Apparently I chose two times to fly
when planes were full but airports had no crowd.
I saw sufficient folks on whom to spy,
but talk and background music weren’t loud.
The weather had some moisture in the sky
but didn’t block the views with too much cloud.
And in between the flights, while I was gone,
the love was good. I call my voyage bon.
(Ottava Rima)
Away’s a break, and I’m with family.
I’m visiting but we have little planned
outside, and there’s not much to do or see,
so when I’ve finished sundry tasks at hand,
like dishes, salads, and I’ve energy,
when talk is paused and time’s at my command,
I turn attention to an inward sight.
I take a seat somewhere, and start to write.
(Ottava Rima)
It isn’t accurate to say I’m frail,
but lately I feel my fragility.
No organ yet is threatening to fail,
and I’m retaining my ability
to move and reason. No senility
besieges me, but health feels tentative.
I act with care, and my tranquility
demands my focus be preventative.
(Huitain)
All of a sudden I’m feeling less well.
My troubles are small but they’re starting to swell.
The tally increases – the minor too many.
I’m willing improvement from total to any.
We’re almost two years in, and here’s the deal –
our body pains don’t have as origin
coronavirus, though they’re just as real.
We’re almost two years in.
Arrested posture’s hard on frame and skin.
We’ve aching soles and elbow-scaling peel,
and pain in neck that pulls on ear and chin.
We need to move each shoulder now, and heel.
It’s time to exit homes and to begin
to stretch a hunch about the hunching feel.
We’re almost two years in.
(Roundel)
I used to smoke a lot and every cold
resulted in bronchitis that would last
for weeks. The cough was chronic, uncontrolled,
and sometimes it came on so strong and fast
I’d wrench a rib, and then I had to hold
a pillow when I sneezed or even laughed.
I stopped inhaling smoke. I turned that off,
but now it pains my sternum when I cough.
(Ottava Rima)
I think she gets a dopamine release
when standing on her soapbox to announce
the things we ought to do or have to cease –
no sooner do we gripe than she will pounce.
She thinks her subject knowledge will increase
our piece of mind, but there is not an ounce
of love or friendship in her teaching quart.
The only fix we want is her support.
(Ottava Rima)
My symptoms aren’t constant or severe.
I don’t believe I need an M.R.I.
And anyway, I cannot see a clear
or easy way to get one if I try.
The state of care is not the patient’s friend.
I’d have to book and wait and after all,
the managed health care system won’t attend
to me except with rigid protocol.
If I agreed to pay the listed cost,
exorbitant before insurance cut,
I’d find my aim distorted, and exhaust
my efforts better put to mend. So what
I’ll do is rest and stretch my neck a bunch,
and try to end this tendency to hunch.
I caught the baby’s cold and I feel worse
than she, apparently, because I’m old.
(Of course, she can’t communicate in verse
or prose, so maybe what I claim’s untrue).
I got my body home, where I could nurse
myself, and chuckle every time I sneeze
(alone I will not let the bug disperse –
infection stops with me for this bad cold).
I’ll draw a bath and let my germs immerse.
(Magic 9)
In looking for a work she’s never read –
a book that’s also cinema-conveyed –
I offered Fielding’s best to her, instead
of any other plot that’s been screen-played.
And now she’s halfway in, with tickled head,
and I’m a little jealous. I won’t trade
my having read Tom Jones, but it’s a pity
I can’t find many other books as witty.
(Ottava Rima)
 | 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 