They’re not what I call nightmares, but they’re dreams
I’d rather not remember when I wake.
I’m not a bit prophetic but the themes
of death or sinking health repel my peace.
An infant drowned, a brother lost, extremes
of fleeting tragedy, including death
that happened 16 years ago. It seems
enough innocuous that I don’t quake,
but rising I’m replaying whispered screams.
(Magic 9)
Our lives are too complex to be reduced
to elegant synopses. Fairy tales
are straight; by myths we all can be seduced.
But black-and-white applied to being fails.
Reality is complicated – loosed
at us in living color. Truth entails
we grant it all its spectra and its twists.
Don’t libel it with slogans or blacklists.
(Ottava Rima)
Persimmon leaves bead
the tips of naked branches
and signify spring.
Those absent minds encountered on the street
are resident in bodies of all kinds,
and they are not aware. I cannot greet
those absent minds.
As if equipped with plugs in ears and blinds
for eyes, all sense devoted to complete
attention on their phones – the tool that grinds
them into zombie walkers, sends their feet
at waver on the pavement. So I find
myself alone among, on home concrete,
those absent minds.
(Roundel)
I think we sense our brains before our hands.
Or maybe that’s just how it felt to me,
for after all, the memory commands
within the skull. As far back as I see
I recollect impressions, thoughts, and sense.
The stimuli would teach and too amuse.
I seemed to harbor some intelligence
that sought to sort and learn and unconfuse.
Deriving entertainment from my head
continues even now I’ve aged to this.
I seem less stimulated though – instead
of filling with excitement, I’ve the bliss
of satisfaction. Maybe what I mean
is serotonin outlives dopamine.
Between the cold and travel, my routine
for daily exercise was put on hold.
And three-week interruptions always mean
a rough return to work now I’m this old.
I woke a little hesitant, and told
myself I’m well enough to ride today.
Reluctance won’t prevail; I’m self-controlled
sufficiently to postpone more delay.
(Huitain)
On normal Wednesdays, I depart my place
from 10 a.m. till after 8 at night.
I daily make my bed – there’s little space
for messiness – my one-room house is tight.
I smooth the covers and I turn to face
outside, away. I come home after light
has gone, and ready bed for my repose.
I wonder then why made was what I chose.
(Ottava Rima)
Our species moribund, the planet ill,
the future’s shape no longer indistinct,
although it may take centuries to kill
us off, it seems civility has peaked.
Now courtesy has tumbled from a hill,
engendering an avalanche of dirt
that buries kindness in a dire spill.
Before humanity becomes extinct,
we’ve just a little age to draft our will.
(Magic 9)
My esthetician recommends I pay
a visit to her once a month (or two).
And though it’s superficial, I display
my face quite frequently, to me and you.
So rising, first I bathe and use shampoo,
and then I walk an hour to her couch,
where I relax, and learn from every cue,
too old for self-neglect, too young to slouch.
(Huitain)
If darkest pre-dawn,
perhaps it will be lightest
right before sunset.
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