ~~
The potato bin
has other plans for winter—
emptiness, perhaps.
~~ 6 ~~
Why does the sleeper
dream of a desert landscape
here in Cozumel?
~~ 7 ~~
the smell of coffee
takes the old man’s breath away—
his trembling fingers
~~ 8 ~~
At any second
gravity may lose its grip
and send us flying.
~~ 9 ~~
The potato fields
sense that winter’s teasing them,
but open their skirts.
~~ 10 ~~
A thousand oak leaves
will not make a loaf of bread
or a jug of wine.
~~ 11 ~~
A year in heaven,
if you have an ass’s head,
is quite long enough.
~~ 12 ~~
Have nothing to say
to the one who sends for you
without a reason.

© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
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Another Whirl with Robert Bly


The first line of each haiku or senryu is taken from “Living at the End of Time” by Robert Bly.

When a train goes by,
bound for Denver or Detroit—
heat and pounding blood!
~~ ~~ ~~
Hearing trains at night,
old men totter to the tracks—
Denver down the line.
~~ ~~ ~~
It’s all right if we
wish that we were somewhere else—
anywhere will do.
~~ ~~ ~~
To baptize the wind,
you will need to find a way
to still its keening.
~~ ~~ ~~
The Baptist has been
using his power again—
freshets of blessings.
~~ ~~ ~~
Pagan ministers
thread needles with golden silk
to suture the sun.
~~ ~~ ~~
At the end of time,
we may find within ourselves
what we were seeking.
~~ ~~ ~~
Is a gift from God
something we pay dearly for?
What do you think, child?
~~ ~~ ~~
We don’t know what the
women are doing tonight
behind the red door.
~~ ~~ ~~
There’s nothing we need
to repair our damaged skirts—
we shall dance unclothed.
~~ ~~ ~~
Say we are living
beyond the reach of iPhones—
will our thumbs survive?
~~ ~~ ~~
For a hundred miles
not a single flower blooms—
desert owl seeks prey.

© 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 80
More The Poetry Pantry #121