My Everest

That mountain lords over me;
High above a looming mass,
Its silent, cold indifference
Chilling and unnerving my bones.
Regardless whether ready or not,
I brace to launch my first step;
Shaky foot in front of the other,
I compel myself to move up.
Walking a fine, tottering line,
Just one stride after another,
I slow to a deliberate cadence
To conceal my reluctant struggle.
My aging body sore and stiff,
Using every muscle and resource,
I feel as if I’m teetering,
But dare not lose control.
Midway my legs grow weak,
Testing my will to persist;
I stop and rest more often,
Then stiffly revive and move on.
I must stay ever focused
Never looking back or down;
Though my limbs grow weary,
I cannot accept any forfeit.
We all have mountains to climb,
But climb we surely must,
If we are ever to overcome fear,
Adversity will bring out our best.
Warned about possible failure,
Thought I could not, dare not,
While it was ONLY fifteen stairs,
I had scaled my Everest!

© 2024, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

Not so dire

You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you, hey
Friend, the stakes couldn’t be higher

Come on, homie, chill the ire
Come on, homie, chill the ire
Things really are not so dire

Mm, the time for reprobation’s through
There’s no need to wallow in the mire
Dear friend, we could only lose
And our lives become balanced on high-wire

Come on, homie, chill the ire
Come on, homie, chill the ire
Things really are not so dire

Well, you know that it would be untrue
And you know that I would be a liar
If I was to go and tell you
My friend, the stakes couldn’t be higher

Come on, homie, chill the ire
Come on, homie, quench your fire
Care for you does not expire!

Thomas Paine Park 4/19/24

🎵

An Orange Cat Got Tom’s Tongue

In a sleepy village far from Iran
Lived a wise old man, weathered and tan.
He spoke with ease, with grace and flair;
But one day, his voice vanished into thin air.

A phantom feline, stealthy and sly,
Played a weird prank on this wonderful guy,
Inflating his tongue when he was asleep,
Leaving him silent, not a word to peep.

The man tried to talk, but no sound would come,
A strange phenomenon, quite cumbersome,
His friends and family soon gathered ’round,
To find out what had caused the dearth of sound.

Hour turned into day, and day into week,
Still, the poor man could barely eke a squeak,
But deep inside, he kept his faith strong,
That his voice would return before long.

One day, while abed waiting for a godsend,
A miracle happened, his throat was opened,
His voice returned, a bit weak but clear,
And from then on, he had nothing to fear.

The minx slinked away, feeling so ashamed,
For causing this man such high worry and pain,
But the man forgave the rascal, for he knew,
That life is full of twists, both strange and new.

© 2024, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

Birth Warning: Plastic Interference

A 2023 study of chicken embryos suggests that sufficient concentrations of tiny nanoplastic speckles interfere with the earliest stages of development, by getting stuck to stem cells from which tissues and organs usually emerge. This may lead to organ deformity and defect.

Suggestion:

Make high priority the significant reduction in the use of plastics industrially, commercially, and on the individual level.

10 Ways to Reduce Plastic Pollution

Tips to Use Less Plastic – Green Education Foundation

COVID-19 has made plastic pollution worse – here are 4 things we can do

Health: Nutrition

Experts say one’s diet should include a healthy protein, whole grains, vegetables, and fruit. But rather than ration those ingredients, it might be easier – and healthier – to mix and match colors. Not only does this rainbow-driven strategy fuel the body for its best performance, but it might help it prevent diseases or lower disease risk.

Suggestion:

Eat the rainbow for good health

Workout

Confounded machine!
Why should I even bother?
Life keeps on ticking…

———

バカな機械 !
あ,なぜわざわざ?
人生続く

———

¡Máquina maldita!
¿Por qué molestarse?
La vida sigue…

― 俳句 (haiku)

© 2023, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

I started

I started to write
A Viagra ad popped up
Where did I leave off?

———

書きながら
バイアグラの宣伝
再起動方法 ?

