Stress, Distress, De-stress

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100625

CAT SPAT

And then there was the day
the neighborhood white stray
chased Emma on the deck.
She fought and squealed like heck
as I came running.

The stray took off, but what a scare!
Gray-fluff fur was everywhere,
but not one sign of blood;
that, at least, was good.

By luck or cunning,
Emma’d located a nook
from which to fight. I took
her in my arms and nearly wept;
she had started purring. Then she slept,
and then went back outside—
my blind battler, and my pride.


100624

AFTERNOON AFTER

To bed at four.
Awake at ten
to write this pome
then sleep again.


100623

SKYLIGHT

Today at dawn
I shut the blinds,
then was surprised
to wake and find
the room so bright;
I’d been sleeping
in the light.


NOT ALARMED

Except for skylight,
I would still
be sleeping.


WRITING IT OUT

Perplexed.
Panicked.
Inadequate.

Whatever my biology,
whatever my upbringing,
whatever my adaptations,
hurry reverts me
to juvenile feelings:

Not good enough.
Don’t know enough.
Don’t know enough
to get it right,
or, even, just to get it.
Can’t think.
Can’t think.
Can’t think.
Can’t remember
enough or fast enough.
And didn’t write it down.

What is the proper sacrifice
to hurry? In the work of writing,
if my strengths are my weakness,
do I become stronger by weakening?

Where is the center,
the balance point?
How much can balance?
What is the point?


100622

UNFAMILIAR VOICES

Which birds were those,
the first of dawn,
serenading his departure?


100621

WAKE UP, WAKE UP!

What is this—
an exercise in depletion,
or simple self-deception?
—working ‘round the clock
designing training courses
on how to manage time
and keep a life in balance.


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