Category Archives: Poetry

Early August

Posted on August 14, 2018 by sputterpub

The sunshine doesn’t strike the roof till 8, but white infills the skylight glass at 6. Through lids my eyes see day, and then the state of sleep departs; I stretch to spinal cricks and move to coffee, email, online … Continue reading →

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August Light

Posted on August 13, 2018 by sputterpub

Dawn: Now the sun retreats; it will not rise till after 6, delaying dawn.   Dusk: Mid-August evenings linger late, but still the light ebbs as autumn nears.

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Deterrent

Posted on August 9, 2018 by sputterpub

He likes a little Vicodin so much that though he hasn’t sought it on the street, he’s not above some friendly theft. His touch is cautious and his attitude’s discreet; he’s purloined pills from parents, in-laws, friends. He likes the … Continue reading →

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Resolved:

Posted on August 7, 2018 by sputterpub

I ought to read more poetry – I write it all the time. My sonnets are my thought, my joke, my diary and diatribe. I love the sound of Service, stanzas wrought by Donne and much of Yeats, but I’m … Continue reading →

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Not Dead Yet

Posted on August 6, 2018 by sputterpub

Six weeks ago I wrenched my lower back. I’m happy to announce, as of today I feel recovered from that deep attack, and though some time was spent in pain, dismay and grouchiness, at least at last I healed. My … Continue reading →

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The Rise of Ignorance

Posted on August 2, 2018 by sputterpub

Deliberately I choose to walk to BART. The news makes me feel headachy and tense. I figure something on my way will start me laughing or at least deflect. Defense against reality by exercise and air: I’ll breathe in depth … Continue reading →

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Remodeling Dreams

Posted on July 31, 2018 by sputterpub

Eleven years ago I bought this place. I jettisoned some books and sundry stuff, to fit my living in a smaller space, and I was charmed and comfortable enough. But time has passed; I’m older, and I’ve learned what bugs … Continue reading →

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Mr. B’s Phonograph

Posted on July 30, 2018 by sputterpub

One day when I was ten and in 5th grade, the teacher spun a record for us all. I can’t remember what the needle played, but I can see the phonograph – a small appliance on a table in the … Continue reading →

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Lies

Posted on July 26, 2018 by sputterpub

I didn’t get it when I was a kid. I still don’t understand or recognize a culture that insists I act as bid by portions of a book that sanctifies barbarity, selectively ignored, composed by no one holy to advise, … Continue reading →

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FMV

Posted on July 24, 2018 by sputterpub

There’s no Fair Market Value for a poem. Equipment isn’t needed to proceed. It’s folk-art that can be composed at home and won’t pay, so I won’t pay you to read. With so few viewing every chosen word, I’d be … Continue reading →

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