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)
Consuming science fiction as a teen,
continuing till I was 35,
I swallowed Asimov and I was keen
on Heinlein, Dick, and classic H.G. Wells,
LeGuin of course, and Herbert’s thirsty scene.
But latterly I’ve turned to history.
Rereading Austen makes me feel serene.
An optimist who managed to survive,
the past is my anxiety vaccine.
(Magic 9)
I need to slow the pace a bit.
I ought to learn to act my age.
That dash was inappropriate –
I need to slow the pace a bit.
I raced to you and tripped and hit
the floor (the cause? our puzzle page).
I need to slow the pace a bit.
I ought to learn to act my age.
(Triolet)
It never ends – as long as we’re alive
events occur, good, bad, and interesting.
A colleague 10 years over 65
fell yesterday. And that makes everything
we planned to do be tentative, unsure.
We think the cause was fainting after wine
and crashing to her tiled kitchen floor.
Now we await the diagnostic line.
Already she’d diminished at recall.
The dreaded “A” was added to her chart.
But now that she’s sustained this bloody fall,
and though we think she has a healthy heart,
she’ll probably be stuck here till her death.
It never ends, as long as we draw breath.
A first-born 5-year old, with cheekbone bruise
acquired on a Wednesday at his school,
said “I don’t know” when asked – would not accuse
or detail anybody acting cruel.
His folks appeared accepting of each word,
but happily they gave us space to chat.
I told my buddy it would be absurd
to not know how you got a mark like that.
He spoke to me of how his face was wrecked
(another kid engaged in bully shit).
I understood him trying to protect,
but then explained it’s inappropriate
to shield his caring parents from the truth
(remembering my own first-child youth).
That bedtime call we’ve both come to expect
did not go well. Devolving to a bawl,
his parents moved to sternly disconnect
that bedtime call.
I’ve known the boy since he was four months small,
and as his visage crumpled, I felt wrecked.
Aflood with love, I didn’t move at all.
His parents weren’t wrong. I don’t object
to consequence, but sorrow I’d forestall.
We tried again, and managed to perfect
that bedtime call.
(Roundel)
 | sputterpub on Vacuum |
 | Ronald E. Shields on Vacuum |
| sputterpub on About Mom, With Love |
 | groomie on About Mom, With Love |
| sputterpub on No Blocks |
Sputterpub's Blog 