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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

Six Jumps

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searching for a house
where three children play jump-rope
till the supper call
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
Loud clashing cymbals—
even the deaf boy hears them
and jumps from his chair.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
a broken platter—
crickets jumping at the chance
for dabs of jelly
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
arthritic creaking
of an old windmill at dusk—
up jumps jackrabbit
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
on a granite ledge
she attempts to justify
her reasons to jump
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
after the frog jumps
another page of haiku
in Basho’s manner

 
Haiku © 2016 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Haiku Horizons: “Jump”

Plotlines

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Midwinter sunrise, Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
 
Each breath-of-a-poem begins with a phrase purloined from A Year in the World: Journeys of a Passionate Traveller by Frances Mayes.
 


~~ 1 ~~
 
on a yellow plate
a stack of toast tall enough
to touch the full moon
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
Against a stone wall
the notes from a temple bell
cling like morning mist.
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
adorned with flowers—
some scarlet, some lavender—
his daughter’s casket
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
a tall limestone cross—
seven dead chrysanthemums
scattered at its base
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
a few splats of rain
and her daydream is ruined—
midsummer morning
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
searching for a house
where three children play jump-rope
till the supper call
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
Under an awning
the desperate lovers touch
and kiss each other.
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
plotting the places
where she might run from his threats—
not enough to count
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
The man who sells forks
hides them from a group on tour—
his suspicious eyes.

 
Haiku © 2016 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 240

How Many Badgers

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How many badgers are wise enough to thrive on city streets?
Can things that hum and swarm in the forest live without tasting blood?
Are there passions storming the heart’s dark corners that no one dares mention?
It is enough, child, to believe in the magic of unicorns.
It is enough, old man, to walk through the desert at night, singing to the stars.
 
 
How will the bat that hangs in the belfry elude the tolling bell?
How will the creature with no legs jump to safety when the owl drops from the sky?
How can Jesus calm the surging sea with words when he has no tongue?
It is enough, child, while I am with you, to keep hunting the elusive unicorn.
It is enough, old man, to sing every night to the stars.

 

© 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #210
 
More Sunday Scribblings 2: “Wise”
 
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 170