I don’t suppose you’ll stop advising me,
although I’m seldom sad or prone to lows.
Your strong suit isn’t your sagacity,
I don’t suppose.
Your reading’s always fictional and prose.
And though you say you relish history,
your own mishaps don’t put you on your toes.
Suggesting I increase my quantity
of leisure days sends giggles through my nose.
Don’t you like resting after energy?
I don’t suppose…
(Roundel)
Repeatedly she self-describes aloud.
“Emotional” she calls her point of view.
She’s plugging into feelings, and she’s proud
to publicize what’s in her heart as true.
She makes me recollect the man who claimed
he’s so endowed and full of empathy
he’s almost paralyzed – he’s frozen-framed,
by feelings trapped, retarded frequently.
Conversing once, I heard myself declare
that though I’m tough outside, in fact, within
I’m mush, I’m insecure, I’m stung by air
that gets through cuts to underneath my skin.
And then I laughed, for my pathetic claim
was not unique. In this we’re all the same.
The structure that they’re building to the east
of me, has now attained the framing stage.
The concrete work is done. The noise decreased,
and two-by-fours are starting to assuage
my zeal for future privacy – at least,
I see few window spaces in the cage.
Perhaps I won’t be overlooked, except
the way I wish – unbothered, silence-kept.
(Ottava Rima)
I’ve watched dramatic sunsets now and then,
or sky so blue it almost spanks my eyes,
a valley dawn that makes me sigh “amen,”
and massing clouds portending drought’s demise.
I’ve looked above me over and again,
assessing what our atmosphere supplies.
The view at nearly 7 yesterday
comprised a calm, congenial display.
(Ottava Rima)
I heard a thump upon the deck last night,
and searched today to find the noisy source.
Before I saw the fallen rock, my sight
was taken by these spectacles, of course.
Undoubtedly, some squirrel dropped them right
before my office door with no remorse.
But when an hour passed, a raccoon crossed,
and looked around as if for something lost.
(Ottava Rima)
She said that’s not the way she picks a book,
when I suggested browsing website stacks.
Her strident tone of voice was all it took
to redirect my talk. I didn’t wax
sarcastic or remind her how she’d look
with scorn and cringe at similar syntax.
But silently I registered contempt
for letting policy prevent attempt.
(Ottava Rima)
The hyper horde of freshmen have beset
my town of late. They poured
from cars, offloading gear, incurring debt:
the hyper horde.
In blue-and-yellow gear they arrowed toward
long registration lines, to stand and sweat,
while I avoided streets they tour-explored.
But waiting for my bus, I felt their threat.
They teemed and couldn’t move to let me board.
I bailed and walked, inclining to regret
the hyper horde.
(Roundel)
It seems Nextdoor attracts a local group
with whom I wouldn’t party or converse
about the things that interest me. Each scoop
of news reports a lurk or something worse:
invasion caught on camera from a stoop;
smashed auto glass; a shoving grab of purse.
They write of fright at noises every night
that aren’t like the varmints in my site.
(Ottava Rima)
Is this unease I feel? What’s bugging me?
My health is good, the weather’s fine; today
I have no tasks, no place I have to be,
and as I run an intimate survey,
I’ve not offended friends or family.
I haven’t lost my memory or way.
My slate is clean. I’m struck with no mishap.
There’s nothing wrong. Perhaps I’ll take a nap.
(Ottava Rima)
I’m not a nudist but I’ve been around
some clothing-optional environments:
hot tubs, exotic beaches, places found
in wilderness or travel. No offense
was ever offered and I try to ground
my vision, but to me it makes no sense
to bare the skin to San Francisco cold –
in 63 degrees, this body’s bold.
(Ottava Rima)
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