———

Nanoratra aho
Nisy Viagra nipoitra
Taiza no nialako?

———

Je viens d’écrire
Viagra est apparu
Où ai-je arrêté

———

Te escribía …
Un spot de Viagra
¿Dónde lo dejé?

― 俳句 (haiku)

© 2023, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

Little Stream

Trickle, trickle, little stream,
Your persistence makes me scream!
Down below that wizened Soul,
You keep drizzling in the bowl.

After feeble flow is done,
When the droplets turn to none,
Your return’s no welcome sight,
Trinkle, trinkle through the night.

So now I seek from a Doc
Answers to my bladder’s block,
To ease fear I’ll never go
And relieve this old man’s woe.

Will this be cure or wet dream?

© 2023, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

🎵

Old Man Koziol

Your seventy-year-old form, like an old tree,
In ancient mud mired for many years,
Now is left with a worn-out hip,
An ever-lasting, painful remembrance.
Sitting upon a red wooden stool,
You mix meds dose by dose with water,
And watch the days flow one into another,
Making all grow stale and hallow.
You are used to hearing the lament of the lonely,
Which has calloused your mind and heart.
Today, the well is still the same as before;
But now the pump brings out another tune.
Old man! When I look at you,
It is like seeing a green sprout from a bare tree in spring.
That old sparkle has come alive.
Spurred by your Muse, you dance to a new song.

© 2021, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

Chasm

Under the specter of a world now still,
A grandfather’s voice and granddaughter’s will
Yearn to bridge a chasm, very steep and vast—
Amid the pandemic, a love steadfast.
Through windows, their smiles meet within sight,
Distantly tethered with all their might.
His stories, a balm, pass through the screen;
Her laughter, so dear, brightens the scene.
Where hands would clasp, now gestures make do,
Hugs postponed, held in memory’s glue.
His gentle touch is a whisper of the past,
Hers, an evanescence, though the feelings last.
In the moment, they share their hearts’ refrain
Of hopes and dreams, despite the clear strain.
“Soon,” he promises, “we’ll cross this divide
And meet face-to-face, sit here side-by-side.”

© 2021, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

Stuck in Paradise

It was a bright Saturday morning in March 2021 when Aaron leaned out the window of his apartment on San Francisco’s Twin Peaks. The city was eerily quiet, an emptiness he had never known. The streets that were usually bustling with tourists, street vendors, and locals all trying to squeeze in a little extra fun before the weekend had been silenced by the pandemic. California—his adopted state—had become a strange version of its usual self.

He sighed heavily, brushing his messy brown hair out of his face. On the surface, it seemed like he should have been the happiest person in the world. California, with its year-round sunshine, its relaxed lifestyle, and its endless outdoor amenities, had long been considered the ideal place to weather a crisis. Despite COVID, the Blue state had one of the lowest rates of mortality in the country, and the weather was perfect for socially-distanced hikes or bike rides. People seemed to be doing fine—maybe even thriving—given the circumstances. But Aaron was not having it. He felt… trapped.

From the safety of his well-situated apartment, which overlooked the downtown skyline and the distant Pacific Ocean, he could see families on bike rides, joggers with headphones in their ears, and couples strolling through parks while maintaining that necessary six feet of separation. The streets were cleaner, the air was fresher, and the clouds in the sky seemed fluffier. People were finding peace in nature, embracing outdoor workouts, and connecting with themselves in ways they never had before. In many ways, California was the perfect place to be during a pandemic.

But Aaron, who had spent his life complaining about the crowded traffic, the high cost of living, and the inherent superficiality of the Woke city, couldn’t see it that way. All he could think about was how everything had changed—how everything was now different in a way that felt oppressive, even in a state as beautiful as California.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered to himself as he grabbed his phone to scroll through social media. Everywhere he looked, people seemed to be posting about how grateful they were for the “extra time” spent in nature, how they were rediscovering local hiking trails, and how they were cooking wholesome meals at home.

