Category Archives: Sunday’s Whirligig

The Apartment: a Fictional Haibun


Until I rented this apartment (pink flamingos flank the door!), I had to walk up three long flights of stairs. Now I’m on the ground floor, and even have a little kitchen garden, where I grow basil, chives, and parsley. I’ve squeezed in one tomato plant and one pepper. After supper each night, I set aside my sorrows (who knew that life could be so difficult?), and pore over maps of far-off places, dreaming of cruises that last for years, not weeks. Could there be a better way to spend my twilight days?

 

Burn down, white candle,
veer off course, distant planets—
my wineglass is full!

 
  

Haibun © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #231
 
More Poetry Pantry #493 at Poets United

In the Riverbed


In the riverbed I listened while the fishes swam and spoke;
The tales that they were weaving made me want to have a smoke
Of something much more potent than a Winston or Pall Mall,
But the room beneath the water had no butler and no bell.
Thus I could not call for hashish, so I tried to calm myself
By burning fragrant incense that I found upon a shelf.
The smoke set me to dreaming, and my arms fell limp at last,
I felt empty as a daydream from my mother’s distant past.
I fear you won’t believe me, nor the story that I tell,
So here’s the final word, my friends: I bid you all farewell.

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #230
 
More Poetry Pantry #492 at Poets United

Bring Me a Poem


Bring me a poem from somewhere, bring me a poem well done.
I hope it’s about the woman, folding her shirt in the sun.
Let her be standing and watching the fox with the crooked grin,
While saying, “Nothing’s the matter that cannot be cured by sin.”
She hands her shirt to the vixen, still grinning there in the sun,
Wondering why she bothers to do work that is never done.
This is a poem from somewhere, perhaps from the watercourse,
A poem no person can sing right, only the spotted horse.

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #229

Welcome Every Word


Face the other way and write, write these words down fast:
Seizes, eases, water, gathers; then, write current last.
 
Other words than these might do, or possibly, might not.
Thus be ready always, friend, to change your poem’s plot.
 
In pursuit of poetry, you take what fate doles out.
Welcome every word’s arrival with a joyful shout!

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #228
 
More Poetry Pantry #491 at Poets United

Love Gave Up


Dark and light spoke fragrant things,
Gardens gathered strength by night;
Love, though fragile, sprouted wings,
Crying out as it took flight.
 
Fighting chance? Oh, love had none!
Hearing that a storm would pass,
Blotting out the noonday sun,
Love gave up—alack! alas!

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #227
 
More Poetry Pantry #490 at Poets United

In a Creative Fashion


In a creative fashion I was cutting film with knives
By the road to a location that was littered with beehives.
’Twas a scene from the Inferno (what I’m telling you is true),
With a backdrop that was bursting into flame—or was that you?
Bystanders taking pictures to upload to Instagram
Watched in admiration as the river reached the dam
And pulverized the concrete to a billion little bits,
And then continued onward with neither starts nor fits.
It’s time to end this story, it’s getting much too long,
And turning into something besides a simple song.
You’ve read this far with pleasure (at least I hope that’s true),
But now I’ll take my leisure and say goodbye to you!

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #226
 
More Poetry Pantry #489 at Poets United

Send Me Silver Messages


Send me silver messages on wings of bees or bats.
Send them to the sad café, where I wear many hats:
Baker, barber, barkeep—even chairman of the board;
Table number three is mine, beside the safety cord.
 
Also in the library, where dancing Buddhas shine,
You may find me barely sober (I’ll be drinking wine).
Remember now, for safety’s sake, parking’s not allowed
Near the curb, or where bad news is breaking to the crowd.
 
If you can make some sense of this, you’re better than I am;
Farewell, dear friends, my journey starts—I’m off to Vietnam!

 
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #225
 
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Safety”

Can Poetry Happen?


Can poetry happen with words such these:
Impossible, pointer, jump, muscle, and please?
 
Or how about glancing and frantic and score?
Will you employ them, or show them the door?
 
And think about darker, hang, balance, and catch—
If you can’t use them, boy, you’ve met your match.
 
Skilled poets will use every word that they’re dealt;
They’re not fragile snowflakes that dog’s breath will melt.

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher

They Gave Me Words to Work With


They gave me words to work with,
I knew not what to do.
The words were fried and swirling,
Lips, chicken, certain, stew.
 
I looked at my reflection,
While writing couplets down;
I looked not like a poet,
But like some silly clown.
 
The more I wrote, I hungered
To write some lasting stuff;
Then I threw my pen away
And shouted, “That’s enough!”
 
This lull in fevered writing
Will give me time to think
Of how to spread my table—
Forget the pen and ink!
 
I’m grateful that my table
Holds something that tastes sweet,
For writing leaves me famished,
And now it’s time to eat!

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher

If You Dance


If you dance, you’ll need some salt.
Tumble down into the vault,
Where the salt is mixed with wind—
No, my dear, it’s not been tinned!
 
Best to take the salt at once,
Lest you turn into a dunce,
Crying with the living dead,
Who do not care what you’re fed.
 
Still, the best is yet to come:
See the dead man bind the drum
To his forehead with a string?
And you thought it was just bling!
 
Do not dread what is to come;
Though the dead man beats his drum
At least he’s not beating you!
All is well, and this is true.

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #216