Category Archives: Sunday Scribblings

Finale

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Abandoned house at dusk, Southern Arizona
 


finale
the failing shadows
then nightfall

 
Text and photo © 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Shadow Shot Sunday 2
 
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To Build a Poem

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To build a poem, you need stones—
some call them words—
and you need the right ones.
Some, like seditious and tremor, are not suitable;
they will crumble in your hands like old mortar—
it’s no use trying to build with them.
Set them aside and choose something else,
something simple, yet sturdy and enduring,
something you will still be proud to hold
twenty or fifty years from now.
Choose words of granite.
 
In building a poem, you undertake a sacred task,
let no one hinder you;
no stigma can be attached to those who choose
each word with care.
Remember: The nether regions are filled with those
whose work is shoddy and sporadic—
cast in plaster, not carved in stone—
be not one of them.
 
Pledge to me—or to yourself, at least—
that you will not enmesh your work in words
that waste away to dust at the merest touch,
but that you will choose words that dance and chant and sing of all that is holy.
Then you will be able to show us the single tuft of grass gracing the desert wash,
and the fire of mercy blazing down from ten thousand-thousand stars.

 
 

© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Sunday Scribblings: “Poem”

Fables

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Mourning doves insist
that galaxies are fables,
trees alone are real.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
If the boat I love
sails beyond our galaxy—
oh, stop this fable!
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
Only seven days
till this fragile galaxy
becomes a fable.

 
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Carpe Diem: “Galaxy”
 
More Sunday Scribblings: “Fable”

Myth

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Southern Arizona
 


the myth that teaches
fences must be beautiful—
wrens dismiss the notes

 
Text and photo © 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More SkyWatch Friday
 
More Ein Stück Himmel
 
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More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon

Three Sparks

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Dying spark of hope—
melancholy settles in,
nibbling at my soul.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
So many stories
begin with a spark of grief—
Tolstoy understands.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
I dream of the one
whose basket is filled with sparks
gathered from the hearth.

 
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Sunday Scribblings: “Spark”

The Old Woman

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On Sunday morning
the old woman eats apples
and toast for breakfast.
 
In church on Sunday
the old woman hears stories
that disturb her peace.
 
Sunday afternoon,
guided by seven spirits,
she begins her search.
 
In a pile of claws
the old woman looks for clues
to the weird stories.
 
She fondles the claws,
and three of them speak to her
in wise, not rash, words.
 
“After this Sunday,
you will become an exile,”
the threesome tell her.
 
“With stone for pillow
and swirling stars for cradle,
you will be content.”
 
Peering past Sunday,
the old woman smiles to see
the secret revealed.

 
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Sunday Scribblings: “Bio”
 
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Holyseed

Photobucket
Burs, Riverside County, Southern California
 

holyseed
bursting in my heart
to fullfruit

 
Text and photo © 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Sunday Scribblings: “Full of”
 
More September Heights 2013: “Holy”

Voices

Mystery
Dusk, Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
 


Deep desert silence—
struggle to hear the voices
muffled by the earth.

 
Text and photo © 2011 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Haiku Heights: “Silence”
 
More Sunday Scribblings: “Silence”
 
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More Straight Out of the Camera Sunday

Searching

Dawn
Daybreak, Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
 


In silence the sun
sniffs at an old saguaro,
searching for a song.

 
Text and photo © 2011 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Blue Monday
 
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Drought

Tiny chapel, Yuma, Arizona

Wayside chapel near Yuma, Arizona
 


Summer’s drought deepens—
parched souls gather here, praying
to blush green again.

 
Text and photo © 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Straight Out of the Camera Sunday
 
More Sunday Scribblings: “Drought”
 
More Haiku Heights: “Green”
 
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