I planned and penned this poem a week ago,
intending it would post on my return.
I packed to travel, but I couldn’t know
what oddities would quirk or when I’d learn.
I’d hug familiar bodies, voice concern
and love as well, but other moods this week
would rise – for 7 days I’d rest or churn –
a lunar phase displaced to keep this streak.
Intending to reduce my speed in most
endeavors, I assume that age will serve
to aid me toward that goal. I used to boast
(at least within) at work and walk, aswerve
and weaving through obstructions, like a host
of foes would block me but I plied my nerve
and bested. I’m at peace now with a pace
to benefit my limbs,
my brain,
my face.
Immersing in my bath last week, a weird
sensation was occasioned for my head.
It felt like water in my ear, appeared
to be a drainage failure, but instead
of dripping out, no posture I tried cleared
the painless situation. When I read
and someone peered, I learned of time’s attacks –
I’m working to now to flush an age of wax.
The meditation centered on the end –
of marriage, friendship, work, a point of view.
I sat the mat and tried to spine-extend,
directing thoughts while breathing deep, on you.
Accepting that our minds have changed, it’s true
for most the set I couldn’t recollect
whatever made it good, for now it’s too
infrequent. We’re too fractious to connect.
The mail collection box was modified.
What’s been a pull-down door is now a slot
that won’t accept a package or a wide
transmittal of much paper. I did not
attend to changes recently applied,
but terrorists and vandals lost their shot
to push a bomb or nastiness inside:
Another feature doomed to be forgot.
It’s seldom coffee loses its appeal
for me, as tonic mugs of morning fuel.
The only days without are if I feel
an illness coming on, when germs are cruel-
victorious. Today’s was like a jewel
of taste, near chocolate-y, and rich in smell.
Enjoying sip by sip each molecule,
this may portend I’ll keep on feeling well.
Remembering A Christmas Carol, read
when I was 12, one summer long ago,
and screened each winter, this year someone led
discussion with the questions: do we know,
was Marley visited? Did he ignore
some spirit lessons which were given breath?
I think so, but what bothers me much more,
is goodness only loosed by fear of death.
Proponents of religion often claim
we won’t behave without the threat of hell –
morality in poor parental frame,
like self-esteem won’t spur us to do well?
In fact, I watch us strive to recreate
the past, devolving into sin and hate.
They love each other well enough to live
together, name each other closest friend,
seldom quarrel, readily forgive,
and try to find activities that blend.
We go back long. Joint memories extend
five decades. But as far as I can tell,
each wonders at the other’s stated end
and neither even knows themselves that well.
We know self-preservation instinct’s strong –
all act reflexively to duck a fail.
But I just watched an expert get it wrong,
I think, about the way we flail
as babies, startled, arms and legs outflung,
and, gasping then, delay our next exhale.
It’s not just neonates. Forever more,
endangered, we concave to save our core.
I am not ill. My brother didn’t share
his cold with me. And others failed to spill
the germs that recently seem everywhere.
I am not ill.
Though I’ve a knee that warns me to instill
due caution how I move, it’s only fair
appreciating wellness, so I will
this weekend day to gratitude and care
with exercise and diet, to fulfill
a state of anti-sickness. I declare
I am not ill.
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