Category Archives: The Whirligig
Haibun: Bathing the Turtle
Sheltered by a stand of willows, I watch a young boy giving his pet turtle a scrub in the pond. Obviously this turtle’s well cared for, and no disease will carry it away. Such empathy! I fight the urge to cry out, “What a great kid!” If only I had some flowers to leave to show my appreciation for this boy’s tenderness. But I must go. Thankful for this little diversion from the day’s bad news, I turn toward home. It’s a long walk. If I’m lucky, I’ll get there before dark.
All my bitter tears
vanish in a single note
from the blackbird’s throat.
We Strained the Honey
We strained the honey, it flows like light
On our bread’s darkness; we take a bite,
Lost in the glorious mystery
Of wilding sweetness that sets us free.
How precious to set aside our shrugs
Of unbelief and squash them like bugs!
Minds that are closed can open anew;
Eat of our bread now—we break it for you.
Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #285
More Writers’ Pantry #39 at Poets and Storytellers United
Six Shorts
midafternoon snack
of juicy watermelon
ripe and red and sweet
stepping back quickly—
a rattler ready to strike
warns me just in time
a change in her luck
after the sunflowers bloom—
retreating cancer
adjusting the light
while using the cutting board
for chopping veggies
Something in the room,
perhaps dust in the closet,
seems to call my name.
geranium pots
arrayed on a stepladder—
summer afternoon
Haiku © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #282
More Writers’ Pantry #36 at Poets and Storytellers United
Four Haiku
at the water’s edge
the saved wait to be baptized—
old-time religion
shadows by the bridge
sculpted from hollowed-out light—
great blue heron’s cry
feet follow cinders
leading to the temple gate
a place of great grace
fingers framed by light
clutching an old rosary
carved of human bone
Haiku © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #281
More Writers’ Pantry #35 at Poets and Storytellers United
Flee From the Kitchen
Flee from the kitchen, live on the porch;
August is glowing hot as a torch.
Cover yourself with rags or with strips,
Drink from a bucket, smacking your lips.
Dream of crisp apples, cinnamon toast,
A knife too dull to carve Sunday’s roast.
As the Earth turns and takes you along,
Make up a ditty, sing a new song!
Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #280
More Writers’ Pantry #34 at Poets and Storytellers United
To Flatten the Curve
To flatten the curve, don’t go anywhere—
Not the hills or the plains; get used to long hair.
Maybe you’ll tango, and maybe you won’t,
But when nighttime comes, don’t go out, just don’t.
Tell your young nephew: “I want to stay here;
It’s safer that way, you know it is, dear.
This won’t last forever, though now it seems black;
But here’s where we are, dear, there’s no turning back.
Let’s brush off our tears, child; now give me your hand—
We’ll pray that this Covid will flee from our land.”
Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #278
More Writers’ Pantry #32 at Poets and Storytellers United
Four Aphorisms for a Time of Plague
1
Unforeseen disasters wait
Just outside the garden gate
2
Pity those who lose their smiles
On the heartless COVID miles.
3
Comfort for tormented eyes
Is what doctors all advise.
4
If you let your lungs get wet,
You may drown in deep regret.
Rhyming couplets © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #277
More Writers’ Pantry #31 at Poets and Storytellers United
Dementia: A Haibun
Tonight my longtime friend will try to explain to me why her dementia (still in the early stages) sometimes makes her incoherent. She’s tried this before. She knows that halfway through her explanation she will find words getting harder to form, and she will quit in mid-sentence. She doesn’t want me to give advice. She just wants someone to listen, someone like me.
Midsummer mishap—
I stumble on the pathway
leading to the gate.
More The Whirligig #276
More Writers’ Pantry #30 at Poets and Storytellers United
Intimations of Mortality
What you’ve stolen fades away,
Nothing made of gold can stay;
All your silver turns to brass,
All your diamonds into glass.
Look at your reflection fair
In the mirror hanging there;
Peer again, though, and you’ll see
You’re laced with mortality.
Cruel payment’s coming due;
You will have to pay it, too.
All the games you like to play?
Death will snatch them clean away!
Until then, however, know
That you’re free to come and go,
Doing what you like to do—
But on Judgment Day, you’re through!
More The Whirligig #275
More Writers’ Pantry #29 at Poets and Storytellers United
