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Haibun: Give Thanks


“I’m too tired to be grateful,” I growl, and sip a third cup of coffee. I listen to my watch ticking. I remember the scent of the tangerine I peeled on a long-ago Thanksgiving Day. The citrus oils stung my chapped fingers, making me wince. But that was the best tangerine I have ever tasted. And the longer I live, the more clearly I see that I can choose how my day will go by changing my attitude. “Don’t be fooled,” I say to myself, “gratitude is the path to contentment. Make every day a holy day. Give thanks.”
 

autumn meander—
making my way toward twilight
with a few detours



 

Haibun © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher

 

Six for Sunday


Two blue butterflies
anoint my garden with peace—
sunny afternoon.
 
 
tender stalks of corn
pushing toward the morning sun—
feast for hungry crows
 
 
The longer I sing,
the more this daunting mountain
dwindles to a speck.
 
 
I slide on wet leaves
and my pathway disappears—
autumn’s first mishap.
 
 
On a moonless night
I sink down before the stars,
wounded by their light.
 
 
November evening—
a dove returns to her nest,
cooing one last song.

 
 

Haiku © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #291
 
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
 
More Writers’ Pantry #46 at Poets and Storytellers United

 

The Darksome Poet


What rhymes with blue erasers? Nothing that I know.
Ask the thirty thirsty pencils that live down below.
 
Perhaps the smallest pencil is longer than you think,
And knows the word you’re looking for, written in red ink.
 
I believe that snips and scraps, at least not more than three,
Can be used to slit your throat, or make poetry.
 
I know my tale has ended in a dark and somber way,
But I am a darksome poet, so what more can I say?

 
  
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #215
 
More Poetry Pantry #481 at Poets United

Dark Sayings


Pour out libations of coffee
on the mountain.
Hand the longer straw
to the loser.
Soften tall buildings
with mystical solvent
until they topple.
Put a painting in each hand,
then toss them into the dumpster.
Do you still believe in miracles
after hearing these dark sayings?
How can your heart not be sad?
Even the blackbird is numb.

 

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #148
   
More Poetry Pantry #390 at Poets United

Tales of This and That

 photo IMG_3417_zpsasmupjbc.jpg
Section of a well-weathered wooden wagon wheel, Yuma Conservation Garden, Yuma, Arizona
 
 


  
~~ 1 ~~
  
on a well-worn plank
peppers waiting to be sliced
with a keen-edge knife
  
~~ 2 ~~
  
As winter deepens,
her loneliness grows longer
in the waning light.
  
~~ 3 ~~
  
From a broken plate
the homeless man is scraping
just enough to taste.
  
~~ 4 ~~
  
Everything depends
on music she composes
while making mistakes.
  
~~ 5 ~~
  
Death by cliff or snare—
she imagines her revenge
on him who harmed her.
  
~~ 6 ~~
  
Artists young and old,
create out of this darkness
new and dazzling light.

 
Haiku © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
  
  
More Macro Monday 2
  
More Sunday’s Whirligig #95
  
More Poetry Pantry #337 at Poets United