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Haibun: Some Wild Thing

Some wild thing roves outside my door. It always comes at twilight. It moves stealthily among the shadows, zigzagging, never in a straight line. It is so swift—like a meteor’s flash or the whirling rings of Saturn—that I barely catch a glimpse of it. But I know it’s there—a constant presence as night comes on. Does it mean to harm me or to help me? I’m not sure, so in order to sleep I check the door locks and chains once more.

The Book of Bad Luck—
why do I keep reading it?
I know how it ends.


Haibun © 2021 by Magical Mystical Teacher 


The Art of Dying: A Haibun

One day I will practice the art of dying. Darkness will gain the upper hand. No one will ring mournful bells from the church spire to announce my passing. While feuds and wars continue on Earth, I will be at peace, having slipped away into a wild and wonderful place. No more false living for me!

Tattered butterfly,
tell me again the reason
nothing stays the same.


Haibun © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #247
More Writers’ Pantry #1 at Poets and Storytellers United


I almost made it to the park

I almost made it to the park,
the one smelling like an
untamed jungle,
where wild things rub
against rough trees,
leaving little tufts of fur
clinging to the bark.
I almost made it to the park,
but the spirit of the night
nudged me toward ten
thousand constellations
rumbling through the sky,
and I could not help
but take two others with me,
strangers in the flesh,
but kindred spirits,
and we watched
Cassiopeia’s Crown
crumble into dust.


Poem © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #134
More Poetry Pantry #376 at Poets United


A dry wash in Apache County, Arizona

“I hear America singing,” Walt Whitman wrote, “the varied carols I hear.”
I too hear singing, but instead of songs coming from throats of carpenters, masons or boatmen, I hear the songs of sky and star and stone. The songs of weeds and wind and wild things. The songs of crow and cricket and cottonwood. All these songs come from the high desert, and like the Siren songs that seduced Odysseus and his companions, I cannot ignore them.
I hear them as I help a student proofread her essay. I hear them while I confer with a parent about his son’s behavior. I hear them while I am grading papers.
At day’s end, I slip into comfortable clothing and walk into the nearby wilderness. The stones and weeds and dust greet me with rejoicing. They knew I would come.


a cricket chirrups
three stones confer with the wind—
my house is too small

Revised haibun © 2016 and photo © 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Poetry Pantry #323 at Poets United


Apache County, Arizona


somewhere a snowfall
serving hunger to wild things—
a waxwing falters

Haiku © 2015 and photo © 2011 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More SkyWatch Friday
More Carpe Diem: “First Snow”
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon


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Summer dawn, Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona

Where do they come from,
as ghosts at the break of day,
these wild mists rising?

Haiku and photo © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Our World Tuesday
More Carpe Diem: “Japanese Long Poem”


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Forgotten garden gloves, Rancho Los Alamitos, Long Beach, California

addled gardener
dropping her gloves in the path
as the wild goose calls
~~ ~~ ~~
gloves—no hands to fill them

Text and photo © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Six-Word Saturday
More Shadow Shot Sunday 2
More Carpe Diem: “Basho’s ‘To Hear the Wild Goose'”

Stripping Flesh from Bones

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~~ 1 ~~
What am I to do
with this blank sheet of paper
and an empty pen?
~~ 2 ~~
A dream at midnight—
someone mumbling Basho’s name
imitates a frog.
~~ 3 ~~
three clay pots—
white chrysanthemums
in full bloom
~~ 4 ~~
three stolen plums
stuffed in his left pocket
to eat later
~~ 5 ~~
wild roses
blooming on roadsides
in Georgia
~~ 6 ~~
She speaks in tongues
that no one understands
except her god.
~~ 7 ~~
lying down to sleep
in different beds each night—
her long loneliness
~~ 8 ~~
powers of darkness
gathering near the hedgerow
disguised as egrets
~~ 9 ~~
As the signpost burns,
I take off my tattered shoes
to walk barefoot home.
~~ 10 ~~
at my journey’s end
laying down my faithful staff
to take up a cross
~~ 11 ~~
stripping flesh from bones
through every kind of weather—
Dr. Death at work
~~ 12 ~~
Beginnings are hard—
ask the chick trapped in the shell
or the child in school.

© 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Poetry Pantry #244
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 204


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Ocotillo branches, Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, Southern California

wild and thorny threads—
ocotillo tapestry
woven through the sky

Text and photo © 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Blue Monday
More Carpe Diem: “Tapestry”


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Sundown, Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona

spirits of the wild
rising up to eat the clouds—
this mythical feast

Text and photo © 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More SkyWatch Friday
More Carpe Diem: “Spirits of the Wild”