Snags

There won’t be interruptions in this streak
of daily lockdown posts, but I can see
some obstacles that counter my technique,
like missing illustrations, capitals
at starts of lines, and looks I didn’t seek
when posting and composing from my home.
Disruption shouldn’t last more than a week
or 2, while I’m away and helping 3 —
If I can’t hit direct, I’ll try oblique.

(Magic 9)

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Dismay and Disdain

I know a guy who claims that empathy
is almost over-dominant in him.
He feels so much he thinks the quality
is uppermost in character. That whim
is so inaccurate, he’ll ever miss
the feelings of all others in his path.
He regularly tries to mend with kiss
the devastation littered by his wrath.

I wish he’d hold the mirror to his face,
and recognize he’s master of the faults
attributed to others. He might see
his tantrums in the murk of his disgrace,
and comprehend the form of his assault
on honesty, enlightenment, and me.

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Indiscriminate Love

She married young, for 1970,
and didn’t promise anything for life.
The groom and she were close to 23
when they became the husband and the wife.
She figured that she loved him well enough,
but also felt compelled by how he yearned
to be with her forever, like the stuff
of true romance – with endless love he burned.

Eternity endured for one decade.
She couldn’t stand his suffocating love.
The marriage ended, but he never stayed
a single man – he sought by push and shove
a woman who’d consent to marry him.
His indiscrimination read like whim.

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Sez Me

Deciding that I’ll make a holiday
for solo me today, I didn’t push
to exercise or chores. I started play
instead of work, and took my coffee strong.
I even put my bathing on delay.
I focused on uncovering my whims –
I’m thinking I will let my body say
when I will sit, when I’ll indulge in Kush.
I’m planning nothing is my plan. Okay?

(Magic 9)

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Shared Bin Complaint

It’s difficult to share a garbage bin –
inhabitants each have disposal views.
Whenever someone vacates or moves in,
they tend to cram and otherwise abuse
the needs of other residents. And worse
than what is meant for landfill, is the stuff
that occupies recycle bins – the curse
of boxes that are not collapsed enough.

Exasperation most of us have felt,
but yesterday’s misdeeds went far beyond
the normal rude behavior. I was dealt
a brimming can that drove me to respond.
But first I had to stand in rain and sort
their trash, before I griped my stern retort.

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Masking Smiles

My daughter says the mask’s real benefit
is she no longer has to smile so,
who feels a scowl’s more appropriate
with all the excrement in life of late.
But I think she’s mistaken. Just as it
is obvious when speaking through a smile
(we hear the grin affecting tone and pitch),
unless she blocks her upper face, a show
of beam is there – it’s only blocked a bit.

(Magic 9)

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The Sound of Rain

The sound of rain is manna to my ears.
It patters on my skylight and it drums
upon my roof. It hammers or it thrums,
and I attend its rhythm. When it clears
I yearn to have it back – a storm cloud nears
and I get set to savor how it strums:
the sound of rain.

Perverse my humid preference appears,
but all my life precipitation comes
to me as comfort – lack of rainfall bums,
for I prefer to music of the spheres
the sound of rain.

(Rondine)

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No Blame

A lot of members of my family
draw energy from indignation’s flame.
For me today, exhaustion swamps the blame.

When public health is failing, and we see
that promises and care are not the same,
a lot of members of my family
draw energy from indignation’s flame.

Our leaders lack a winning strategy.
The branches of our government are lame
from sticks and stones and racist acts of shame.
A lot of members of my family
draw energy from indignation’s flame.
For me today, exhaustion swamps the blame.

(English Madrigal)

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After the Appointment

I took my first vaccine shot late last week.
There were no lines, confusion, stress or pain.
According to my friends, that’s not unique –
preceding me, I hear no one complain.
The media reports are scary, bleak.
They agitate the heart and rock the brain.
I wish the news reflected what appeared
in fact, but once again they write it weird.

(Ottava Rima)

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Spring Too Soon

It’s too soon for buds.
Low rain and warm spring make for
summertime fires.

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