Author Archives: sputterpub

Titling (HA 41 Novelinee)

Posted on April 27, 2020 by sputterpub

For over 40 days I’ve stayed inside, a senior with a bronchial history, and every day since this began, I’ve tried to pen a novel form of poetry. No sooner do I comprehend the drift of rules today for meter, … Continue reading →

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House Arrest 40 (English Madrigal)

Posted on April 26, 2020 by sputterpub

We can’t foresee the shape of what comes next. Prognostication’s eye is blurred with strain. “It could be worse” is everyone’s refrain. For now we have the Internet and text, connections to assuage the social brain. We can’t foresee the … Continue reading →

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House Arrest 39 (Another Onion)

Posted on April 25, 2020 by sputterpub

I had a fantasy, not long ago, in which I didn’t use the fridge at all. I live where nearly anything will grow; I thought I’d shop each day. And I recall when I transitioned to this little place, I … Continue reading →

Posted in Coronaverse, Food, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

House Arrest 38 (Magic 9)

Posted on April 24, 2020 by sputterpub

The silver lining in a prison term is time for exercising brawn and brain. This sentenced House Arrest serves to confirm that: daily riding, daily trying out a puzzle of poetic form. I squirm at repetition, cringe at lines too … Continue reading →

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House Arrest 37 (Strambotto Toscano)

Posted on April 23, 2020 by sputterpub

I’m ready for our morning FaceTime session (I just completed all my exercises). The coffee’s poured – it’s now in Dad’s discretion to hook us up, for caution still advises we stay apart today. My flu confession: I miss so … Continue reading →

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House Arrest 36 (Chanso)

Posted on April 22, 2020 by sputterpub

There’s nothing fortunate about his stroke, except it happened twenty months ago, before Coronavirus came to choke the hospitals and propagate the woe. It would have been more challenging last year, when I was out of house all winter through. … Continue reading →

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House Arrest 35 (Lai)

Posted on April 21, 2020 by sputterpub

The morning cold here is spring atmosphere, and yet, as tulips appear and daffodils spear, we let our plans disappear, on pause most the year, upset.

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House Arrest 34 (English Madrigal)

Posted on April 20, 2020 by sputterpub

There’s no place safe on earth. There never was. Our culture stalled beneath complacency, the base too broad for continuity. Some thought we were protected by our laws, but they’re committee-built stupidity. There’s no place safe on earth. There never … Continue reading →

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House Arrest 33 (Self-Command)

Posted on April 19, 2020 by sputterpub

Two hundred years ago, an English book employed vocabulary obsolete these days, or rare at least – we seldom look askance, or box some ears, or take conceit to mean idea – I’m sure you understand. I came on this … Continue reading →

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House Arrest 32 (Pushkin Sonnet)

Posted on April 18, 2020 by sputterpub

I used to change my voicemail every day, recording first the date and day of week, informing callers I was not away but mostly locating, by this technique, myself in place and time, and planning, too, the items on my … Continue reading →

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