Working on My Stroke

Industriously working on my stroke
I eat two pizzas, both with extra cheese,
No vegetables, as much wine as you please,
And chocolate pudding. Then I’ll have a smoke.
I haven’t exercised since I awoke
Eight days ago, can barely reach my knees
When bending at the waist. Hugging the trees
Is all I know of love. Also, I’m broke.

I must confess, I seldom think of you:
Too much of that might ruin all this work,
Revive all those good habits that I shirk
In my unmet desires and hopes, wholly true
In all of my devotions, with no clue
To why I feel this way. Try not to smirk.

Fictions

I started out not knowing what to do,
So I found books, and taught myself the spells,
The incantations and the fearful yells
To make the planet round again, and true.
I knew someone would come, not knowing who,
To fix the night jars and the carousels.
I told the altar boys to ring the bells
For my arrival, since I have come through.

These are the products of my factory:
I made this auburn hair from mango peel,
Retouched the paint on my electric eel,
Created for those too refractory
An amulet, like a phylactery,
That took your fictions up, and made them real.

Help for Pain

I tried to say the sea is calm tonight,
But faltered. Nonetheless, the sea is calm,
The clear air’s sweet aroma is a balm
Soothing my troubled mind. You say it’s trite,
But sometimes balm is what will make things right.
You frown, and I experience a qualm,
Fear overwhelms me, my face in my palm,
My heart sinking. I’ve lost the will to fight.

The time’s long past I could expect a kiss;
You were already running home to mother,
While I claimed to be murdering my brother.
But no attempt at all? I’d be remiss,
So something bubbles up, and I try this:
Ah, love, let us be true to one another!

We Will Remember Always What We See

I add red onions and bell peppers, red
And green, with chunks of carrots, celery,
Long strips of lamb, basmati rice, slowly,
Stir very gently. I do as you said,
Cook mainly for the stomach, but once fed
We will remember always what we see
In the blue bowl you generously gave me
When I had food but no dishes or bed.

The world is wide, full of good people, hearts
As full as bakers’ ovens are at dawn,
Like early birds on a wide, worm-strewn lawn.
These colours are the place our whole life starts;
I never trained in the culinary arts
Or reading minds, but colour spurs us on.