Who’s blocking you from seeing a reply?
Your texts and emails aren’t getting through,
like someone’s sabotaging every try.
Who’s blocking you?
You might adjust your phrasing if you knew,
and maybe then your query would get by.
A guy’d be heard – absurd, and sadly: true.
You delegate to him, and then words fly.
So was it she as gatekeeper, or who?
You’d chill if you could just identify
who’s blocking you.
(Roundel)
I opened lips to give my girl advice,
although she’s grown and didn’t voice request,
and free suggestion isn’t worth its price.
Instead I read the symptoms I was stressed
myself. I’ll wait for her to query twice
but counsel me. The wisdom I expressed?
My game is slow, but I’ll suppress the kvetch,
and use this opportunity to stretch.
(Ottava Rima)
Four mornings watching birds take food outside
some windows that I visit now and then,
have entertained and taught. Identified
by plumage as they flit and light again,
assorted by their size and where stripes narrow,
I know a nuthatch from a finch or sparrow.
Outside the bike shop, waiting in the car,
digesting lunch I gladly paid to eat
(while visiting, 500 miles far
away, where loved ones live and snacks are sweet),
I gazed at scenes unlike the sights my street
affords: a different cityscape than home.
I ventured out and paced 2 dozen feet,
and shot the scenes that illustrate this poem.
(Huitain)
The problem with me is, in order to feel
alive and awake just like I used to be,
I have to advise while I try to conceal
the problem with me.
Though you may accuse me of jerking a knee,
I’m speaking my truth now I live to reveal:
for sure as I breathe, you all need therapy.
You’ll argue I’m strident. I try to be real.
I’m certain if you do the work you will see
I’m right, so refrain from attempts to repeal
the problem with me.
(Roundel in dactylic tetrameter)
Her sister’s plan seems odd to both our wits,
but we decide to live without a man,
so we see strategy that contradicts
her sister’s plan.
Continuing cohabitation’s span
is destined for more punishment, and bits
of bitterness. We’d rather watch a ban.
But we’re for love and what she figures fits.
We’d sooner circle her embracing, than
engage in any argument. For it’s
her sister’s plan.
(Roundel)
We note variety in her and me.
I get impatient when I wait at home.
Her antsiness occurs more publicly,
while waiting for her banker or a friend.
But she’s no issue with late company
to her address – she bides with little tasks.
I think my problem (writ impatiently)
is caused because I’m working on a poem
and need to know what time’s allowed to me.
(Magic 9)
At times the good do bad, an actor said,
and too the bad do good. The script went on.
Those phrases found a home inside my head,
and replay often now the movie’s gone.
That’s wisdom I pray will not be withdrawn,
just as I hope my brain retains this truth –
I can’t be sure tonight will end with dawn,
and I don’t really know my best friend’s youth.
(Huitain)
My brother says my coffee is the best.
It drives his partner crazy when he does.
For sure she roasts fresh beans, and shoots expressed
pure-water steam through grounds to brew her buzz,
while I used staler stuff. My maker was
a careless purchase, seldom washed, you know?
I think my coffee’s excellent because
I dearly and sincerely love it so.
(Huitain)
Two nights ago, I dreamt I missed your call.
I didn’t answer when you phoned at 6
a.m., a time you said we chose (of all
the hours possible, nobody picks
pre-dawn). This morning’s dreaming: I’m asprawl
in phones that look like mine, in random mix.
Attempting to connect before you’re gone,
I’m answering the phones that aren’t on.
(Ottava Rima)
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