It’s cooler here at night, and darker too,
and though the rain’s refreshing to behold,
I’m far away from what I like to do
to cushion me and counteract the cold.
But I’ve been often here, within the fold
of family, and I’ve left things in store.
Today I found my slippers (furry, soled),
and now I don’t perceive the chilly floor.
(Huitain)
I always knew I’d marry and I thought
I’d have a baby to complete my life.
I wedded N and soon we had a daught-
er followed by a son, but time as wife
was not vocation I could well sustain:
I fantasized my husband’s painless death.
I had to jettison the mate, refrain
from anniversaries and save my breath.
So isn’t it amazing, what occurred?
I’m single and I’m happy all alone.
And now by grandkids I’m amazed and stirred,
for five new human beings I have known
enhance my days and make me reassess
the joys of life beyond what I could guess.
While packing, I tensed up – of course I did.
It doesn’t matter how I reassure
myself – I’m nervous and I can’t get rid
of psychosoma – I don’t know a cure.
I coughed with throat too tight – the exhale’s skid
reminded me of Covid, and the tour
of colds last week within my family.
My worry raced – the symptom passed – oh, me.
(Ottava Rima)
We’re into Fall and so far we’ve had luck –
air quality has never been as poor
as last year’s. Ocean actions let us duck
the choking smoke and ash. Now we’re unsure
we’ll get good rain. We may have to endure
more drought, but shorter days and cooler noon
remind me to replace old slippers soon.
(Rhyme Royal)
For decades I have not remembered dreams.
I wondered was I wanting too much pot,
but doubted daily use defined extremes.
Instead I just assumed the case was age.
I rarely slumbered soundly – any schemes
I tried to deepen sleep (not much – no pills)
did nothing to increase fantastic streams.
Of late I’m recollecting more than not.
New breath may be the cause, or so it seems.
(Magic 9)
Caffeine and time work morning wonders here.
At first my shuffling walk feels like a climb.
My medicine is slow but sees me clear:
caffeine and time.
Two hours and three mugs are my enzyme –
they straighten me and get my pulse in gear,
engaged to move like I’m still in my prime.
Some mornings I’m too old to persevere.
Fatigued by childcare or worry, I’m
a body shot, until my cures appear:
caffeine and time.
(Roundel)
I’m still not tired of my Covid meal.
I’ve lost the love for soup, frittata, beans,
but homemade salad carries strong appeal –
I want my daily dish of seeds and greens
with grated cheese, tomatoes, and the seal
of half an avocado. What this means
is when I see a friend for lunch (it’s great!),
I prep a salad for my dinner plate.
(Ottava Rima)
This month we’ve gotten
ride discounts on all BART trains.
Fair fare feels deserved.
What prompted him to buy us wine and food,
and leave before we voiced our gratitude?
Did we remind him of a mother dear
to him, but missed or gone this awful year?
Was he in a nostalgic sort of mood?
Did he receive a check and then conclude
he’d share the Stimulus that he accrued?
Or was he paying forward? It’s not clear
what prompted him.
We didn’t notice him. We weren’t rude –
our talk absorbed us, free of platitude,
acknowledging small boons that made us cheer.
Was he attending? Did he overhear
and pay to stimulate that attitude?
What prompted him?
(Rondeau)
Six days from now I’ll journey to the north
(when this is posted, I’ll be one day there,
arising from an air bed, first of fourth
sunrises, forecast mild, okay air).
I’ll be away from home – the trade is fair:
my privacy for love is how this goes.
The ticket’s on my phone, I’ll trim my hair –
the biggest prep’s this verse I pre-compose.
(Huitain)
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