The benefits to growing old include
a discount transit pass and Medicare.
But better than both those, I’m now imbued
with new ability to sense my bounds.
I quickly comprehend my attitude;
I know my limits when it comes to love;
and finally, I’m able to conclude
how well or not I feel, and when to spare
my effort, while recovery’s accrued.
(Magic 9)
I used some muscles differently this week.
I altered posture and I changed my twist.
I heard an ancient set of teaching speak
to me, in tones I didn’t let exist
before, before it disappears in mist
of age, when I may grow to be too old,
when I’m immobilized. Now I insist
on effort personal and self-controlled.
(Huitain)
The residence where I spend time
is hosting Covid for some days,
so I elect to pen this rhyme
instead of finding other ways
to afternoon without malaise,
like doing wash or cleaning home.
I’d rather seek a metered phrase.
I’ll sit right here and write this poem.
(Huitain)
Okay so far, and marveling. It’s clear
we all feel well, and that’s a bit bizarre.
Her test is positive, but we appear
okay so far.
We’re careful but we left the door ajar.
At four events we’ve been exposed this year.
We may not merit well, and yet we are.
This time infection filled our atmosphere.
The virus hit her like a wrecking bar
and all of us have hugged her tight, but we’re
okay so far.
(Roundel)
The group I know who took the greatest care
to keep the virus out, has been beset.
They always wear their masks and don’t forget
to sanitize when they go anywhere.
So far just one of four is testing yes,
and isolating at the same address –
the prudent mother, who has often said
in time we’ll all succumb to viral spread.
I wondered – if a coin displayed tail side
a million times you tossed it, does that say
it’s likely to show heads on its next flip?
If 50/50 odds are true, replied
my logic, every throw’s discrete. It may
be tails again. I might not get this grippe.
There lives an old lady alone,
who’s fit for her years, heart and bone.
Her first day of yoga,
like Ticonderoga,
gave victory so far unknown.
My mother tried, when I was young, to teach
me all the manners deemed to be polite.
I wasn’t to allow my talk to reach
religion, or political insight.
If I had nothing nice to say, I might
say nothing, or discuss the temperature.
And though the weather’s now not dull or trite,
I still ignore her reprimands, for sure.
(Huitain)
Perhaps I’ll start to dance again,
or practice yoga now I’ve earned
the time and place to stretch and bend,
the patience that I’ve sorely learned.
I’m in the office once a week.
Perhaps I’ll start to dance again,
at home with time I used to seek –
increase my use of oxygen.
The kids who were my charges when
their parents worked – they’re now in school.
Perhaps I’ll start to dance again
before I dodder, drip or drool.
I’ve learned my way to settle in,
to cultivate a type of zen,
to let the rest of me begin.
Perhaps I’ll start to dance again.
(Quatern)
My love’s comportment won’t embarrass me.
I brim with pride instead of shame, in fact.
Nobody else can share my privacy.
My darling doesn’t do discourtesy,
but flourishes as my ideal of tact.
My love’s comportment won’t embarrass me.
I’d relish what would be reality
if I could meet the partner I’d attract.
Nobody else can share my privacy.
I wonder how more perfect love could be
than what we’d have, that pure and so exact.
My love’s comportment won’t embarrass me.
I’d hurry home to share philosophy,
to open heart-to-heart, to keep our pact.
Nobody else can share my privacy.
We’re not insane. We know a fantasy.
We don’t ignore the way our dreams diffract.
My love’s comportment won’t embarrass me.
Nobody else can share my privacy.
(Villanelle)
Five years ago I volunteered my time
to help the son and spouse with childcare.
I still had opportunities to rhyme
and exercise, exchanging office air
for inside/outside kid activities,
from four months old to walking, talking play.
I got to share in first discoveries
of all the local world, in full array.
An office day and three with family
engaged my weeks until the virus hit.
Then quarantine forced extra time on me,
for language play I found appropriate.
And now the kids are old enough for school,
I’ve even more of leisure to retool.
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