Blog Archives

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

Three Weird Songs


I.
I will sing and laugh at table,
Tell my brother that I’m able
To eat pancakes every day—
Not with centipedes, no way!
 
II.
In the kitchen darker stories
Bloom like fatal morning glories;
Beautiful they are, but cruel,
Deadlier than day-old gruel.
 
III.
From a deep, enchanted well
Draw some water, say a spell
That will change (I know not how)
Donald Trump into a cow.


 
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Fragrance

 photo DSC_0003201_zpsm58rada5.jpg
Cattle Track Arts Compound, Scottsdale, Arizona
 


from one small kitchen
hidden among the shadows
the fragrance of soup

 
Haiku and photo © 2016 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Shadow Shot Sunday 2
 
More Sunday Scribblings 2: “Soup”

Small Tales

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~~ 1 ~~
 
a coatless woman
shivering under the bridge—
the scent of jasmine
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
slices of white bread
arranged on a blue platter—
the homeless shelter
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
memo to herself
scribbled on an envelope—
cigarettes and cream
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
the roadside barber
clipping shaggy pilgrims’ locks
a penny an inch
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
At first light of day
she bows before the mountains
in adoration,
while a dozen cactus wrens
sweep away leftover stars.
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
Time to say good-bye
to birds hidden in the bush—
one is in your hand,
one is nestling in your hair,
one is becoming a star.
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
It is not yet dawn
and already the old shoes
clamor for a walk,
their wrinkled tongues chattering
of paths they took long ago.
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
how the gods play games,
breaking open the bundles
of rye and oat straw,
while the farmer and his wife
take up their lamentations
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
breezy autumn day
tattered prayer flags on a fence
flapping crows away—
farmer’s unspoken longings
for a bumper crop of corn
 
~~ 10 ~~
 
exhausted pilgrim
thinking of another way
to make this journey
so that her threadbare tunic
will last another six months
 
~~ 11 ~~
 
in her small kitchen
a sip or two of cocoa
from a broken cup—
savoring the memories
of more than seventy years
 
~~ 12 ~~
 
one more touch of myrrh
to burn the tip of her tongue
with mortality

 
© 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #262
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #17

Three Prayers

original
 
 


God of the kitchen,
may nothing dreadful emerge
from my pots and pans.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
God of corn and wheat,
may harvests not be hasty
on my little farm.
 
~~ ~~ ~~
 
God of stone and star,
how can I ignore the ways
that you sustain me?

 
© 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Three Word Wednesday: “Dreadful, Hasty, Sustain”