I’m at loose ends today, and it feels great
not knowing where my stamina extends.
I listen to a prompt to meditate.
I’m at loose ends.
The kids away, I have spare time that bends
around my healing arm, my foot, all freight.
Discarding every list, no task impends.
I think I will unravel, rest, and wait
alone – I don’t want family or friends.
I’ll use today to just appreciate
I’m at loose ends.
(Roundel)
I picked her up to comfort her. That’s how
I earned my latest injury this year.
Her toddler head collided with my brow,
and overnight a shiner did appear.
It’s like I’m wearing purple shadow now –
my outer upper eyelid has a smear
of bruise that doesn’t hurt, but it will be
with me a week, for I am elderly.
(Ottava Rima)
For over 16 years, this eastern wall
has kept a neighbor’s yard from seeing me.
I’ve heard the tenants rowdy, and recall
the time a beer can landed on my deck.
But mostly it’s disturbed me not at all,
until the owner shared his building plan.
The structure he intends will not be small:
two levels up, wide as the property.
I may erect a blind before this fall…
(Magic 9)
I do not miss terrestrial TV
(I read the term first-time a week ago).
I disconnected very happily
last summer – now I’m streaming every show.
The landline left my land – all calls are free
from wires anywhere a cord can go.
For dear as old technology once seemed,
it’s only trended downward, unredeemed.
(Ottava Rima)
I used to be at work from 8 to 6.
I did a lot each weekday that transpired.
And many said I loved my work/life mix
so much, I’d never call myself retired.
But they misunderstood how task addicts
arrange our days – they didn’t have a clue.
I’m home but at it hard – my labor fix
survives, but now it spans from 6 to 2.
Infatuated with a wall,
my admiration grew to love.
I bought the right to see it all
my days, and though I look above
at ceiling lines that I adore,
and out through glass at quiet green,
and underfoot at oaken floor,
this wall is still my favorite scene.
Oh let me learn from her how not to act,
and even as my finger joints get gnarly,
let me cultivate the skill of tact,
and never let my visage be so snarly.
As far back as my memory extends
her choices have repulsed me, and compelled
me taking other paths to other ends,
and filled me with disdain while grieving welled.
Much older than I ever dreamed we’d be,
I can’t effect a change in her, but me
I still can nurture. I will yet improve.
Oh let me deviate, while I can move.
My new best friend’s a pillow that I bought
a bit after a visit, where I tried
a version that my yogi daughter sought
as gift a year ago. The buckwheat hulls
conform to where my muscles have been fraught
(unnoticed till I felt their fine support).
It brings a surface to my ache. I ought
to know the additives I need to have applied,
but I did not suspect what I’m now taught.
(Magic 9)
I took a trip and landed on the ground.
My left knee and my elbow felt the pain.
I must have moved too fast – that’s how I found
myself on old concrete. I saw the stain
of blood on jacket sleeve, and knew the sting
of laceration. Still, I rode the train
and powered on. I’d tend to everything
in time – I had a journey to maintain.
Within an hour I had cleaned the wound,
applied a bandage, washed the jacket sleeve.
It wasn’t till the evening I near-swooned
with left wrist pain too potent to believe.
In half a day my wrist no longer screamed –
I guess that whack was sharper than it seemed…
Laissez-faire describes my oldest friend.
She even brags about how lax she is –
not checking messages companions send;
forgetting set appointments, dropping in
(she knows they know she’s got the cash to spend);
misplacing but not learning from a loss.
She’s now annoyed a youngster won’t amend
that laid-back, so-what attitude of his…
Her blare’s too loud for her to comprehend.
(Magic 9)
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