Teacher and Student

She is my age,

a little older maybe.

She writes poems

that I long to memorize,

to know by heart.


Subtlety of sound,

quiet command,

and such clear vision!

Attention, alertness,

sacred wakefulness

to the little felicities

that elude my notice.


Compared to hers,

my competence is halting,

that of the plodding sophomore.


I pace from room to room,

her book in hand.

I read her poems aloud:

dozens of stanzas,

hundreds of lines.


I would beseech her:

Teach me what you know.

Teach me how to listen,

how to see.


Bestow upon me

the grace of your patience;

instruct me in the slow and secret art

of letting a poem grow and ripen.


Direct my mind, my spirit.

Unfold for me 

the intricate mysteries

of your craft, your creed.

Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2018-10-23 at 08:28

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Your poem made me wonder if the student is for real. If she is, I too would like to read her poems. If she is just a figment of your imagination, then you did a fine job of portraying her poetic self in your poem.