Libby Weber's Blog, page 16

September 11: The Watched Pot

I watched a pot of soup until it boiled

To thumb my nose at that old aphorism

And see the gently swirling beads of oil

Refract the working light like tiny prisms.

While flakes of parsley circulate below

The tranquil surface, wispy ghosts of steam

Disperse, as bubbles grow and burst, but no,

It only simmers, boiling though it seems.

Though heat and smell were pleasant, I confess,

I saw no beauty in that bile-hued pot.

It boiled at last -in that there was success-

But all I gained was canned soup, piping...

September 10: Sea Legs

When one’s been buffeted by fickle waves

And left so weak it’s difficult to stand,

Those tentative first steps will be what saves

You from the blandishments of solid land.

For while it may seem safest to avert

Future ordeals by lingering on shore,

Contentment may be found by the inert,

But joy is found by giving trust once more.

So hold fast to your crewmates and your ship;

For all of us by storms are tossed and blown,

And even the meticulous can slip.

There is no prize for doing it alone.

So think no mo...

September 9: Goodbye, Chuck

At first, was a case of touchiness

Which oftentimes suggests that I am tired,

But gradually awareness coalesced

That something was amiss with my insides.

It then became a trial of withstanding

Until I reached a place of privacy

And waiting, shivering for understanding

Of all my symptoms alimentary.

And after hours of curling in a ball,

At last, the illness’s apotheosis

Came over me, and I was rid of all

That stood between me and a good prognosis.

The shaking ceased and all was calm at last,

So I am confid...

September 8: Training Wheels

It’s nice when one is training new employees

When complications with simple solutions

Arise in those precise technologies

That I know intimately. Resolutions

May seem impressive, and when reproduced

Assume the awesome aspect of amazing:

Phenomena invoking the abstruse,

And improvising masterworks of phrasing.

But ultimately, I expect no thanks

For helping someone master competence-

For no-one’s ignorance is truly blank,

And having me teach incurs no expense.

For now, I will enjoy the adulation

For paltry...

September 7: Fortune Favors

When heat demands escape by any means

The beach would seem a perfect place to turn,

Where ocean breezes cool the space between

The savage sun and water; to discern

If such a trip is wise takes too much time,

And, moment seized, we brave the crowds and sand

To find not only are conditions prime,

They could not be more perfect if we’d planned.

Negative tide: broad flat like antique mirror,

Whose storm-fed swells roll arcs of water shoreward,

Enticing timid beasties to come nearer-

Despite increasing depth...

September 6: Tycho Brahe’s Pet Moose

The beauty of the internet is this:

All things connected via hyperlinks.

That simple queries stand at the abyss

Of boundless knowledge and unplanned high jinx.

Perform a search on Henry Purcell’s life,

And one may find the name of his librettist,

Who translated a poem that was rife

With medicine and gave a name to syphilis.

And thus inspired, I reached out to a friend

With whom I had spontaneously composed

A suite upon that ailment. Hitting “send,”

The tyranny of distance is deposed.

All ignorance belies...

September 5: Sonnet for Prepared Poet

Why in heaven’s name don’t people read?

A fugue is a more complicated game.

Art goes within and I don’t see the need-

It was a pleasure and now just the same.

Do you live or do you insist on words?

Consider this non-dualistically:

I accepted the major and minor thirds;

This is pleasing momentarily.

This sonnet has been thus composed of lines

From lectures, poems, and writings by John Cage.

A phrase, like sound, can be thus redefined

When juxtaposed or heard upon a stage.

Of that great polymath, it’s but...

September 4: Counted Sweetest

The football season kickoff was tonight,

Which spelled the end of those fantastic days

In which I wore the golden crown outright,

My badge of victory. How fortune plays

Desire! I, who had finished in last place

So many times before, should then succeed-

The joker suddenly became the ace,

And found herself reluctant to concede.

Though many weeks shall pass before it’s known

Who’s next up in our league’s line of succession,

Each point’s an increment that makes the throne

More out of reach in this, my lame...

September 3: No Thanks?

A fad of gratitude has spread throughout

My social media, and challenged all

Who read those thanks to do the same. I doubt

That every thanker has the wherewithal

To name three things they’re thankful for each day

For thirty days. I’m loath to loathe the thought

Of people taking time to think and say

“Thank you!” but it’s too easily forgot-

It takes a certain type of proud obsessive

To do a long-term project of that kind,

And it can be decidedly oppressive

To always have the project in your mind.

And yet,...

September 2: Periodicity

It is an unaccountable relief

To realize your feelings of ennui,

Which you had first attributed to grief,

Comes from a cause more elementary.

Death anniversaries must needs recur,

But while they may engender melancholy,

With passing time they cause less of a stir,

So blaming them for fretfulness is folly.

To pinpoint the determinant does not

Make one’s frustrations easy to conceal,

And yet one can take comfort in the thought

That they’re not caused by anything that’s real.

I’ve every expectation this mal...