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The Summer of Braids
This is the summer of braids and bare feet;
We manage somehow to survive the heat.
Maybe some shifts in the shimmering line
Assure us we’re well, and all will be fine.
Maybe it’s magic, and maybe it’s not,
But suddenly things don’t seem quite so hot.
We look in the mirror, knowing we must,
And find we have enough faith to trust
That whatever comes again we can face
As long as our fingers reach out for grace.
Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #279
More Writers’ Pantry #33 at Poets and Storytellers United
Weaver
Navajo loom, Hubbell Trading Post, Ganado, Arizona
on her loom
Navajo weaver
makes magic
Haiku © 2016 and photo © 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
Mask
Section of a mural in San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, México
Jerry Kilbride’s haiku about a wheelchair child inspires me to write a new haiku about a child in a mask:
the wheelchair child
reaches for bubbles
she just blew
~~ ~~ ~~
With her magic mask,
a girl sees fiery comets
whooshing through the streets.
Haiku in bold and photo © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Ruby Tuesday Too
More Our World Tuesday
More Carpe Diem: “Inspired by Jerry Kilbride”
Magic Fields
in the magic fields
a gifted farmer singing
with blue unicorns
~~ ~~ ~~
In the magic fields
intense the desolation
of the muggle’s soul.
~~ ~~ ~~
In the magic fields
rot turns into ripening
at the wizard’s word.
© 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Carpe Diem: “Magic Fields”
More Three Word Wednesday: “Gifted, Intense, Rot”
How Many Badgers
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.
More Poetry Pantry #210
More Sunday Scribblings 2: “Wise”
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 170
7:10 A.M.
Pedestrian footbridge at dawn, Aztec, New Mexico
7:10 a.m.
whores and drunks are sleeping in
last night’s magic gone
Text and photo © 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Friday’s Fences #100
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
