When I was young I thought I’d bend the world
to satisfy myself and realize dreams.
Arriving at adulthood, I was hurled
beneath the multi-tasking work extremes.
In middle-age I modified my schemes,
for pathways had eroded into dust.
And now I’m old I take time as it seems –
receptive and accepting, I adjust.
(Huitain)
No doubt I’ll eulogize her after death,
but she’s adhering longer than we dreamed.
More tired steadily and short of breath,
reduced to traits about which we’ve long screamed,
instead of growing softer than she seemed
when in her prime, she’s meanly concentrating
the qualities I loathe. She’s unredeemed,
and my dismay continues unabating.
(Huitain)
We looked at quilts and beadwork Saturday.
Although our time included other sights,
the textile work and woman-craft held sway,
and influenced our thinking several nights.
It didn’t make me want to sew the way
it may have pushed her to creative heights,
but it was walking talking time well spent,
which I expect will spur experiment.
(Ottava Rima)
I didn’t sleep enough last night, although
I walked eleven thousand steps before.
For that and time alone, I opted “no,”
when offered wheels to bike the river shore.
I stretched and then I gladly locked the door,
eliminated waste and travel grit,
relaxed and wrote and readied for a tour
to waterfalls, right after this respite.
(Huitain)
Of rabbitbrush we learned when we enjoyed
a 3 day/2 night visit to the real
estate that’s called high desert. It’s employed
by rabbits as a cover more than meal,
and occupies the space that would appeal
to succulents or cactus down below.
With rabbitbrush no tumbleweeds can wheel,
and rabbitbrush is everywhere we go.
(Huitain)
My mother never filters her own speech
among her family or closest friends.
Whenever I’d correct her and beseech
her to speak gentler, she’ll excuse herself
by claiming that such freedoms only reach
to those she loves the most. She’ll justify
impulsive with affection’s guise on each
occasion when her language most offends.
Sadistic comment classes she could teach.
(Magic 9)
I’m taking stock right now of how I feel.
I try to do this every single day,
but I’m about to leave, and as I reel
among my body parts, I sense okay.
The pains of yesterday have gone away –
that tweak in upper back has disappeared.
My foot is well. All indications say
I’m good to go and happy to be weird.
(Huitain)
Ahead of me, a woman walks uphill.
She’s dressed for exercise, with phone to ear.
She angles leftward toward the street, until
she nears the curb, and then she turns to veer
to right and plodding on her way, proceeds
zigzagging up the street. I can’t decide –
is she distracted? processing some needs
to add more steps by walking side-to-side?
And next I watch a guy in my BART car
switch trains but only ride one station more.
The rails he left would take him just as far,
so why did he elect to transfer? Sure
I witnessed slightly strange, but no one harmed.
By chance-encountered strangers I’m disarmed.
When I set up my kitchen as a spouse
of 23 (the ones before were loose
arrangements with my roommates, in a house
or casual apartment – no excuse,
but no deliberate acquisition spree),
I purchased several powders, I recall,
to douse a kitchen fire, should there be
an accident when cooking. After all,
I’d seen my mother more than once or twice
extinguish grease with bicarb or with salt
(and once with scouring powder – that was nice).
I made our place equipped for fire halt.
It took me several years – no flame occurred –
to realize Mom’s mishaps were not assured.
So many things my mother said were wrong.
I had suspicions early, but I tried
obedience at first. It wasn’t long
before I grew to be dissatisfied.
I ran my own experiments – a throng
of variance successfully applied.
Each step led to another, till my way
diverged in full from all she had to say.
(Ottava Rima)
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