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Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Ghazal in July

Turn your hands to mischief in July!
Dive into books for sweet relief in July.

Summer steals the blossoms of the spring;
Joy will come to gradual grief in July.

Lighting strikes the tree in front of the church;
Behold, the cleft oak's brown leaf in July.

A friendly bus-driver greets his passengers
With "ma'am" or "buddy" or "sir" or "chief" in July.

Humidity in Boston's like New Orleans.
It's tropical beyond belief in July.

Mayhem down in Mudville! Kids line up
For mighty Casey's autograph in July.

Vexed by demagogic politicians
And by bad news, I need a laugh in July.

Only a lunkhead or a puritan
Would dream of switching to decaf in July.

I can't wait till the cool nights of October:
Let's write hot weather's epitaph in July!

I stick the New Balance in my open mouth
Committing another verbal gaffe in July.

The weather's awesome up in Reykjavik.
Did Reagan once meet Gorbachev in July?

I need a meat locker's chill in my bedroom.
My AC's never turned off in July.

Neo-formalists start to get eccentric
And read Creeley and Levertov in July.

Wystan Auden, tell us the truth about love:
Some like a tough to treat 'em rough in July!

A noble month, the month of my baptism:
Who would dare to sneer or scoff at July?

Still, the weather gets a trifle sultry.
You really can't be frozen stiff in July.

Thomas, you should really change your name
To an unpronounceable hieroglyph in July.

Friday, July 12, 2013

Awake at Four

I sit, drink coffee, greet the rising sun,
Compel myself to venture poetry,
And write my hymns of praise to Arlington.

Awake at four? I'm not the only one.
Insomniacs adore the bright TV.
I sit, drink coffee, greet the rising sun.

I can't wait till the heat of summer's done.
I need a room chilled by a strong AC.
I write my hymns of praise to Arlington.

I sing songs from the '80s, just for fun!
"The Safety Dance" and "Synchronicity" ...
I sit, drink coffee, greet the rising sun.

If I were slim, I'd try a morning run,
But sedentary at two seventy,
I write my hymns of praise to Arlington.

No "Bright Star" this, and no Endymion:
No Keatsian eloquence from the likes of me!
I sit, drink coffee, greet the rising sun,
And write my hymns of praise to Arlington.

Out for My Walk

Arlington, Massachusetts, 5.15 am, first morning of summer --- air cool and dewy: sprinklers, sparrows, squirrels; a wide-awake rabbit o...