Mutation Rate

So first we made the world a petri dish:
with global travel, population growth
condensed in cities; added catalysts
of processed foods that benefitted both
the rich and powerful instead of kids;
invented ways to propagate false news,
appealing to what honesty forbids,
portraying shades of gray as glaring hues.

And then a virus fled a lab or hosts
and people, mind-deformed and body-flawed,
contracted it so fast our senses spun.
We almost hear the laughter of the ghosts
of dinosaurs – so many ate the fraud,
the virus speed-evolves in ‘21.

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It’s Over

We felt two hundred million lungs exhale
as oaths were said and vows were made to all.
For four long years we’d seen our customs fail
and hyperventilated, taking small
breaths in and out and in, with gasping grief,
unable to attain the calm we lost,
dumfounded by compatriots. Relief
emerges just in time, at massive cost.

The gurus long have known that breath control
will open up the soul to benefit.
And doctors understand adrenal storm
is caused by too much CO2. A whole
complete exhale arrests the panting fit
of panic. We can hope now, and reform.

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Excreta

I like the eucalypt above the deck.
I fancy the biota in my yard.
But critters make their messes. Squirrels wreck
the seedlings and they piss from high above.
The crows I love deface the wood with fleck
and splat of poop – tenacious chalky white.
Attempting to ignore it strains my neck,
and trying for the look I like is hard.
I chose a garden. What did I expect?

(Magic 9)

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Worst President Ever

As hard as it is to excel,
full failure’s uncommon as well.
To be twice impeached,
in one term to have reached
this nadir’s a record to tell.

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In the Eye of a Storm

Are we in the eye of a storm right now?
Is this the calm deceit I’ve heard about?
Between last week and next we teem with doubt.

It’s obvious that thousands don’t know how
to do more than assert, assault and shout.
Are we in the eye of a storm right now?
Is this the calm deceit I’ve heard about?

Although the cowards pause their sick kowtow,
stupidity makes ignorance devout.
The lies spread virus-fast and fact-without.
Are we in the eye of a storm right now?
Is this the calm deceit I’ve heard about?
Between last week and next we teem with doubt.

(English Madrigal)

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Cutterpub

Ten years ago I started posting verse.
I wanted readers, but I also meant
to sort a thousand poems – avoid the curse
of too much paper. Such was my intent,
but like so many projects, once begun
its seeds took root to sprout in unexpected
plots of fertile mind. They soon had spun
in acreage I hadn’t yet directed.

For seven years, sequential posts evolved,
when I decided what was up could be
made better, and three years ago resolved
to edit and repost my poetry.
I like a lot of it. By some I’m moved.
And every one I read can be improved.

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Toddler Excitement

Two days a week I’m with my toddler friend.
We bake low-carb, we read, we do some art.
We act out scenes, we travel in pretend,
but nothing grabs him like that iPad game.
He chatters about graphics as we spend
a quarter hour at permitted play,
and afterward continues to expend
his time in talk about each gaming part.
That’s our best fun, until the lockdowns end.

(Magic 9)

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Outage

My birthday was a week ago. I thought
I’d get some messages of love and care.
No sooner did I rise than something brought
down Comcast and I lost the Internet,
the cable, and the landline. I was caught
unable to respond to wired wish,
but I attempted calmness as I’ve taught
myself. I took a bath. I washed my hair.
I left the issue to be cable-fought.

(Magic 9)

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Puzzle Progress

This jigsaw puzzle’s numerous and hard.
I thought I’d quit it if it took me days,
but now I’m hooked in table-covered craze.

My daughter sent it like a New Year’s card.
She bought one for herself and distance-plays.
This jigsaw puzzle’s numerous and hard;
I thought I’d quit it if it took me days.

I need the light that pours in from the yard
to pick out faces and distinguish grays.
I miss my table but the project stays!
This jigsaw puzzle’s numerous and hard.
I thought I’d quit it if it took me days,
but now I’m hooked in table-covered craze.

(English Madrigal)

Posted in Family, Holidays, Home, Poetry | Tagged | 2 Comments

Writing on Empty

A poet needs a topic or a theme,
and I don’t want to write on politics
or public health, or flu without a fix.

The last ten months inspire me to scream,
with soaring sick and deadly leader tricks.
A poet needs a topic or a theme,
and I don’t want to write on politics.

A grief motif is tired and extreme.
Relief appears, but tentative. It wicks
my frets but seems to limit subject picks.
A poet needs a topic or a theme,
and I don’t want to write on politics
or public health, or flu without a fix.

(English Madrigal)

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