“Sapiosexual” she voiced to me,
when I said I’m turned on by learning, but
I looked it up and found that, technically,
her term denotes attraction to a brain
above the norm. But let’s speak honestly –
alone or not, I thrill to new ideas.
It’s like addiction to epiphany –
I long to gather why, and even what.
The closest word I find’s “philomathy.”
(Magic 9)
Three stations situated near my place –
Downtown, Rockridge, and Ashby – are around
a 30-minute walk I oft embrace.
The first is up, the others underground.
The stroll’s more interesting, is what I’ve found,
in north or south directions. But the west
(to Ashby, fewer walkers, more car sound)
has solo concrete seating I like best.
(Huitain)
Deciding I won’t exercise the way
that’s customary, nursing a sore arm
I got from shots I suffered yesterday,
intended to protect from viral harm,
succeeded by a trek with full display
to kin of school and avenue aswarm,
I bathe and rest with zero tasks required,
indulging me, by age and actions tired.
(Ottava Rima)
When we were young and lovely, and in love,
and trying to identify the ways
that we were similar, as if to shove
conclusions we’d be soulmates all our days,
we little noticed difference in the haze
that passion wove around us and between.
We didn’t see your spending as a screen
against a need unmet, affection’s loss.
We neither understood what values mean,
or how you’d hide behind your money toss.
(Dizain)
Erection moves along beyond the wall
of brick that borders to the east of here.
It hasn’t been a silent build at all,
and as it grows its western features rear:
four holes ill-placed are windows in the tall
expanse (two stories), where no view is clear.
I’m trying not to mind the owner’s goals,
but I preferred the look of fewer holes.
(Ottava Rima)
Returning after dark the other night,
my caution and alertness was increased.
I waited for a bus in scattered light
from shop fronts and sparse traffic, yearning east
and watching idlers, drivers in my sight
in neutral, males unmoving not the least,
without an inkling I’d compose this poem
in gratitude I made it safely home.
(Ottava Rima)
Described as being brave, the hero said
she really didn’t feel she had a choice.
She paused to let another act instead,
but no one stepped ahead. She heard no voice
beyond her own say necessary verbs.
There wasn’t any time to hesitate.
Need needs be met, for otherwise disturbs
the soul and sends the sense of self toward hate.
Somebody had to think like an adult.
The kids were petulant, the exes sick
with bitterness. For growing to result,
for happiness to kindle from that wick,
then one at least must rise to meet a call
that isn’t fun or comfortable at all.
Now I can tell you’re irritated too –
you wisely try to alter how we speak.
But saying “I won’t go there” will not do,
unless you modify your own technique
of blurting statements generating pique
or begging a response that won’t concur.
We’re on the phone – you don’t throw out a slur –
but what’s “I find that interesting” to mean?
I can’t decline to speak and won’t demur.
We’re slogging in a fatuous routine.
(Dizain)
Perhaps a shrinking future answers why,
but excesses in which I once indulged
no longer beckon me to gratify
my appetite for munchies or for drugs.
Aware I have less time to modify
behavior, I’m averse to start anew.
But more than that, the volumes satisfy
me less than once. The truth can be divulged –
good morning beats what binge and spree supply.
(Magic 9)
The first offense was small, but when I tripped
on faulty pavement right outside the store,
the merchant didn’t move – his lips were zipped.
No courtesy or care was offered. More
than that event, they overcharge for sure,
and when I pointed out the price they missed
(three dollars more than marked), they tried to twist
by shift of sign and lying. I don’t like
the way they roll, and now they’re off my list.
I won’t be waiting for another strike.
(Dizain)
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