It's been three years since my little, mostly-unread book of poetry was published (Elder Expectations: My Life in Rictameters is still available on Amazon.com), but from time to time I still write poems in my favorite format, the rictameter: nine unrhymed lines with two, four, six, eight, ten, eight, six, four, two lines, the first and last lines the same. At least one of my fellow Clare residents has become hooked on this form. It's amazing how much can be said in how few words.
For some reason, I've begun to think of new rictameters. They truly are addictive, so I've decided to include some here from time to time. Here are two for today:
I'm Old
I'm old.
Funny things have
Happened: gray hair, wrinkles,
Halting gait, early fatigue, to
Prove the inevitable: my time is
Running out, my future not so
Endless, bright, promising
As once I thought.
I'm old.
Bright Days
Bright days
Of golden sun
Viewed from highrise heaven,
Everything takes on a golden
Glow that makes the world seem better than on
Grayer days, when troubles, problems
Take the foreground, make me
Long for sunshine,
Bright days.
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