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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 Parting


“I know that I will miss you,” he said with a slight shrug.
“But the cat has lost its tail, there’s darkness on the rug,
And cruelty is sport for fools, of which I am one;
Better we should part this day, and let the deed be done.”
 
“I will not discourage you,” she said without a sigh.
“You’ve been just short of horrible in all the years gone by.
You thought that I was fragile, you thought I was a toad,
But I withstood your onslaughts—now go, and hit the road!”

 
Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #194

One thing I ask


One thing I ask:
that I might know true love
before I have no strength,
and the undertaker measures
how long I am, my length,
for the coffin he’s prepared,
from which my waxen face
will stare at those who pass.
Is this desire wrong?
Am I a fool to ask?
It makes me rich to think of love—
thus, I write my song.

 

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #149
   
More Poetry Pantry #391 at Poets United

One More Whirl with Basho

178 photo 178_zps8801f563.jpg
 
Each haiku or senryu begins with a phrase culled from Basho: The Complete Haiku.
 


 
~~ 1 ~~
 
the lingering moon
tests my patience this evening—
my room is too small
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
in a rice paddy
your words coming to fullness
with the harvest moon
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
fading temple bell
the seeker’s anxiety
slips into silence
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
the smell of young grass
untainted by blood and gore
this April morning
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
four gates and four sects
one of them the hospital
at the ocean’s edge
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
to the wooden clogs
in the center of the court
setting up a shrine
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
still served with flowers
rosettes of orange Jell-O
blooming in my bowl
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
how pleasurable
holding three words on my tongue
until they mingle
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
the lay-monk’s thinness—
we know he won’t be with us
after the first frost
 
~~ 10 ~~
 
snow-covered mountains
sharing a meal together
fifty miles away
 
~~ 11 ~~
 
first wintry shower—
fluff from shattered milkweed pods
drifting from the north
 
~~ 12 ~~
 
an early winter
beggars pester passersby
for a few spare coins

 
© 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #218
 
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 178