of juicy watermelon
ripe and red and sweet
stepping back quickly—
a rattler ready to strike
warns me just in time
a change in her luck
after the sunflowers bloom—
adjusting the light
while using the cutting board
for chopping veggies
Something in the room,
perhaps dust in the closet,
seems to call my name.
arrayed on a stepladder—
Haiku © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #282
More Writers’ Pantry #36 at Poets and Storytellers United
First great change of spring—
the coronavirus spreads
all over the world.
On the patio
six feet away from my friend
we share springtime tea.
first nibble of spring—
a handful of raw almonds
with my morning tea
Through a small window
I watch the first spring robins
foraging for worms.
First possum of spring—
I’m inclined to think he’s dead
till his tail twitches.
Spring sneaks through my yard—
the first blossom’s opening
brings me to my knees.
Haiku © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #259
More Writers’ Pantry #13 at Poets and Storytellers United
Clouds on a winter afternoon, Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
watching the clouds change—
first a dragon, then a witch,
then a gleaming sword
Photo and haiku © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Change”
A rusting tractor, Yuma Conservation Garden, Yuma, Arizona
Three friends at the koi pond, Japanese Friendship Garden, Phoenix, Arizona
a flick of her wrist
to try to attract the koi—
Haiku © 2016 and photo © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Blue Monday
More Carpe Diem’s Summer Retreat 2016: “One with Nature”
Sometimes I think I can teach forever.
Sometimes the dark circles under my eyes
tell me that it’s foolish to try to teach one more hour.
Last night the angels of sleep
interrupted my erotic dream,
laughed at me in my distress!
Now it’s five o’clock Monday morning
and I’m propping up my head with one hand
while writing this lament with the other.
I’d like to forget my lesson plans
and start reading a good book
until I fall asleep again,
waking up around noon
to write fragments of poetry
or a letter to a friend.
Instead, I have to eat breakfast, shower
and change into something suitable for work.
Then I have to drag my weary body
into my classroom where sixteen sullen students
with learning disabilities
will watch me impassively as I try to teach them
about figurative language:
Simi—what? Meta—who? Personifi—why?
We don’t care.
Is their theft of my time worth it,
their theft that leaves me wasted?
Today, probably not.
But tomorrow or the day after
something might change.
And that is the hope that keeps me going,
the grace that spurs me on,
even when all the light is gone
and all I want to do
is crawl back under the covers.