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)
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)
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)
It’s too soon for buds.
Low rain and warm spring make for
summertime fires.
I just found out I’ll leave my house for days
next month, and move in with my child’s kid.
It’s near a year since I have parted ways
with customary habits. I’ve been bid
to care a little more and close for one
I’ve sheltered and attended to for years.
Of course it will be work, but also fun
(we smile most when no one interferes).
I’ll be away from exercise at home,
my privacy, the bottles on my shelf.
I’ll have to plan ahead to post a poem
(reluctant to suspend the streak I self-
assigned). Although release should have me cheered,
I’ve been so long sequestered, this feels weird.
I like control, but not to govern you.
I only want the edges of my space,
four times my reach, about my neck and face,
to hold what I’ve selected. There are few
events or things I need within my view,
and I’ll attempt to manage them with grace.
I like control.
Did I feel too unsafe before I grew?
Could that be why I yearn to set the pace?
Was insufficient parenting my case?
Of late we are debating which is true.
I like control.
(Rondine)
He never really had a game at all.
He goes by gut instead of strategy.
His long and short are both inanity.
His attitude is negligence and brawl.
His notions, unoriginal and small,
are toddler images of potency.
He never really had a game at all.
He goes by gut instead of strategy.
We know that evolution favors gall.
The slash-and-burn attain the victory.
But other rulers leave SOME legacy –
Old 45 bequeaths a caterwaul.
He never really had a game at all.
(Rondel)
The challenge in writing a poem every day
is sometimes I really have nothing to say.
For though I’ve been blessed with a vigorous brain,
and learned at age 6 how to self-entertain,
I’m dwelling in an isolated state.
I interact with few, and only twice
a week do I in person congregate,
or eat a meal I didn’t slice and spice.
I nearly every evening watch a lot of cable news,
but I don’t want outrage to make the topic for my pen.
Admittedly I’ve written some that argue or accuse,
but I will bore myself if I resort to that again,
today.
It came to pass on day three thirty two
of lockdown. Someone jabbed my upper arm.
Although I thought no shot would fix this flu,
and harbored doubts about the speed and tests,
as soon as my appointed time came through,
I felt my stress reduce. I still believe
we’re broken and more virus will ensue,
but scheduling vaccine was like a charm
that turned my head and edited my view.
(Magic 9)
Near 700 years ago, there raged
Bubonic plague some people named Black Death.
The cause and too the remedy engaged
the best and worst of minds. What stole the breath
and rotted nodes was neither understood
nor cured – the smart defense was keeping clean,
avoiding crowds, reducing neighborhood
for 40 days at least: called quarantine.
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