Category Archives: Poetry

Dactyls on Home

Posted on November 25, 2019 by sputterpub

It’s stunning to sit here and know that the work is complete. Disrupted for months I’m accustomed to sharing my space. At last I’m alone with no tradespeople stamping their feet to minimize dust from construction all over the place. … Continue reading →

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How it Feels to Have My Place Back

Posted on November 22, 2019 by sputterpub

When I was 35, catastrophe beset me and my body nearly quit. They hooked me up to drips, did surgery two times, and scanned for an appropriate response to symptoms dangerous no doubt. I carried on, reacting brave and wise, … Continue reading →

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Facials

Posted on November 20, 2019 by sputterpub

I don’t remember when I had my first exfoliating facial, but I learned the ravages of stress could be reversed (or maybe just delayed), the lines sunburned could be addressed if I reclined four hours a year and lent complexion … Continue reading →

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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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