Fortune’s Child (HA 113 Almost-Pushkin Sonnet)

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What were the odds? My parents had to meet
and marry, and have intercourse one night,
enjoy a healthy pregnancy, and greet
me bearing borne and brimming with delight.
Although they erred, they let no one kid-glove me.
Abrupt and cold at times, they both did love me.
And sure I had some needs that went unmet,
but I felt safe enough, and feel it yet.

I lived more years than I imagined young,
and though I like to work, I had more luck
than I deserve – the time was right for me.
I settled where the air is soft, among
the trees and hummingbirds. Today I’m struck
awoken to my own prosperity.

Lucky July 3 2020

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Inventory (HA 112 Magic 9)

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Supposed to be a simple exercise,
composing every day a formal poem
in house arrest, I guess it’s no surprise
the longer quarantined the more I make.
So far one hundred and eleven tries –
the quantity outgrows a catalogue.
Perhaps I need more tags to organize
agglomeration born from time at home,
to designate the specimens I prize.

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Stunned (HA 111 Dactyls)

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Isn’t it stunning, how stupid he is?
Ignorance married to bad attitude,
fully incapable – losing at biz,
only exampling how to be crude.

Isn’t it stunning, how dreadful they are?
Failing to dump him, not even for us,
acting like ethics are simple PR,
tossing experience under the bus.

Isn’t it stunning, how hard it’s become
to winnow perspective and facts from the news?
If this is a war (and the term isn’t dumb),
it’s daily more clear that our nation will lose.

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Pretending (HA 110 Sestina)

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It takes a while for catastrophe
to be accepted by the human mind.
We may react reflexively at once,
the way we mindlessly pull back from burn,
but full acceptance is a slower deal.
At first we try to bargain or deny.

Pandemic is upon us. None deny,
but some debate how much catastrophe
is real, how much a propaganda deal.
The ignorant insistence blows my mind.
I can’t defend the media, who burn
the bridges for the bites of bytes at once,

who were too few but honorable once.
Like chronic states of illness we deny
at first, the virus flares and spreads its burn –
a caterpillar of catastrophe
that eats the heavy body, stubborn mind,
and demonstrates it’s master of the deal.

A mindless virus propagates ordeal,
ignored by top and twisted leaders once
and now too late accepted by the mind
of many sloganeers who would deny
the holocaust, all grim catastrophe,
the smoke of civil union set to burn.

It’s everywhere. We can’t avoid the burn.
I yearn for information. I can deal
with episodes of deep catastrophe –
I’m old and I’ve survived some more than once –
but there’s few facts to cherish or deny,
and graphs do not illuminate my mind.

I seem to have an entertaining mind,
inspired every day to laugh or burn
with anger. So today I will deny
the plague, pretending we have no ordeal.
Remember how we moved and acted once?
Imagination masks catastrophe.

Today I cut catastrophe from mind,
pretend at once there’s candles I can burn.
I make a deal with news I can deny.

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Another Trivial Complaint (HA 109 Haiku)

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Appreciating
crows above my redwood deck
I loathe their white shit

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Magnolia St (HA 108 Spenserian Stanza)

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I walked for errands till this house arrest
removed most business from my every day.
I chose my route deliberately, for best
in garden sights and local tree array.
But when I crossed a busy street, my way
was quite pedestrian-appropriate –
where traffic lights and crosswalks had a say.
I found this week a street by forest lit –
I never jaywalked Ashby till the virus hit.

Magnolia

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Hissy Fits (HA 107)

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What is this tendency to not attempt?
My mom and BFF both seem the same,
the way they fling, as if they were exempt
from trying harder. Each will make the claim
of age. It’s like she has by now outgrown
the hero’s obligation to press on:
too old to learn, too antsy to be shown
a way, as if the will to learn were gone.

Impatient and impulsive as they are,
the elder doesn’t stand a chance to change,
but my old friend deserves a silver star
in reconsideration – she has range
and wisdom – given time she might not quit,
on seventh thought, succeeding hissy fit.

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A Trivial Complaint (HA 106 Magic 9)

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I’ve dealt with worse incursions in the past –
mosquito scouts and rodent mites and ants.
Perhaps my irritation should be classed
a side effect of house arrest, but I’m
annoyed by common houseflies neither fast
nor big: each easy to eliminate.
Diptera buzzing makes me feel harassed
of late, with darting dark in sideways glance.
These tiny irksome bugs have me aghast.

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Storytime (HA 105 Ottava Rima)

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His new book features folks of varied hues
among race heroes in our history,
appealing to adults, less to amuse
than educate (or wake?) a viewer 3
years old or so. But 3 thinks he’s to choose
his favorite color in that company!
Attempts to lecture toddlers tend to fail;
like us, they best learn lessons from a tale.

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T-Cells (HA 104 Almost-Pushkin Sonnet)

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When I encounter an idea that tacks
some sense into phenomena observed,
and isn’t contradicted by the facts,
I think that clear attention is deserved.

About this virus, all we know for sure
(besides the absence of vaccine or cure)
is we don’t know. The news is simplified,
and access to good data is denied.

The situation’s wretched, but the deaths
are not increasing exponentially.
A few examine T-cells in controlled
environments, and postulate in depth
that more than half may have immunity
to some degree, we built from common colds.

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