My neighborhood’s attractive but it’s dense.
We cluster close with separating trees.
So when I heard the noise beyond the fence
and up, where houses rear into the breeze,
I soon identified the source. From whence
the sound emitted, bare from head to knees:
A guy demolishing a sun porch wall,
who wasn’t wearing any clothes at all.
(Ottava Rima)
No sooner did I see some evidence
of gentleness and sensitivity,
than she declined to filterless nonsense,
and soon resumed obnoxiousness to me.
The issue never was intelligence –
a potion mixed of acrid jealousy,
impatient pique and gossip’s pitchy tar
compounded to infect the way we are.
(Ottava Rima)
My big complaint with kids was all their stuff.
I didn’t like to tote the baby gear,
and toddlers never seemed to have enough
unless I lugged the bulk. The 7th year
I welcomed – each could organize the things
required or desired when they left
(the problem then was how they weighed their wings –
their never-emptied packs had too much heft).
Those days are long ago – I’m senior-plus,
and though I have a cellphone, I’m inclined
to put it down and disregard it. Thus,
I tend to miss some calls, and I don’t mind.
But let a grandkid want my voice and face –
that’s when I tote my smartphone every place.
Time’s relative of course, or I should say
experience of time is varied so –
I never sit on stoves – it’s not my way
to want to kiss a pretty girl – although
I understand the concept. What I know
is often feeling crowded by a list,
and then achieving luck or easy flow,
and what oppressed evaporates like mist.
(Huitain)
My 5-year old best buddy spent the night.
Among the stuff he brought – a cuddle friend
as long as he, he toted, bedded, white
and orange, sleepy-faced, and at the end
abandoned, on departure out of sight
a moment, left for me to apprehend.
It’s soft and clean. It shows amusing face.
But it’s a little giant in my place.
(Ottava Rima)
What do you think of
you? Yes? Then why so willing
to be offended?
A little frayed on Friday afternoon,
unraveling a bit, and at loose ends,
unable to relax or to commune
with indignation from my kids and friends,
I forced myself to walk five blocks, and soon
recovered equanimity. The blends
of breeze on quiet gardens soft-erased
unease, reminding me that mood’s a waste.
(Ottava Rima)
She plans to wait, she tells herself, to start
a program of improvement, picks a date
a week away: a number set apart.
She plans to wait.
She’ll do it for reflection’s mirror mate,
and lower blood pressure, and stronger heart.
She’ll leap before the effort is too late.
Accessorized, she even makes a chart,
and picks a favorite pen to tabulate.
The one idea she now thinks isn’t smart?
She plans to wait.
(Roundel)
I didn’t change, but their perceptions did,
now I’m so old nobody’s acting mean.
My parents tried to govern me as kid,
and peers applied full pressure to this teen.
I tried some weak compliance but I failed –
it bored and led to self-dislike’s extreme.
I sought avoiding future guilt, and nailed
the way to immigrate to self-esteem.
“She thinks she knows the answers,” some complained,
and others said the future’d bring me down.
But nothing broke too bad – some feelings sprained
and healed in time to flip a worried frown.
I’d love to credit wisdom, but I see
old age conveys invisibility.
As far as I know no one’s angry at me.
(I haven’t offended, I guess).
I’m not used to blameless (and don’t want to be),
but I sure enjoy the recess.
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