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Flyacious flight in Fall

They used to all together
peskily be swarming
flew in all sorts of weather
as well farm ‘barn storming’

Now one buzzes alone
feebly, risking stall
by cold, shifting winds blown:
The Last Fly of Fall

Flight pattern erratic
dropped altitude
traumatic, near static
down on attitude

Hark jarring vibration!
Horror! Airspeed drops!
Fatal vacillation!
Tail spin, then fly flops!

It has crashed, feet in air:
its worn wings wrinkled
lit emergency flare
shows fly parts sprinkled

A fly whom the Gods love dives young
still vivacious, hellacious!
Those who fly too long live unsung:
turn loquacious, vexatious!

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Sorting paper clips by color

Who might you be to berate?
Hold your holy holler!
My sorting aim simple, straight:
paper clips by color

To you perhaps a clip mere wire
cavalierly curved metal
its ingeniousness won’t inspire
or found lacking its mettle?

While to me colored paper clips
strew paths like do rose petals
May distract like succulent lips
Prove gallantry like medals

But then I, like the clips, I consent
am as well of a peculiar bent

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Mind scatters downwind?

My tepid thoughts shiver
quintessentially
Its conclusions quiver
inferentially

Then like light squall
sweeping gust
in fleeting thrall
comes distrust

Gathering breeze
brings a chill
more ill at ease
than ill will

Is my mind chagrined
by happenstance
scattering downwind
by circumstance?

Or just dueling with dementia
while distracted by dyslexia?

 

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The situation is hopeless but not desperate

Had hoped for another dimension
of roaring and soaring ascent
trying to stand up to convention
been dreaming of dashing dissent

By now I’m better versed:
found species mainly slighted
Human existence cursed
on plundered planet blighted

While the situation seems hopeless
grant me be courageous and mope less!

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One in take-off by ‘afterburner’, other watching blast-off from amen corner

With irrepressible intention
Joyce takes off for an intervention

An ever blossoming head turner
steeply she roars off from the house
as if by switched-on ‘afterburner’
Fades behind: a blown over spouse

who’ll be wobbling, gasping
in turbulent wake
from cheering, voice rasping
uncombed, stare opaque

Lost in irrelevancy’s realm
clasping pale at his flimsy helm

+)
-afterburner = a jet engine power booster engaged to briefly increase speed
-intervention = Joyce works as an (addiction) intervention specialist

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Grinding coffee by hand

The grinder manual
a squeaking jewel
of process natural
zestful ritual

Among machines
manual is ‘end’
that fulfills ‘means’
in transcendent blend

We shall be finding
pure peace of mind
when by hand grinding
New shifts align:

Caffeinated manna
wondrously falls, wends
In pure dulciana
fragile fragrance scends

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On life’s short promenade

Let up on the schlepp:
Unclasp handrails
find spring in your step
Check wind, set sails

Clamor for an upgrade:
Transcend life’s travails
in its daily charade
Forge upwardly trails

Do not indulge in sour grapes
on Life’s short promenade
and above all never traipse
in its penny arcade

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Loving our monetized activity, while unabashed by usury!

Clearly verity
a fading oddity
like charity
& solidarity!

Non-profit? What hilarity:
A socialist contrivance!
Anti-social temerity!
Surely full fledged connivance!

Rather: ‘Love it’ proclivity
for fantasy’s foolery
of monetized activity
unabashed by usury!

Steady stealth inoculations
in market cacophony
by rapacious corporations
in globalized larceny

Any chance they’d take a moment’s rest?
Sure, when the sun rises in the West!

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Union affable in perfect sorting control

Here’s a story that rocks
for persons with feet
who are wearing out socks
Here details replete:

Involves a old married couple
their romance erstwhile torrid
Neither bodies or minds supple
shuffling in socks un-florid

Socks not blown off any longer
but no surprise still worn through
spotted, when peeled off to launder
without alarm or ado

Her socks wear first at the toe
without an exception
while his heels the first to go
By clearest perception:

sock sorting thus infallible
merely check where’s found the hole
The couple’s union affable
in perfect sorting control

 

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Erstwhile souls debased

We’re wilting in complacency’s shades
lost in gutless conformity
On frequent refrigerator raids
indulgent of deformity

Lassitude has kept us callow
from solidarity strayed
Each morning’s fresh hue turns sallow
by torrid crassitude swayed

We’ll be found too light when weighed
our erstwhile souls debased
Surely this whole jam self-made
with gone sour aftertaste?