Two days ago, I ran a bath for me
to linger in and soak my stress apart.
I entered it half-full – the watery
amassment hadn’t reached desired depth,
when pressure ebbed and flow decreased to be
a dribble to a drop, and then all gone.
I wasn’t warned about the paucity.
A Tuesday job had Friday for its start.
I had to use my bath for toiletry.
(Magic 9)
What’s wrong with her? Again she reads a book
she first encountered fifty years ago
that holds no wit she doesn’t clearly know.
Each fall and spring she takes another look
at comedy above and sense below.
What’s wrong with her? Again she reads a book
she first encountered fifty years ago.
Her friends are recommending works that shook
their attitudes and made perspective grow:
to try this novel or to stream that show.
What’s wrong with her? Again she reads a book
she first encountered fifty years ago
that holds no wit she doesn’t clearly know.
(English Madrigal)
Most people I’ve known
have let life happen to them
especially girls.
I watched his mother ask if he was pleased
I’m visiting tomorrow. He replied
“Of course. I love her” – simple words that squeezed
my heart with pleasure like his toddler hug.
(My lust for true affection was appeased –
this happened in our FaceTime call last night).
I’m caught by his sincerity. I’m seized
by shining eyes and mind. I’m gratified
and charmed, full worry-free and weary-eased.
(Magic 9)
I’m not against vaccines. I’ve had my two,
but I don’t swallow science-y reports.
I fell for their pronouncements, to eschew
the fats I flourish on and take in quarts
of “healthy” grains, which hastened my decline.
I feed my skeptic now – I follow sense
and doubt the news. I’m relatively fine,
and prospering at fairly low expense.
I’m not a fact-denier, but my trust
has been too long and sadly oft-betrayed.
I try to keep an open mind, but must
make logic of the Internet and trade.
My thinking isn’t magical. My clue
deciphers truth in what, why, how, and who.
I didn’t dream I’d feel so much improved,
but after 19 months, my hair got trimmed
by she-who-has-the-skill. The way it moved
against my nape was nice, but it was rimmed
with damaged ends, entangling bottom, grooved
on top, my drains were clogging, patience brimmed,
and so I slowly came to scissor steel,
with no idea how good the cut would feel.
(Ottava Rima)
With gratitude, I walked into my place
two days ago, for I had been without
a week. My view was filled with every face
I love. My ears were filled with laugh and shout.
My arms were filled with family embrace.
I suffered no regret and housed no doubt,
but I was glad for what homecoming brings,
and now I’ll fill myself with other things.
(Ottava Rima)
There was an old woman who said
“Please ossify me when I’m dead.”
She wanted her core
to be used as decor
(not ashen or dusty instead).
The season of Halloween mask
is on us again, so our task
is now to recall
a less frightening Fall
with no Covid – that’s all I can ask.
There was an old goblin from Metz
as green as a cave creature gets
that no one could see
till the day the weird three
wielded pencils to settle all bets.
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