Author Archives: sputterpub

House Arrest One

Day 1 of 21 is not so bad. I’ve food enough for near 2 dozen meals, and though the present’s feeling strange and sad I like my house, and solitude appeals to me, at least for goodly chunks of time. … Continue reading →

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Flustered at Russell

Three blocks away three years ago she lost direction. She was driving to my place, and somehow her location wires crossed. She called me, flustered. I began a race to her on foot. I said, “Stay where you are,” and … Continue reading →

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Ridden and Written

I used to ride my bike most every day. I used to try each morning to compose a poem, or put 300 words in play, but into every life existence throws up circumstances outside our control; I had to take … Continue reading →

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Will to Live?

“You never know,” my brother said to us at least a dozen times. “Folks everywhere assert they’d die without a lot of fuss, preferring end instead of endless care, eschewing tubes and dreading loss of mind, but something kicks in … Continue reading →

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Opossum Love

At 6 a.m. one day last week, I heard a thump outside the window where I sat. I raised the shade to see what had occurred, and spied a pair of ‘possums going at it, either sex or play or … Continue reading →

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Slippage

I always wanted to remember time. I’ve trained a natural talent to recall by taking notes in diaries and rhyme, and narrating my memories to all. Specific moments I have tried to freeze with photographs or lists I made in … Continue reading →

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Unraised

Nostalgia’s mostly dangerous and bent, infecting memory with fantasy, and modifying fact until what’s meant as scarlet takes on tones of burgundy. So childhood’s remembered as a state that was or should have been replete with glee, and parents subsidize; … Continue reading →

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Puttering

Perusing I-Can-Read books with my friend (who’s nearly 3 years old), he likes of late the Putter works. And though Sam will pretend to be a monkey, he won’t imitate the characters encountered in those books. The stories feature neighbors … Continue reading →

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Etude

If I were going to pen a poem today, it wouldn’t be about a man I met. Of late I’ve made no time for talk or play and solitude has not grown boring yet. My subject wouldn’t be the weather … Continue reading →

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Fra(g)il(e)

The left Achilles tendon tends to ache. The hip joint on that side is known to give. The portside shoulder yells at me to take my bra off twisted front, and now I live with twinge and weakness almost every … Continue reading →

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