My buddy started big-kid school last week.
He trotted off without a backward glance.
But he was up before his clock could speak,
and after school his bowels marked his pants
(who’s not since birth endured that circumstance).
He’s brave, and teeming with intelligence,
but probably as nervous as his aunts,
as passionate as we, and as intense.
(Huitain)
Historically, our summer’s always dry.
The sprinklers rise and spray three times a week
at 7 in the morning. That’s when I
stay close to them – their sound is not unique,
but mimics rain on garden plants. The sky
denies us irrigation, fires wreak
us devastating, yet this August twice
we’ve had a little patter, and it’s nice.
(Ottava Rima)
He left her years ago, his final breath
exhaled in mid-October of aught-six.
She’s been an active widow since his death,
who tries to exercise and shop and fix
most any soul she meets. A thing she picks
to focus on, outside her maladies,
the subject bumping books and politics,
is wind each afternoon, and evening breeze.
(Huitain)
You need to tell your mother what you feel.
I see your face and recollect how well
your uncle spoke when he made his appeal.
You need to tell.
I used to rage. You should have heard me yell
when I was middle-aged. My wrath was real,
my love was strong; I felt and couldn’t quell.
But then my darling told me that my spiel
of words hurt more than father-fisted hell.
I had to alter then. I had to heal.
You need to tell.
(Roundel)
A lot of love but too much weariness
I witness while abiding here 4 days.
A dour attitude that would suppress
a little mania. A tiny craze
that may enlarge, in unremitting stress.
The teary eyes, lugubrious displays,
vague fantasies that consequence disrupts,
and not much more before the mom erupts.
(Ottava Rima)
I travel-tweaked my back on Thursday last
(the lumbar left is weak and I am old).
And that was after hoisting weight too fast
(at 18 months, the grandkid’s big and bold).
But now I’m visiting, at rest, in fold
of family, away from all routine.
Discomfort can be managed and controlled
vacationing in someone else’s scene.
(Huitain)
The detail at the bottom of the stair –
a boxy finial on newel wood –
was damaged recently and needs repair.
My brother says the current workmen should
when finished fix the thing – “it’s only fair
to recognize the damage and make good.”
But was it they? That weathered cap was old,
and lately squirrel antics have been bold.
(Ottava Rima)
Returning home at nearly 9 p.m.,
I stopped outside to find my entrance key.
A movement caught my eye – with no “ahem”
I spied an antlered stag observing me.
He paused his dinnertime activity.
We traded looks respecting sight and space.
Then I moved toward my residence, and he
unworried left, unhurried in his pace.
(Huitain)
I knew I’d have to give it up if I lived long enough.
The deprivation must disrupt and moments may be rough.
But any time the urge emerges I will comprehend
the way to old and well diverges from the party’s end.
Two grandmas fell last week and both will live.
The first event appeared to be a faint
and fall to flooring framed to not forgive,
with blood and surgery and more restraint.
The other grandma had no health complaint,
but trying then to aid the family,
she racing tripped on furniture and sprained
a toe, her back, a shoulder and a knee.
(Huitain)
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