At table with four strangers, we engaged
in pleasant conversation more or less.
Amid strong personalities, none waged
a war of words or politics. I guess
a phrase was coined (by me, I here confess),
to put in words a parent’s strategy:
“I have their backs but not their fronts.” Hell yes –
that’s been my role and how I roll you see.
Already quite relaxed, I didn’t mind
the interruption of the Internet.
We’ve left the coast of Canada behind
for now, and though devices should be set
an hour forward, Apple cannot find
the proper number, so I’ll just forget
all obligations while we plow the sea,
and pay attention (analog) to me.
I won’t complain about complaints I hear.
I’ll try ignoring grimace, grunt and frown.
There’s negativity imposing near,
but nothing has occurred to bring me down.
The views are water-colored, edged in brown
of earth and hues of aging autumn leaves.
The motion of the ship’s vacation’s crown.
We arrow northward and the water cleaves.
At half past 3 I’m chased out of my room
by chambermaid a little late to clean.
I don’t mind, though admit I did assume
she’d make our beds before. But here the scene
(14 floors up the air’s without a plume
of smoke from yesterday): we rest between
ten thousand steps and what will be light food,
transitioning to a vacation mood.
The last five years, I haven’t traveled far.
I’ve never ventured out with easiness,
and as I age considerations are
increasing. I have ways to calm the stress,
but doubt I can extinguish it in full.
No matter how I do, I can’t correct
the urge to be at home – that comfort pull.
But I’m determined to be looser-necked;
deliberately I make my shoulders drop.
I won’t allow my lower jaw to clench.
I guard my hands from bruising, and I prop
my spine, preventing any lumbar wrench.
I’ll still get up too early – that’s for sure.
But I can make some progress toward a cure.
Three days it always takes to carve a groove
that I can start to follow forwardly,
to make initial paces to improve
in movement, diet, and mentality.
Six weeks to form a habit, experts say,
and I’ve experienced that’s wisely neat:
a new tradition’s born that can convey
the gentle motivation to repeat.
Recidivism’s lurking even then.
The wagon rail is flimsy and not tall.
It’s easy, even tempting, to return
to vices recollected once again.
One year is what I need. A span from fall
through winter, spring and summer burns the learn.
I’ll take a break from posting poetry.
Although undoubtedly I’ll see and make
a note that may have footing metrically,
I’ll take a break.
I’ll lock my door to open to a wake
behind a boat amid new scenery,
recording with my hands and eyes opaque
or focused realizations fresh for me,
but I won’t post them yet, for resting’s sake.
I’ll turn away from habit’s tyranny.
I’ll take a break.
(I expect to be back in about two weeks.)
I asked “How are you?” and I meant it too.
You sensed sincerity and looked concerned,
as if I had suspicions maybe you
should be upset about, as if I learned
some fact of disadvantage. That’s untrue.
It’s just that I’m aware how often burned
you are, deservedly, by compound stress,
an overload so likely to depress.
A house behind a gate, with screens and locks,
and information screened on screens displayed,
suggests household security but mocks
reality. As ever, I will trade
such gimmicks for the features well-conveyed
by walking under trees, inhaling air
outside the bounds of institution’s grade.
Of earth’s diversity I’ll take my share.
We managed every day to walk outside
beneath some green or into river breeze:
some pictures shot; a plant identified
(clematis with a beard); our hips and knees
well exercised; our talking less decrees
than observations, diligent and fair.
There were complaints, of course, among the trees,
but mostly we exchanged our planet’s air.
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