I recognized rambunctious all along.
I’ve tried to write-describe our feisty mood.
Americans are childish, headstrong,
and oft enact from selfish attitude.
I think my old perspective isn’t wrong –
but makes a misdemeanor out of rude
behavior so extreme, it’s come to be
insane barbaric civil felony.
(Ottava Rima)
The hour hand does not appear to move.
My eye cannot perceive the micron growth
of rosebuds in the garden. Mornings prove
the difference – passing time reveals them both
in motion – but to me they’re not overt.
I tend to think today is quite the same
as yesterday, in substance: not alert
to subtle change in what my life became.
Viewed over time, I can’t deny the shift
in waking mood, in goals and energy.
Regarding old assumptions now, I sift
ideas to true my customs to agree
with who I am of late, and how I do
my minutes best, upon this month’s review.
The river level falls – there’s algae bloom.
A virus thrives and causes human dearth.
Catastrophe takes some but makes more room
for others, on this planet of our birth.
We know no other place that’s such a womb
for life, so teeming as beloved Earth.
The planet will go on – life won’t abate.
It’s homo sapiens with dismal fate.
(Ottava Rima)
The number’s Four Five Six: how many days
elapsed from house arrest to June Fifteen
of Twenty-one. We’re entering a phase
unmasked, with smaller distances between
ourselves and stranger/neighbors. What our ways
will be unknown, and whether nice or mean.
And will I still find grist to daily grind?
Or shall I leave this lockdown work behind?
(Ottava Rima)
I took a 5 day break from exercise,
except for walks to market or the train.
My body said the respite would be wise,
and I have learned to listen. Its refrain
told me to rest – I slept an extra hour
every night – I sat around a lot.
Today I felt a renaissance of power –
I sought to relish every crunch and squat.
I’m feeling, too, a lighter attitude.
I’ve lately been too much with fear and death.
This morning’s focus looks on gratitude
for comfort, painless frame, renewing breath.
The future’s boding bleak, pre-scarred with grief.
Today my home and garden grant relief.
This week I’m sleeping soundly through the night.
I rise to see the toilet water’s clear!
It’s been at least two decades since that sight,
but lately I’m so weary that I’d fear
it as a symptom of morbidity,
except I have good reasons for fatigue –
my mother edges toward mortality,
while lies and virus hit us like blitzkrieg.
The world in which I grew has sorry-changed –
its every benefit is in decline.
The values valued young have been deranged;
I take to bracing nerves and resting spine.
But now I’ll stand and turn away from wreck,
to sweep two days of leaf fall off my deck.
I thought I understood a lot of life.
I figured others valued truth and fair
attempts to win. I witnessed acts of strife,
assuming bad in character was rare.
I bent some silly rules without a care,
but I expected morals to endure.
I didn’t dream the breakage many dare.
Of late the chaos grows, and there’s no cure.
(Huitain)
I sometimes drank too much when I was young.
A social 20-something in a bar,
I wasn’t home alone. I drank among
acquaintances and friends. I took in far
too much because I lost all appetite
for food. I pushed the plate and bowl away –
then passed a semi-sleepless, dizzy night,
and felt the bad effects for half a day.
I aged. At 41 the ache would last
two days. So overdrink moved to my past.
With food I felt disorder longer still.
I overate at home, unseen, alone.
And though my bingeing often made me ill,
I bore that consequence (I should have known).
I’m old now, and I rarely overdo
the carbohydrates or the calories.
But every now and then, when stressed or blue,
I mindless eat, relapsing to disease.
Alas – now bloat and gas extend for days.
I learn to be aware. I weigh my ways.
Already living with uncertainty
beyond the usual organic span,
with virus plaguing us and frequently
provoking changing rules about what can
be done in company, so every plan
is tentative … And now Mom’s health is skewed.
I try for flexible. She gets a scan,
while I equip my shelves with extra food.
(Huitain)
Customary June –
twenty-four degrees between
their valley our bay
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