Category Archives: Sunday’s Whirligig

Spring


1
First great change of spring—
the coronavirus spreads
all over the world.
 
2
On the patio
six feet away from my friend
we share springtime tea.
 
3
first nibble of spring—
a handful of raw almonds
with my morning tea
 
4
Through a small window
I watch the first spring robins
foraging for worms.
 
5
First possum of spring—
I’m inclined to think he’s dead
till his tail twitches.
 
6
Spring sneaks through my yard—
the first blossom’s opening
brings me to my knees.

 
Haiku © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #259
 
More Writers’ Pantry #13 at Poets and Storytellers United

Five Haiku: Spring Firsts


1
Spring’s first bitterness—
the church on top of the hill
is consumed by fire.
 
2
First small joy of spring—
at the bike store a young boy
gets a bargain price.
 
3
First Sunday of spring—
a worn, but polished, church bell
rings out loud and clear.
 
4
Spring’s first disaster—
the smoke-drenched walls of the bar
tell a fiery tale.
 
5
Spring’s first conundrum—
stand below the fire station,
tell me what you see.

 
Haiku © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #258
 
More Writers’ Pantry #12 at Poets and Storytellers United

The Cat’s Wisdom: A Haibun of Imagination


Yesterday at noon, when I opened my kitchen window, I looked out toward the clothesline, and saw the neighbor’s scruffy cat. “So, you’ve finally decided to wake up,” I said with a laugh. Instead of purring, the cat began snarling at me. It had my full attention! An intimate talk followed, although I will not tell you what was said. That moment stays between the cat and me, and I will hold onto it forever. Meanwhile, I’ve decided to listen. If anything can keep me from seeking the cat’s wisdom again, then I don’t deserve to hear its voice.


Fog envelops me,
yet I keep moving forward
on the unseen way.

 

Haibun © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #256
 
More Writers’ Pantry #10 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

Anything Is Possible: A Haibun


If I could touch the sound of a dove with my fingertips, I would. But my hopes are dashed; the little songster flees as I draw near. The dove calls again. Surely this time! Stealthily I move forward, but a dry leaf crackles underfoot. Hush now, I say to myself, you’re making too much noise; surely she hears you. But, no, there on a branch of the plum is the dove, and there is her song, pouring from her beak like a silver waterfall. Slowly, ever so slowly, I approach, I reach, I touch the sparkling notes. The dove does not stir, though she knows full well what I’m doing. You doubt my story? In the Age of Donald Trump, anything is possible.

An old Buddhist monk,
who never tells me his name,
visits me in dreams.

 
  

Haibun © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #248
 
More Writers’ Pantry #2 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

The Art of Dying: A Haibun


One day I will practice the art of dying. Darkness will gain the upper hand. No one will ring mournful bells from the church spire to announce my passing. While feuds and wars continue on Earth, I will be at peace, having slipped away into a wild and wonderful place. No more false living for me!

Tattered butterfly,
tell me again the reason
nothing stays the same.

 
  

Haibun © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #247
 
More Writers’ Pantry #1 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

Weird Couplets for Ending the Year


Reasonable weather will come, and it will go.
Why weather does the things it does, who can ever know?
 
  
What’s the point of running when running’s such a pain?
By running from your problems, what do you hope to gain?
 
  
A newborn calf and camel are nuzzling the same cow.
Despite its humpy little back the desert beast knows how.
 
  
A legion of angels, if I should insist,
Will stay by my side until they’re dismissed.
 
  
I have no interest, darling, in dragging out this year.
It’s almost gone—good riddance! Do I make that clear?

 
  

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #245
 
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #9 at Poets United

 

Bleak Is the Stable


Bleak is the stable and frosty the hay;
The old shepherd’s moaning, “Please go away!
Give me some quiet, for that would be bliss;
Messes annoy me—just look at all this!
Some other farmhand should milk the brown cow,
While I feed the lambs, the calves, and the sow.
Yes, I know my part, I know it right well:
Work is my worship, despite the rank smell.”

 
  

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #244
 
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #8 at Poets United

 

Wine into Water


Water heals her wound
the evidence comes
as a scar blossoms in her flesh
like smoke rising
from burning leaves
it has been a long struggle
sometimes she dreams
of lying in her casket
when this nightmare is over
but for now her thoughts are clearing
maybe Jesus is turning her wine
into water

 
  

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #243
 
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #7 at Poets United

 

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!

 
  

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #241
 
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #5 at Poets United

 

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