Category Archives: Poetry

Done

Posted on November 18, 2019 by sputterpub

The job’s not perfect but it feels complete. I see some minor damage and some flaws, but I’ve declared it’s fine enough, and sweet my solitary residence, because I’m living now what I dreamt months ago. I had to use … Continue reading →

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Pete’ll Eat It (3-Pete)

Posted on November 15, 2019 by sputterpub

My cousin was a sturdy fragile boy, sun-sensitive and dad-less in LA, who often visited. Then he’d enjoy our walks-and-talks, and time my father made for him – we welcomed him with love and board – we corresponded when apart … Continue reading →

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Re Pete

Posted on November 13, 2019 by sputterpub

The first defender of my poetry is dead. When I was young, my brothers shot at birds and rabbits in the scrub and scree behind the school. Their cruelty made me hot with indignation comforting to vent. My cousin, older, … Continue reading →

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Cuz (Pete)

Posted on November 11, 2019 by sputterpub

The grief engulfed me when I tried to speak. Of course I mourned your unexpected death, but as I talked my tears began to leak, informing me along with ragged breath. You weren’t young but weren’t ancient yet. You’d had … Continue reading →

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Window Washing

Posted on November 8, 2019 by sputterpub

Tomorrow I’ll be out of bed by six, to grunt and cough and ready for the man who cleans the glass because he knows all tricks of squeegees and detergents. That’s my plan for Saturday, too early to be fun, … Continue reading →

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Guilty Pleasure

Posted on November 7, 2019 by sputterpub

I ought to read some history, acquire perspective that may help me comprehend this modern world’s complexity, or higher stuff like pure philosophy. I tend instead to gravitate to fiction’s world, and even there I rarely take a chance on … Continue reading →

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Familiar

Posted on November 5, 2019 by sputterpub

I hang out with a toddler twice a week. I focus on him focusing on sights, expressing feelings, learning how to speak, reducing naps for longer sleep at nights. I’m also spending hours, now and then, with stroke recovery. At … Continue reading →

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Senescence

Posted on October 31, 2019 by sputterpub

Like reaching for a smoke after you quit, like crossing knee-on-knee inviting pain but helplessly habitual, it’s fit that I should miss you, even though disdain and criticism are the strokes you gave me growing up and aging with you … Continue reading →

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My Garden

Posted on October 29, 2019 by sputterpub

I never was a gardener. That niche was filled by others in my family. My thumb was tan; my body didn’t itch to plant or prune or weed topography. I didn’t savor earth beneath my nails, no matter how my … Continue reading →

Posted in Flora, Home, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

The Ugly Ride

Posted on October 28, 2019 by sputterpub

It’s true the bus is short and takes a route less popular than others near my place, and I was riding outside the commute hours, but noting every boarding face, it struck me how unhandsome and unfit my fellow passengers … Continue reading →

Posted in Aging, Misanthropy, Poetry, Transit, Uncategorized | Tagged , | Leave a comment