Returning after dark the other night,
my caution and alertness was increased.
I waited for a bus in scattered light
from shop fronts and sparse traffic, yearning east
and watching idlers, drivers in my sight
in neutral, males unmoving not the least,
without an inkling I’d compose this poem
in gratitude I made it safely home.
(Ottava Rima)
Described as being brave, the hero said
she really didn’t feel she had a choice.
She paused to let another act instead,
but no one stepped ahead. She heard no voice
beyond her own say necessary verbs.
There wasn’t any time to hesitate.
Need needs be met, for otherwise disturbs
the soul and sends the sense of self toward hate.
Somebody had to think like an adult.
The kids were petulant, the exes sick
with bitterness. For growing to result,
for happiness to kindle from that wick,
then one at least must rise to meet a call
that isn’t fun or comfortable at all.
Now I can tell you’re irritated too –
you wisely try to alter how we speak.
But saying “I won’t go there” will not do,
unless you modify your own technique
of blurting statements generating pique
or begging a response that won’t concur.
We’re on the phone – you don’t throw out a slur –
but what’s “I find that interesting” to mean?
I can’t decline to speak and won’t demur.
We’re slogging in a fatuous routine.
(Dizain)
Perhaps a shrinking future answers why,
but excesses in which I once indulged
no longer beckon me to gratify
my appetite for munchies or for drugs.
Aware I have less time to modify
behavior, I’m averse to start anew.
But more than that, the volumes satisfy
me less than once. The truth can be divulged –
good morning beats what binge and spree supply.
(Magic 9)
The first offense was small, but when I tripped
on faulty pavement right outside the store,
the merchant didn’t move – his lips were zipped.
No courtesy or care was offered. More
than that event, they overcharge for sure,
and when I pointed out the price they missed
(three dollars more than marked), they tried to twist
by shift of sign and lying. I don’t like
the way they roll, and now they’re off my list.
I won’t be waiting for another strike.
(Dizain)
Could I be overconfident, like you?
I don’t declare as often, but within
I think I’m strong and special – and it’s true,
an argument won’t likely bruise my skin
(which at near 4 and 70 is thin).
There’s much that I am not proficient at,
big skills on which I cannot hang my hat,
and though I value gifts as much as smarts,
like you my head is brainy and not fat.
I pride myself on my conceits and arts.
(Dizain)
The noise I noted while abed last night
commanded eyes above to a raccoon
upon the skylight glass – she caught my sight
and made me glad I didn’t hear her soon
within my roof. The musk in morning light
is outside; something sprayed but I’m immune
in here. The only weird I sense near me?
Recurrence of the blue-light mystery.
(Ottava Rima)
Uncommon email found me yesterday,
that wasn’t either business or retail.
I booted up and saw my screen display
uncommon email.
The correspondence wasn’t boring, pale,
by formula or cluttered with cliche.
My former stepson wrote a loving hail.
The missive stood alone in the array
of worthless words and offers that assail
and beg deletion. I won’t toss away
uncommon email.
(Roundel)
Is she competitive? You ought to know,
who’s been her BFF for 50 years.
In truth her will to fight will ebb and flow,
depending on what candidate appears.
She won’t consider anyone a foe
with whom she opts to spend her days (or years).
How sweet or smart or ornery one’s act
influences her posture. That’s a fact.
(Ottava Rima)
The bins abut the pathway to my home
(the only drawback to aesthetics here),
and I’ve composed more than one pithy poem
about the way they look. They can appear
too stuffed, or situated front to rear.
It’s left to me to haul them more than’s fair.
And with next-door construction edging near,
I have to angle them to make them square.
(Huitain)
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