Life is Change

The more things change, the more they stay the same,
is probably the falsest claim I’ve heard.
Though mimicry and metaphor can frame
idea, denying change is too absurd.

Not even Peter Pan stayed immature.
Pandora peeked, Eve nibbled, and I’m sure
that rocks erode and continental plates
are destined for uncertain shifting fates.

Observing how our babies learn to be,
we see them make tradition of two days.
They long for repetition, and derive
assurance from familiarity.
That early work implants, becomes always,
and paves the notion yesterdays survive.

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Identity

My daughter had no hair when she emerged.
What grew in that first year was dusky gold.
A blue-eyed blonde she was, till fancy urged
experiments with tints the drugstore sold.
In time her natural color toned light brown,
and later locks of silver threaded through.
She highlit when the mirror brought her down,
and now it’s looking white and wanting blue.

Throughout she’s self-described her hair as blonde;
to her that definition’s nothing strange.
She took it up when young and yellow-fond,
and though she understands that life is change,
she’s stuck in that pre-teen identity,
and gives short shrift to time’s reality.

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Word Dimension

In love with language all my life, I’ve learned
a lot of origins. I studied Greek
and Latin, read Old Norse, and even turned
a little toward the Sanskrit, with a peek
at proto-English etymology.
I’ve always been a reader, and for years
I added shelving everywhere I dwelled.
E-readers now allow me smaller spheres —
I store a thousand volumes lightly held.

The decades of attention I have paid
to words, combined with sticky memory,
appear to let me hear more tones conveyed
than others catch. A dog’s olfactory
machine attends to smells full and intense,
and I get words in ways most do not sense.

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Repetition

It’s known if monkey see, then monkey do.
That’s how small apes and babies learn to be.
So watch yourself – your boy is watching you.

You act like you expect your words, if true,
to be the way he learns. But don’t you see?
It’s known if monkey see, then monkey do.

You’ll have to move that phone out of your view
if you’d deny him virtuality,
so watch yourself – your boy is watching you.

Of late his fits of temper make you stew.
You’d rather he learn equanimity.
It’s known if monkey see, then monkey do.

When you’re irate, it’s hate and wrath you spew.
Your mien is cold – your scowl’s enmity,
so watch yourself – your boy is watching you.

Respecting repetition is the clue –
use analog, and model courtesy.
It’s known if monkey see, then monkey do.
So watch yourself – your boy is watching you.

(Villanelle)

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A Better Spring

A better spring than last year is in store
for us – I feel it in my bones and heart.
Twelve months ago, we didn’t dream the start
of lockdown would produce uncivil war.

We didn’t know the senate we’d abhor,
the hate we’d grow to tear our towns apart.
A better spring than last year is in store
for us – I feel it in my bones and heart.

I don’t think I’m naive as I implore
my friends to let anxiety depart,
my family to act not bold but smart.
I’m feeling healing truer than before –
a better spring than last year is in store.

(Rondel)

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Plum Petals

Plum petals show like snowflakes on the wood
beneath my feet, against the crooked limbs
above my office shed. Their whiteness skims
and flits on wind as if they understood
their blossom purpose has been served. I could
avert my glance – no other act bedims
plum petals.

They’re tufts of white throughout my neighborhood.
They have no grandeur and few synonyms,
but still they grab attention. Notice brims
and I declare a nuisance looking good –
plum petals.

(Rondine)

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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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