~~ ~~ 1 ~~ ~~
Observe the maggots; climb the stairs;
Smell the coffee; ignore grey hairs;
Your cup is full, you need no more—
Go forth in peace, and close the door.
~~ ~~ 2 ~~ ~~
Enough is enough, fool on the hill;
Hush all your babbling, and just be still.
~~ ~~ 3 ~~ ~~
The one who leaves will return,
Having seen the mountain burn,
And the crocus will rejoice
When it hears the master’s voice.
~~ ~~ 4 ~~ ~~
Neck and neck the horses run,
Uphill, downhill, just for fun.
Poems © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #173
More Poetry Pantry #414 at Poets United
Fall foliage (2016) in Oak Creek Canyon, Sedona, Arizona
poring over photographs
from a year ago
and wondering if the leaves
will turn vermilion again
Photo © 2016 and tanka © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Memories”
Colorful aspen leaves, Lockett Meadow Campground, Coconino National Forest near Flagstaff, Arizona, autumn 2016
Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona
Cottonwood leaf in autumn, Apache County, Arizona
Wayside wildflower, Northern Arizona
essence of daylight
nestled in fragile petals
and serrated leaves
Haiku © 2016 and photo © 2011 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Carpe Diem’s Summer Retreat 2016: “One with Nature”
Autumn leaves, Northern Arizona
freshening the graves
blanketed by crimson leaves—
last chore of autumn
Haiku © 2015 and photo © 2011 by Magical Mystical Teacher
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.