Rhyme or Reason?

A Justification in Verse

The dog park. Northampton, MA (June, 2023)

Yes I am aging, 

But also I’m EASING, 

As wrinkles crowd into my corners. 

A natural progression of things, no matter the scorners. 

So much water underneath the bridge, 

All that dye already cast! 

Hurry, do it all quick. 

Come on! Super fast! 

Take the week off, I tell myself. 

No need for a hullabaloo. 

The robins are on the lawn, 

The finches sucking down the DEW. 

Beyond the fog of Canadian fires, 

The world is poised and waiting. 

It is swimming and biking weather. 

Enough with this CLEVER contemplating. 

My kids have gone off to their hot, humid summers 

And I am here

With the DOGS AND THE BIRDS and 

No shortage of wonders. 

This idea will hold, I know it, 

To my mind, I plead. 

Stop whispering words to me. 

There are other things to NEED.

The deadline is set, 

Each Friday another post 

And I’ve not missed one yet. 

Yes, in fact that’s a BOAST.

The pool is open. Drive with care. 

I’m known to pull over

To watch a HAWK circle,

A powerful prayer.

I won’t write a thing today. 

No humble brag, nor CELEBRATORY toast. 

I’ll hike instead, 

Somewhere close or up the coast.

Well this is fun, 

A light GAME in some verse. 

A new feather in my cap,

An add-on to my purse.

No more laboring over hardships, 

It’s time to find a new SHTIK. 

Is it wrong to demand some carrots? 

I’ve had enough of the STICK. 

If it wasn’t this I was writing, 

I’d be TREE BATHING in the woods. 

This is the lie I tell myself,

Never one to chase the goods.

I prefer reclining on my couch,

Running through my list of SHOULDS.

Knocking over the kickstand, 

Hopping onto my big RED BIKE.

Riding into this glorious season, 

While my writing COLLEAGUES ARE OUT ON STRIKE.

I hear what you're saying, 

I know what you mean, 

Nothing productive comes 

Too far from that DREADED SCREEN.

But the birds are calling, 

And also GOOD FRIENDS, 

And all my well meaning, 

Moves nothing in the end.

Time has been wasted 

Behind a keyboard dutifully waiting. 

Loving and living and in general, wild “KATE-ING.”

I hear your argument, 

I know it's TRUE.

This poem is writing. 

WHAT MORE CAN I DO?

Clacking away with its hemorrhaging feeling

Is too much to stay away from, 

Far too APPEALING.

Just this one more stanza, 

Before I hit the road.

I am filling up paper

With my own ancient CODE.

It’s all just a crapshoot. 

What more will can spill? 

When will I quit this? 

AND MAY I NEVER GET MY FILL