Analogy Regarding Empathy

Imagine that you’re driving slowly here,
when someone darts too fast for you to stop.
You can’t avoid collision – though you veer
and brake, a bone is snapped and tendons pop.
You’re traumatized although you’re not to blame,
but sympathy and aid is not for you.
The injured needs attention, and the aim
is succor for the downed. That’s what we do.

So when a friend explodes in mental break,
with snap hostility and slamming door,
for sure we feel your mystified heartache,
but our concern for who flipped out is more.
It’s weird to hear you, sighing, calibrate
our empathy, abetted by your mate.

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The Oakland Nod

I’ve lived in these parts all my adult years,
enjoying weather and topography,
admiring how my neighborhood appears,
inhaling bay-washed air. Diversity
abounds and has accustomed me to see
the postures in the streets, the manner how
the Oakland nod goes up initially –
a greeting that is nothing like a bow.

(Huitain)

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Attribution

We visit Mom fortnightly after work,
but sometimes cause arises to postpone.
I travel, or a banquet throws a quirk,
or Covid makes her want to dine alone.
Declaring in our daily telephone
exchange, regret my brother chose delay,
I then receive a text from him, with groan
that Mom decided no. That’s just their way.

(Huitain)

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Lucky Number

Deciding that I’d want some mushroom soup
for dinner on a wet December night,
I caught a bus to ride a market loop,
to buy ingredients to cook it right.
Securing broth and fungi, I was quite
delighted to attain by smartphone app
the lucky-numbered bus – I saw the light,
embarked, and made it home without mishap.

(Huitain)

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A Palm Upon the Back

A staggered walking shuffle after stroke,
a toddler’s drunken stumble to a chair,
a tentative attempt when someone spoke
on subjects sensitive, with urgent care,
all beg for some encouragement, and share
a need for help developing a knack.
I can’t imagine any act more fair
than gentle push of palm upon the back.

(Huitain)

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Decomposition

Alone is worse, perhaps, but maybe not.
This year our conversation’s like a curse.
I used to like to talk with you a lot.
Alone is worse?

We’re neither so infirm we need a nurse,
and though there’s nouns I know you have forgot,
I wait for wit and now receive reverse.

Declaring love, of late I’m sensing rot.
Avoiding bicker trims my talk to terse.
I doubt the phrase that I’m about to jot:
alone is worse.

(Roundel)

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2 Cents

I know you work on balance, heart and mind
and body too, and you are 48.
To expectations I am not inclined –
comparing paths is vain – we can’t equate
our progress for you’re scores of years behind
(a generation, if we calibrate).
Advice is cheap, but don’t seek recompense
from bitter martyrdom. That’s my two cents.

(Ottava Rima)

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Bracketing

As when a high-rise building is allowed
to stand above, behind, and at each side
of some historic storefront, there’s a crowd
of new construction bordering my pride
and joy, the haven where I love to bide.
My cottage has existed 80 years
without a neighbor. Now a pair appears.
I understand. To build here is a must –
the people press and we’ve no new frontiers.
But I may need a while to adjust.

(Dizain)

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A Seasonal Tree

The persimmons hang
as ornaments from leaf-lost
December branches.

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A Small Change

The solitaire was challenging today.
I should have stopped – I have a lot to do.
But I indulged a stubborn drive to play,
and that resulted in an altered view
of what and when desires I’d pursue.
The sweet result was hours I enjoyed –
a little less exertion and a new
perspective on how stamina’s deployed.

(Huitain)

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