I Should Be Writing

No more excuses now remain, and yet
I have yet to take up that which I've longed
To do in earnest. Failure seems to get
The best of me ere I've begun. I'm wronged
In this by no one but myself. I'm mocked
Not by the blank page or the new-filled pen,
But by old habits of belief and thought
(The former more like disbelief; I've been
My nemesis for too long, know the tricks
Best played to thwart me -- when to mimic fear,
And when to use plain loathing so it sticks
There in the mind, so each and ev'ry year
It's harder to get started). How to silence these
But not the needed voices? Tell me, please.

Scotland: In Which It Needn't be the End

O Scotland, none can say ye dinna try
(And here I cease to try in dialect
Lest I err and offend). I know that I
Was thrilled to see your efforts -- so correct
And civil, as the Scottish way should be.
It's hard to leave a nest, and in these days
Of bigger seeming better, hard to see
How paring down might strengthen someone's plays,
So I suppose at any rate. All change
Is somewhat scary. Think on it some more,
However. While to old folk this seemed strange,
Your younger set, as stubborn to the core
Chose independence. They might get their way
In future. You might yet win free someday.

In Which is Had a Late Night Fright, but By Whom?

Unable once again to sleep, I sought
Relief in waters hot, of sulfur'rous smell.
Outside my door was waiting what, I thought,
Some kind of prank contraption. "What the hell?"
A radio antenna? Sculpture fail?
In silence, into darkness I stepped t'ward
The mystery. And then it moved! My flail
Of startlement near hit it. Almost gored
Upon a mighty antler, I withdrew,
Then, panting, frightened by a five-point buck
(That's on each antler; it's the West here). "Shoo!"
I said to him. I don't know why. As luck
Would have it, deer spaghetti was my lunch.
Was this revenge? I'd entertain that hunch.

Kirsten, Kirsten, Rest in Crazy Ass Enthusiasm

A crazy-ass Zen saint, I watched in awe
As we grew up together. Nothing stopped
Her having fun. I never, ever saw
A person so alive. Oft my jaw dropped
To witness such enthusiasm. There
Has never been her like. My fortune's great
To have had her example and to share
Times good and less so with her. And now fate
Has, cruel, decreed that we have had enough?
"Screw that," Kirsten would say, and I agree.
In memory of her, I'll make neat stuff
And do amusing things, will try to be
A bit more like her. And sit in my dress
As she did, now and then. It was the best!