Awake 200 minutes, I am done
with all the tasks I self-assigned today.
There weren’t many – now I’m glad there’s none,
except completion of this little verse.
I’m planning not to visit anyone,
or venture from the yard that’s my domain.
I’m wearying of never any fun –
too much of others’ issues in my way.
I want some quiet time, with breeze and sun.
(Magic 9)
Escorting Mom back home – she isn’t dead –
we settled her with medicines and rails
around each toilet and beside her bed,
installed a shower chair because she’s frail
(she’s 95, and lately tips the scale
at least 12 pounds below her normal weight).
She seemed to manage there (we stayed till 8).
But when the extra pills arrived next night,
she swallowed one, got dizzy, lost her gait
and fell. That medication wasn’t right …
(Dizain)
I for one am still alive,
and you for two are feeling well.
But she for three’s not long to thrive
(we ought to notice something fell).
Her death approaches like a spell,
inexorable and sure
(aging doesn’t have a cure).
I note where all our futures lie,
and seek ideas that may endure
beyond the moment when I die.
My mother never liked my hair till now
(and recent comments may be insincere).
She always criticized and told me how
I ought to wear it. In my 7th year,
she had it hacked away – with blurt and sneer
she claimed it was a bother to maintain.
I thought hair length should be within my sphere,
but she pulled rank and made it her domain.
(Huitain)
The answer to your question is … but wait.
I know you won’t be listening to me.
I almost loved a god and now my fate
is, though I hold the gift of prophecy,
when I reneged he tweaked my destiny –
I see the truth but no one will believe.
So I’ll shut up, await your inquiry,
and be ignored, although I don’t deceive.
(Huitain)
I’m in a shitty mood today, inclined
to flail with wrinkled hand and foul word.
I seem to lack all patience. I remind
myself of what I most disdain in Mom.
I don’t know what I like or need; I find
I’m restless, though I want to stay at home.
I’m trying to be sensitive and kind,
but news and notions strike me as absurd
and, stricken, I leave all my wits behind.
(Magic 9)
I’d like to launder linens, and the clothes
I’ve used this busy week. I know the yard
is wanting water, too. From neck to toes
I will immerse myself, and though on guard
because of drought, I haven’t yet been barred
from turning on my dishwasher. Four hours
I’ll consume today, for me and flowers.
(Rhyme Royal)
I booked an airplane trip. In 40 days
I’ll fly to visit family I love.
For 18 months we’ve only had displays
on FaceTime, but I needed quite a shove
to pick the flight. We’re opening all ways
right now. So in a month I’ll rise above
home base. I used the credits from last year
to fly first-class and modulate my fear.
(Ottava Rima)
One fact about the virus lockdown was
most days resembled those that came before.
We stayed apart, and masked, and washed, because
we didn’t have vaccine or ready cure.
I FaceTimed many bedtime tales for sure;
I waited till the “Ready?” text appeared.
But now they’re off a week, and I detour –
five evenings free will feel a little weird.
(Huitain)
I never figured out the overhead
athletic shoes that hung on power wires.
Some claimed they were a sign drug buyers read,
or indicated where a gang retires.
But no one knows. And now I note instead
a newer puzzle. Lately what inspires
laughs? At least two driveways here that sport
parked vehicles impossibly athwart.
(Ottava Rima)
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