“Must be nice,” he mumbled, typing out a quick comment under a friend’s post. “Some of us are stuck in our apartments, staring at the same four walls for days.”

Aaron knew his comment was a bit exaggerated. It wasn’t like his apartment was a prison—it had a huge open floor plan, a gourmet kitchen, and more amenities than most people could ever dream of. He even had a balcony where he could sit in the mornings and sip coffee while watching the sunrise. But the novelty of it all had worn off, and now he was left feeling restless, isolated, and yearning for the kind of excitement that San Francisco used to offer—the constant swirl of social events, world-class dinners with friends, spontaneous weekend trips, and endless possibilities.

And then there was the whole “stuck in California” issue. He’d joked with friends before the pandemic about wanting to escape the state. The taxes, the crowds, the feeling of being surrounded by people who all seemed to care more about their tech or influencer status than anything else—it had all started to feel suffocating. He’d longed for a quieter, simpler life somewhere like Montana or the Pacific Northwest.

But now, as states like New York and Texas saw an increase in cases, as some places were struggling to keep up with health systems and resources, Aaron felt strangely envious of his friends who had fled to small towns or rural areas where life seemed unaffected. He thought about the fact that he was lucky enough to be in a place with such a high vaccination rate and a mild climate. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being forced to stay in paradise, and it drove him mad.

He complained about the fact that his weekend trips to Napa Valley had been canceled, that his annual surf trip to Malibu was off the table, and that his usual Sunday brunch gatherings were reduced to Zoom calls. He found himself scrolling through photos of friends on beaches in Florida or in secluded cabins up in the mountains—places that weren’t so closely regulated, where people could escape the confines of the shutdown.

But no matter how much he griped about being “stuck in California,” the reality of the situation was that he was among the safest in the country. Despite his irritation, his apartment had become a sanctuary. The weather was ideal for socially distanced walks along the Great Highway and beaches, and despite the pandemic, many of his favorite local restaurants offered takeout with curbside pickup. He could even enjoy the peace and quiet of a nearly empty Golden Gate Park, the hiking trails winding around Mt. Tamalpais offering respite from the chaos of the city.

The more Aaron thought about it, the more ridiculous his complaints seemed. Despite the mask, and actually because of the masks, he was living in one of the most health-conscious and safest regions of the country—he could walk outside in the open air with hardly any fear. People were embracing the outdoors, exploring parts of California they had never bothered to visit before. And while the entire world was struggling to find balance in the face of uncertainty, California offered an endless supply of nature, culture, and things to do.

One afternoon, as he found himself once again looking out over the city, he saw something that made him pause: a group of friends gathered on the lawn in front of the De Young Museum. They were all maintaining distance, yes, but there they were, smiling, chatting, and enjoying the beauty of the day. No one was complaining about the restrictions. Everyone seemed to have found a way to adapt.

Aaron sat down on his balcony, took a deep breath, and looked at the hills in the distance. For the first time since his establishment here, he didn’t feel resentful of California. He was stuck here, yes, but maybe that wasn’t the worst thing after all.

Maybe it was time to start enjoying the paradise he had been so eager to escape.

© 2021, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

Sense of Loss: A Plague Story*

We shared many meals on our journey
While we bantered about Martha Stewart
I think of that very last claret
When I sipped your kiss in the breeze

Can you still taste me?

Nurturing roses in a land of honey
We grew a bed of fragrance
My perfume serving as a reminder
Do you recall when you proposed

Can you still smell me?

Dancing in and out of covers
I felt your warmth in the March morn
But now blocked by cold glass
You are loved by me far off

Can you still feel me?

We listened to the bird’s joyous calls
And the beating rhythm of seasons
Now I can only play your favorite tune
While reaching you via a phone

Can you still hear me?

We built a castle of love
Adorning it with bright dreams
In a now devastated land
We are walled out by disease

Can you still see me?

*Composed so we will not forget the needless suffering brought about by the Trump administration.

© 2020, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.