Post-Covid Travel

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.

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Three Six One

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.

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I’ll Take a Break

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.)

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Just a Question

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.

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Institutional

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.

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Circumambulating

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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One Way

The toothpaste won’t go back into its tube.
The travel out the lamp is just one way.
When curiosity unhinged that cube
and let fly trouble to the light of day,
there was no method to reverse the spray.
Such lessons are so easy to forget,
nobody turns from digital display
as maypoles morph into the Internet.

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No Kill

Sixteen years old suggested someone kill
the figurehead. The grownups jumped and said,
Uh uh – that course of action no doubt will
produce a martyr – leave the jerk undead.
Eliminate another way instead
of cartoon violence – the remedy
will not emerge from arms but from the head.
You have to search for long-term strategy.

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Loathing

I loathe it then – you waste your words to me,
suggesting fruitless effort once again,
or starting any statement “hopefully.”
I loathe it then.

I wish you’d mean it if you say amen,
conversing with apparent empathy,
or syllables that use no oxygen.

Of autism is this variety?
I’d have you be deliberate as this pen.
Above all, please don’t fake sincerity.
I loathe it then.

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Shifting

I hit the floor in drive to tick off things:
the puzzles, Duolingo, more, implore
due time from me, until set schedule brings
me showered dressed & ready out my door.
From 6 until 11, I’d before
me motivation and a bid to move.
When finally I walk outside I’m sore,
but feel accomplished as my thoughts improve.

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