Umbrella

Shield the wind
Stop the drops
Shade the sun
Statement of fashion
Close up like a capsule
Forget on the train

 

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Soccer (Nonet)

(Nonet: nine lines, nine to one syllable)

 

At the park across the street they run
and screech and yell and cheer as their
families sit in chairs and
visit and cheer along
as coaches cajole
I get to watch
with no thought
of the
win.

 

 

 

Nick of Time

An instrumental version of the song
brought the memory back of that day.
We were driving to a meeting.
She had a cassette.
The song Nick of Time was playing.
She rewound it to a few certain lyrics
Over and over.
She was nervous.

You came along and showed me I could leave it all behind.
You opened up my heart again, then to my surprise.
Love in the nick of time.
I didn’t know her well
though we worked together.
I knew, from office gossip, she was having an affair with
a man we worked with.

When did the choices get so hard?
With so much more at stake.
She was married and had three children,
One, a new infant.
He was recently divorced.

I sat quietly,
had no idea if or what to respond.
I felt invisible, an observer of her pain.
She wasn’t asking anything of me
and I gave nothing.
We arrived and went to our meeting.

She stayed with her husband.
Her paramour went on to chaotic relationships
including an unhappy and short marriage
So much for
Love in the nick of time.

 

 

 

Summer Sounds

Traffic, train whistles.
Birds chirp inside wind swept trees.
Contrast unspoken.

 

From Morning to Night

I always said I’m a morning person. And I was. Up at dawn. Full of new ideas, I’d often go to bed with a problem and wake up with the solution.

Endless energy but to bed early in order to face the next day. Even on weekends.  I couldn’t sleep in.  Remember those lovely days in college when it was nothing to sleep until noon.

After years of retirement, it finally sinks in. No need to rise at a certain hour.  I can take naps when tired during the day. Now I stay up until all hours; then get up when I feel like it.

Some days I get on the computer while still in my night clothes and work on a project until noon.  But I’m having dreams every night.

Research shows that people who dream are less likely to have Alzheimer issues as they age. Sounds good to me.

These are vivid and action filled dreams. I can’t identify where they take place and nothing looks familiar. The people in my dreams, and there are many, are unknown to me.

I wake thinking I have something important to do. I feel a sense of dread. Then, once fully awake, I realize it was only a dream.

It’s like watching a movie. Though I’m in the movie, I’m only an observer and what happens doesn’t affect me. That’s perfect; unlike those days of work-related pressure.

I’m loving my transition from morning person to night owl.

Weary

When poets critique,
there is no end to thoughts, theories or thinking.
Just the sound of the word,
that’s the poetry of poetry.
Once the poem is read out loud,
only a moment until the first comment.

I think the word weary should be changed to tired.
No, that sounds mundane.

I think the word weary should be changed to drowsy.
No, that doesn’t fit the rhyme.

A better choice is drained.
No, that seems severe.

The sound of the word exhausted fits better.
No, that has too many syllables.

Sleepy sends a better message.
No, that’s too vague.

Since the language is casual, the word beat is best.
No, that’s not poetic.

The rhythm of the word fatigued adds charm.
No, that seems harsh.

So much is gained from group think.
A new word never thought of or an idea
that takes the poem down another road.
But,
after much thought,
wistfully weighing the words,
and after all,
this is my poem
and I can do what I want,
though the process makes me weary,
weary is the word I choose.

 

Kindle Kaleidoscope

Preparing for a plane trip,
while toting an 800-page tome;
how to lug it through long lines.

Aha! Join the 21st century.
Buy a Kindle; always wanted to
and finally break that binge habit of book buying.

But it takes a PhD in library science to figure this out.
Putting a hold on a book only puts you in line.
Length of line depends on how many copies the library owns.
Twenty in line for five copies
will take longer than five in line for twenty copies.

Though carefully watching where the line is,
still, a book is finished long before the next arrives.
That leaves one desperate for something to read.

Or when miscalculating the suspension mode,
now there are two books coming at the same time
and only 21 days to read.
Hunker down and do nothing else!

The record holder is Michelle Obama’s at 2083 ahead in line.
The  Kindle cloud has unlimited storage.
Michelle Obama’s e-book is $14.99.
So much for not buying books.

 

 

 

Discombobulated 2019

It’s one day after the new year.
A new plan, simple but fun.
Internet check shows yoga at 12:30.
After that, lunch with a book.
Off I go.

Great parking place found.
Look in my purse,
no wallet.
Where did I last have it?
How can I sign in to my class? Aghast!
At the desk I explain,
no problem they say.

Strange, as I approach the room
the class is in mid-pose.
I check the schedule on the door.
Yoga at 11:30 it says. Pshaw!
What a mess!

No wallet, so no lunch.
Home I go.
When I arrive, no wallet to be found
in all the usual places.
Yikes, now I’ll have to replace it all.
Then there it is
under the table on the chair seat.|
Relief.

Rattled and unbalanced.
Oh, just another sign of aging.
Is that what this is?
Maybe I’m doomed to such discombobulation
for the rest of the year.
Welcome 2019!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Day at the Museum

Sun shining bright and clear.
Windows and whiteness everywhere
enhances the calm lake.

The museum is filled with children on a class trip.
Chatter, running, gleeful excitement.
Climbing on the art work when allowed.

Jane and I stop in the café
A chai tea and talk.
Happening upon long lost friends.
Welcoming comments from strangers.

Trip to the second level
to view the grand ceremony.
Calatrava wings,
like clockwork at noon
slowly close and open.

A docent group walks nearby
listening dutifully to the guide’s orientation.
Lunch in the restaurant.
A bubble of windows and light.
Endless talk.

Stop to see the newest exhibit,
a suitcase open on the floor.
Walk around each side to see the water below.
An adult’s legs cradle a child’s.
What does it mean. Who knows.
That was the only art seen on this artful day.

 

 

 

Stork Pose

Patience, balance, silence, breathe.
High on the mountain of repose.
Goddess lunges.
Vinyasa of warriors, humble and peaceful
opens in a flower pose.

Triangles give way to pyramids,
downward dog gone that feels good.
Seated twist creates
a sea of arms gliding from left to right,
closing to wide angle.
Serene, silent synchronicity.

Yoga touches all.
Stork pose morphs into tree pose
when foot rests on the leg.
 I forgive the mix of metaphor.
Perhaps that means the stork is sitting in the tree.
Or maybe it means something else.
Yoga is quite mystical, you know.

Finally,
last week I sustained stork pose
on both the left and the right.
Patience, balance, silence, breathe.

 

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