A skunk explored the garden yesterday
at 10 a.m. – a little late to show.
Twelve hours later raccoons raced their way
across my roof. They thumped and scurried so,
I nearly yelled through skylights – “time to go!”
I found a moving bug inside the stone
that split within my peach. I rose to throw
it out. An owl crooned a tender tone.
(Huitain)
My thoughts are stuffed with pillows recently,
inspired by a sham that shows some stain,
compounded by a purchase bought for me –
a cushion filled with buckwheat hulls, a main
support I’ve taken to use frequently.
The sham is old – it’s more than served. It’s lain
too long abed. I looked and browsed, and face it –
I’m filled with will and down to now replace it.
(Ottava Rima)
I want to be engaged but I’m annoyed –
bad grammar, sentence fragments, run-ons too.
If they were used deliberately, employed
in aid of narrative or ringing true
to dialect, supporting point of view,
well that would be excuse. But this is bad.
The plot’s okay, but can I see it through?
Poor overwritten language makes me mad.
(Huitain)
My mood was good already, but it rose
a little higher when I saw the birds –
two pigeons gazing roadward in a pose
suggesting they were monitors of cars.
They perched, wings folded, steel beneath their toes,
and seemed when traffic passed them to converse.
I snapped two photos, grinning, and I chose
to capture them as well in careful words,
selecting wings of meter over prose.
(Magic 9)
Her argument was vehement and fast –
abrupt and cold refusal to abet
my statement there’s a difference (nothing vast)
in quality of parents siblings get.
Maintaining that her sister knew the same
attention, action, discipline she had,
for they were close in age (two years), became
annoying to me from my old comrade.
She wasn’t using memory or mind –
those 20-somethings had to morph, of course.
And marriages evolve – love will unwind
or grow, to prosper or to find divorce.
My friend says her objective is to learn.
I wish she’d lighten up and be less stern.
The office for my home’s a wooden shed,
with outlets and sufficient window glass
but little insulation. Comfort’s fed
electrically, by heater or by fan.
The former is to warm my hands and head
all winter long. The fan makes breeze from June
to autumn – till this year. I leave my bed
each morning and I greet a chilly mass.
My fan is idle now. I heat instead.
(Magic 9)
It doesn’t take that long to sweep what drops
from branches of the eucalyptus tree,
but lately leaf- and bark-fall never stops –
each day a new assortment’s there to see.
Attractive and provocative to me,
enticing tidiness about my home,
I daily gather, and they’re frequently
an inspiration for a homely poem.
(Huitain)
I gave up cannabis a while ago.
I had to stop all smoking, and what’s more,
the high was unreliable. I know
some other ways to take it in, but vape
induced a cough, and gummies didn’t show
a benefit I could appreciate.
My wisdom discount made my brother glow –
I went with him to purchase as before.
But I’m not needed now he’s aging so.
(Magic 9)
You’re always tired now. We understand.
You’re nearly 98, and what’s required
is rest, although that isn’t what you planned.
You’re always tired.
We wish these slowing changes had inspired
some thoughtfulness, a little self-command,
but you’d as soon return to feeling wired.
So you complain. You ever have at hand
a grudge, a criticism gripe-desired.
You’re negative, and days are like quicksand.
You’re always tired.
(Roundel)
If I were you I wouldn’t fret so much –
I’d never let insomnia affect
my attitude. I’d try to get in touch
with rest by inspiration. I’d expect
to soothe with meditation, breath and such.
I wouldn’t toss until my sheets were wrecked,
or seek an aid from CVS’s shelf.
But I’m not you. I only guide myself.
(Ottava Rima)
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