Two weeks ago, when first I hurt my foot,
I little thought how long I’d be impaired.
I wore new shoes and carelessly I put
my step so balance went, discomfort flared.
And probably I should have then bewared
and stopped my forward motion, sat a spell.
But I walked on (as if 15, I dared).
I paid for that – my foot is still unwell.
(Huitain)
I taught a roommate how to binge on food
when I was 17. We walked around
and cycled flavors with an attitude
that we’d amend our ways and diet soon.
As old as 58, I even skewed
to overeat once more before a shift
to moderation, ceding to a mood
rebellious. Such a plan now years confound –
by reflux, bloat and rapid gain endued.
(Magic 9)
Restriction here promotes expansion there,
inducing mindfulness as I adjust.
No driving means inhaling more fresh air.
Eschewing meat necessitates some thought
about the way I buy and order fare.
And taking time away from screens and phone
enheartens me to amplify the care
of me, to try the methods undiscussed
when I’m allowed to wander anywhere.
(Magic 9)
Suspecting it when I was yet a youth,
the years of college formed the certainty:
critique contains few instances of truth –
coincidence is common – one can see
significance in number, or can be
convinced with tint or tone, by phrase and word.
The Internet now spurs – velocity
and breadth are amplifying the absurd.
(Huitain)
He says his ego died but that’s a lie.
He claims he’s not depressed – we don’t see how
that statement can be other than a try.
He’s prompt to self-aggrandize even now,
and though the damage showed him how to cry,
his posture doesn’t stop attempts to bow.
But sadly those direct his eyes to see
his feet, and not his anguished family.
(Ottava Rima)
A 20-something in our H.O.A.
reported someone planting in the yard.
In fact the man was weeding – “He’s okay:
if you don’t understand, just disregard.”
And then there’s New York Bill, who hasn’t dwelled
on ground floor yet. He claims he doesn’t know
a garden – horticulture never gelled
for him. He’s clueless how to help things grow.
Incredible? A little weird to hear.
It’s not that I expect a verdant thumb.
But all the ignorance they volunteer
appears to me an overdose of dumb.
How many skills can humankind forget?
The problem may not be the Internet.
This path unrolls beneath my sandaled feet:
a shaded level ribbon through the poles
of evergreens fern-aproned, clean and neat.
This path unrolls.
I see no vehicles. I pay no tolls.
The view includes no asphalt or concrete.
The earth feels almost tender to my soles.
Except for birdsong silence is complete.
My eye’s my only lens, my only goals
are taking in all senses of retreat.
This path unrolls.
(Roundel)
I aim to spot Mt. Shasta when I fly
from SFO to PDX, or back.
I pick a starboard window north and try,
or portside when we’re on the southern tack.
If clouds permit there’s candy for my eye –
the peak’s alone – sightseeing has no lack.
With runways closed this time, we flew so near,
the viewing was magnificently clear.
(Ottava Rima)
Of course when I leave home I break routine,
and staying with my kids I go along
with their agenda, witnessing their scene –
a loving fly upon the kitchen wall.
I try to fill my eyes and heart – I mean
to carry home experience of them.
This visit their new custom is a clean
recess from phone. My habit isn’t strong,
but disconnect means here’s no shot to screen.
(Magic 9)
Confusing the birdwatching patriarch name
with Germany’s roadway for speed,
and hearing “gold standard” but in the wrong frame
(“iconic” I thought would succeed),
I started to smile and nodded my head.
I love them but speak differently.
Away from my garden, my bath and my bed,
translating’s amusement for me.
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