Confident Error

Three common nouns, the doctor said aloud.
The patient tried to park them in his head.
They talked of other things – they here-and-now’d,
and drew a bit, and even backwards-read.
The doctor then requested he recite
the words provided at the session’s start.
With confidence, the patient gave two right,
but for the third his recall veered athwart.

Instead of single syllable, he three’d.
Instead of furniture he named an ape.
His certainty was absolute. Indeed,
that quality received the doctor’s gape.
Can “error confidence” be cured? I shrug.
I doubt it will respond to shrink or drug.

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A Good Call

Among the birthday messages and calls
(appreciated, sure, but like a list
to monitor, who’d sooner dance in thralls
of solitude, by words and puzzles blissed),
the hour spent with one who wasn’t missed,
the paramour from 50 years ago,
then twice-refused, a different row to hoe,
surprised me with its mental nicety –
a dialogue between two minds that know
today, as then, compatibility.

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8th Day

As if the sabbath happened one day late,
last Tuesday was the yoga day of rest.
We breathed and stretched so slowly on Day 8,
twelve hundred seconds wasn’t any test
of stamina. But time to sense the state
of sinew, bone, and muscle was the best
expense of energy that morning hour.
I left home high on happiness and power.

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Labeless

Some time ago, I took to posting verse
each day. The rhyme and meter rang in me.
I didn’t need more sonnets to rehearse,
so I indulged in a variety
of forms. I gained familiarity
with 6- to 10-line stanzas, song and round,
and typed the type below, as if sub-crowned
by definition. Now the years are four,
all that practice hoeing varied ground
invites me not to label any more.

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It’s Going Well

It’s going well, although there’s one small test
ahead, which will not discommode or smell.
The phrase that captures life this week the best?
It’s going well.

I love my work, my kids, the place I dwell.
I don’t sleep long at night, but I get rest.
There’s nothing pushing that I would repel.

I must pursue a bureaucratic quest,
but I think I’ll succeed without a spell.
For now my vigor’s fine. I’m feeling blessed.
It‘s going well.

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The Annual

Attending to the guidelines, quantities
and measurements, screening protocol,
for 40 minutes I gave histories
and answers. I posed questions after all,
about the aging symptoms – phlegm and sneeze
and ready bruising, breath and ethanol.
I left relieved, unchanged, with nothing wincing,
resolved to increase daily nasal rinsing.

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Failure to Learn

She took her time committing to the work,
but now she’s gym-bound twice a week or more.
She learned the benefits – she’s not a jerk –
but won’t apply the lesson. I’d implore
about home yoga, but she’ll just ignore
at best; or worse, she’ll bristle and resent,
preferring all those other friends who meant
to coddle disability with care.
I think she’s well enough, but I’ll relent –
I know my words won’t move her anywhere.

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On the First Ten Days

On January 2, I started in
with 30 days of yoga where I dwell.
Day Zero – New Year’s – led me to begin,
and I choose 30 lines to show & tell
routine I know will lead to feeling well.
Intending to compose dizains for thirds,
I hope to find the rhythm and the words
in 10-line stanzas, on curated moves.
Each iamb builds a headband that begirds
intention, as my posturing improves.

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Paper Chains

The afternoon was gray. Without was rain.
Within I kept 2 children company.
Observing we could make a paper chain,
first 6 endorsed, approved by almost-3.
We found some colored paper in 5 shades,
a roll of tape and scissors I could use
(to cut effectively took grownup blades),
and then we sat to labor and amuse.

Scotch tape dispenser was my job to do.
He governed paper strips and dealt them round.
She giggle-garlanded as linkage grew.
Then all together we festooned, and wound
the longest chain we’d ever formed before.
So now the tree will stand a few days more.

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A Rage Roundel

You never thought your cousin would reply,
and yet you sent resentment, overwrought
and angry, heels dug in, about to cry.
You never thought…

You knew you should suppress the impulse, fraught
with indignation, shrapnel in your eye,
flailing blind, forgetting that you taught

us all to true our aim before we ply
our words. You let yourself by rage be caught,
and now your ire has to multiply.
You never thought.

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