Author Archives: sputterpub

Should Island

Posted on June 22, 2016 by sputterpub

The geography is unfriendly. The small island is surrounded by rocky shoals, with a persistent surf pounding against the shore. It rises to a steep peak in the center, forbidding to climb and hazardous to mount. Surfaces at the top … Continue reading →

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Inventory

Posted on June 21, 2016 by sputterpub

I found myself as desolate as straw when I put up the latest poem today. Bereft I felt, as if there were a law proscribing empty pages. I’ve a way to reinvigorate my mouth and hand, so I can fill … Continue reading →

Posted in Food, Poetry, Writing | 3 Comments

Zephyrus

Posted on June 20, 2016 by sputterpub

It’s nearly middle June when Zephyrus stirs, exuding coastal mist at dawn and night, exhaling onshore breezes. Now occurs our comic season: long in golden light but short on heat, mosquitoes, thunderstorms. There’s wind upon my face when I face … Continue reading →

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Band of Gold

Posted on June 17, 2016 by sputterpub

When I completed 50 years, my folks presented me with heirloom jewelry. They gave me Dad’s gold watch, and it evokes by shining links its layered history. For it was given to my dad, to mark engagement to my mother, … Continue reading →

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Etude

Posted on June 16, 2016 by sputterpub

There isn’t any poetry in here. My brain is ranging wide – creatively I should be flush, with all my cells in gear – emotions popping so the path should be as obvious as marijuana’s dear. I lied: that little … Continue reading →

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Phonies

Posted on June 15, 2016 by sputterpub

I watched Compass while I drank coffee. She was patrolling the yard but I wasn’t interested in that; I was looking for signs of intestinal issues. That’s a euphemism. She was a healthy retriever mix when we adopted her at … Continue reading →

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Gray Men Walking

Posted on June 14, 2016 by sputterpub

I’m strolling to the market for some fruit. It’s spring, the sun is out, near 3 o’clock in Berkeley so I’m watching for the root that hoists a hazard of a sidewalk block. Approaching me’s a man with sparse gray … Continue reading →

Posted in Aging, Neighborhood, Poetry | Leave a comment

Beads

Posted on June 13, 2016 by sputterpub

A second, minute, hour, day or week is like a bauble strung upon a cord in graduated range, each bead discrete, but all together grouped and tending toward a bracelet, necklace, anklet, rosary, in purposeful arrangement of its parts. So … Continue reading →

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Arithmophilia

Posted on June 10, 2016 by sputterpub

I had to count the Spanish Steps in Rome (I vote with those who say one thirty eight). And even when I travel close to home, I count the steps to train from ticket gate. I chant how many paces … Continue reading →

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Today’s Questions

Posted on June 9, 2016 by sputterpub

I think I’d better take a break today – I’m winding up like twine around a spool… I’m so presumptuous, I’ll find a way to milk this visit for each drop of fuel to push my fantasy and waking dreams. … Continue reading →

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