Blog Archives
Haibun: Braiding Stories
Among the flowers and grasses, tiny yellow-and-brown things with wings land and take off, take off and land. Should I be worried that I do not know their names? I lift one of the things from a flower stained with its excrement—so small to have made such a big mess! Looking at this nameless thing strips me of all notions of superiority. I know that the day is coming when my own stains will be concealed by the undertaker’s art. But that day can wait. I still have stories to braid.
A woman sleeping
on a green park bench wakes up,
stretching and yawning.
Birds, Songs, and Longings
1.
As we near the lake,
geese arc over the water,
honking a greeting.
2.
Settling on her nest
at the water’s edge, a duck
keeps her egg clutch warm.
3.
Rippling mountain stream,
who composed the song you sing?
Surely not the crow!
4.
Drifting and gliding
over the ocean’s surface,
seagulls hunt for fish.
5.
Midwinter longing—
if I had wings like a dove,
I’d fly far away.
More The Whirligig #307
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Writers’ Pantry #59 at Poets and Storytellers United
An Easter Story
This is an Easter story, a Passover story, an anytime-you-need-to-practice-gratitude story. Once upon a time there was a butterfly who had no wings. She could not fly from here to there, but had to wait for the wind to shake her loose from one flower and carry her to the next. One night she had a dream: She was transformed! She had wings! And the best part? She woke from her dream to find that it was true! She could fly on her own from blossom to blossom! She began to breathe a prayer: “Spirit of wonder! Spirit of love! Thank you for my new life. I will cherish every moment of it, even when my wings become faded and tattered.”
Why are you waiting?
The road your grandmothers walked
is calling your name.
More The Whirligig #261
More Writers’ Pantry #15 at Poets and Storytellers United
Send Me Silver Messages
Send me silver messages on wings of bees or bats.
Send them to the sad café, where I wear many hats:
Baker, barber, barkeep—even chairman of the board;
Table number three is mine, beside the safety cord.
Also in the library, where dancing Buddhas shine,
You may find me barely sober (I’ll be drinking wine).
Remember now, for safety’s sake, parking’s not allowed
Near the curb, or where bad news is breaking to the crowd.
If you can make some sense of this, you’re better than I am;
Farewell, dear friends, my journey starts—I’m off to Vietnam!
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #225
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Safety”
The Filling
Underneath a palace table hungry dogs eat husks and wings;
Even twilight does not daunt them when the regal peacock sings
Songs of anger, songs of yearning, songs of drawing forth a knife—
Runic songs that bid the Presence come as fire to be our wife.
See, she vanquishes injustice! See, she turns things upside down!
Then the fiery Presence fills us, and at last we wear her crown!
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
Perhaps
Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
Perhaps a blackbird
has enough strength in its wings
to bring back the clouds.
Haiku and photo © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More SkyWatch Friday
More Shadow Shot Sunday 2
Faraway
In the foreground, an ironwood tree, Sonoran Desert, Maricopa County, Arizona
wilderness morning—
how the faraway mountains
tug at the crow’s wings
Haiku and photo © 2016 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More SkyWatch Friday
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Carpe Diem’s Summer Retreat 2016: “One with Nature”
Restless
Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
seven lost blackbirds—
none of them knows the reason
for their restless wings
Haiku and photo © 2016 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More SkyWatch Friday
More Poetry Pantry #309
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
Thunder
the shadows lengthen
a butterfly lifts its wings—
afternoon thunder
Text and photo © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Carpe Diem: “Basho’s ‘Butterflies'”
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
Butterfly
“I hear America singing,” Walt Whitman wrote, “the varied carols I hear.”
I too hear singing, but instead of coming from throats of carpenters, masons or boatmen, it comes from sky and star and stone. It comes from weeds and wind and wild things. It comes from crow and cricket and cottonwood. It is the singing of the Desert Southwest, and like the Siren songs that seduced Odysseus and his companions, I cannot ignore it.
I hear it as I help a student proofread her essay. I hear it while I confer with a parent about his son’s behavior. I hear it 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.
the shadows lengthen
a butterfly lifts its wings—
my house is too small
Text and photo © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Macro Monday 2
More I Heart Macro at Shine the Divine
More Carpe Diem: “Kala Ramesh’s ‘Taking Flight'”
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