Blog Archives
It’s Winter, My Love
A desert family enjoys the cool December weather in this mosaic on a wall in Ajo, Arizona.
It’s winter, my love, keep playing the bones!
Stars o’er the valley are singing to stones.
Keep yourself limber, and shrug off the cold.
Summon your courage, and learn to be bold—
Bold in the barnyard, and bold in the dome,
Bold when you’re far, far away from your home.
I’ll end my song here, and hope that you find
That most folks are true, and loving, and kind.
Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
Frogs
A palm tree near the pond, Yuma Conservation Garden, Yuma, Arizona
Frogs, as I pass by your pond,
show me your beauty.
Come out of the mud.
Taste the clear night air.
Pretend to be stars or moonlight!
Sing to the flashing planets,
sing with your flickering tongues,
sing a song of sixpence,
fill your lungs with spring!
Poem © 2018 and photo © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Shadow Shot Sunday 2
More Sunday’s Whirligig #147
More Poetry Pantry #389 at Poets United
More Shadow Shot Sunday 2
More Sunday’s Whirligig #147
More Poetry Pantry #389 at Poets United
Stars
A Christmas tree ornament in a Yuma County, Arizona church
The tamarind trees
capture stars in their branches
and won’t let them go.
~~ ~~ ~~
With a mended broom
she sweeps stars from the carpet,
pins them in her hair.
~~ ~~ ~~
So many stories—
more than the stars in the sky!
Who can tell them all?
~~ ~~ ~~
A spiral staircase—
just what I need to visit
the stars at midnight.
~~ ~~ ~~
The sunny courtyard—
underneath a wooden bench
seven stars huddle.
~~ ~~ ~~
Ignoring the wind,
she makes her way to the stars
and kisses each one.
~~ ~~ ~~
Solitary walk,
the pathway littered with stars—
who will sweep them up?
~~ ~~ ~~
To keep him happy
she stirs stars into his tea
and sings lullabies.
~~ ~~ ~~
We are clothed and fed
by stars dressed as grandmothers,
aunties and uncles.
~~ ~~ ~~
I have no father,
but my mothers are the stars,
nursing me with fire.
~~ ~~ ~~
Some fabulous bird
with seven stars in its beak
taps at my window.
~~ ~~ ~~
On the laundry line
she hangs seven stars to dry
and they wink at her.
Haiku and photo © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Poetry Pantry #387 at Poets United
At your touch
at your touch on this cold night
I lean into your hair
which smells of moons and stars
gratefully inhaling the scent
that makes me tipsy
as a hummingbird
too full of nectar
the faces of our children
not yet born
will glow with wonder
when we tell this story
thirty years from now
and they will tell it to their children
speaking in hushed voices:
how a farmer loved his wife
through sixty years of drought and plenty
while suns and stars and planets
kept whirling round the fields
and wistful neighbors spoke with reverence
of the fertile pair
Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #144
More Poetry Pantry #386 at Poets United
More Sunday’s Whirligig #144
More Poetry Pantry #386 at Poets United
Brown-eyed girl
Detail from a mural in Artists Alley, Ajo, Arizona
A penny for your thoughts,
brown-eyed girl.
Can anyone grow wise
thinking only of the stars?
When shadows nestle in your hair,
becoming bent and crooked—
is that how wisdom begins?
What about the young boy
who loops himself around
the boa constrictor
and survives to tell the tale?
Will you be like him?
Will you have a tale to tell?
How will you begin?
A penny (that’s enough)
for your thoughts,
brown-eyed girl.
Coming Up for Air
~~ 1 ~~
on my homeward way—
sunset pulsing vermilion
atop the mountains
~~ 2 ~~
A talkative guest—
powerless to quiet her,
I gulp my brandy.
~~ 3 ~~
graveyard at twilight
children rolling in the grass
near grandma’s headstone
~~ 4 ~~
up and down the field
a farmer and her husband
sowing dust from stars
~~ 5 ~~
into a furrow
dropping corn seeds at daybreak—
glint in the crow’s eye
~~ 6 ~~
toad in the bean row—
the way it moves at twilight
toward a hapless fly
~~ 7 ~~
a forgotten name
surfacing like a turtle
coming up for air
~~ 8 ~~
on a moonless night
burrowing into her box
the homeless woman
~~ 9 ~~
white eagle feather
floating earthward from a nest
hung where cliff meets sky
~~ 10 ~~
for the mongrel dog
a rub behind both his ears
then a tummy pat
~~ 11 ~~
timeless afternoon
hitchhiker by the highway
waiting for a ride
Poems © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Poetry Pantry #269
More Sunday’s Whirligig #24
Snuggling
Palo verde tree at daybreak, Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
the low moan of notes
coaxing light to come again—
Kokopelli’s flute
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
a handful of stars
snuggling into the treetop
for a long day’s nap
Haiku © 2015 and photo © 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More SkyWatch Friday
More Carpe Diem: “Capricornus”
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
Stones
Prehistoric animal chipped in stone, Painted Rock Petroglyph Site near Gila Bend, Arizona
stones telling stories
in tongues heard eons ago—
stars still know the plot
Haiku © 2015 and photo © 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Carpe Diem: “Karnak”
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
Nap
A deep depression near The Citadel, Wupatki National Monument, Northern Arizona
last days of summer
settling in an earthen bowl
for an ursine nap—
about the dreams to follow
not even stars know the time
Text and photo © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Carpe Diem: “Nap”
More Haiku Horizons: “Follow”
Small Tales
~~ 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
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