Category Archives: Poetry

Instructions

Posted on September 21, 2017 by sputterpub

The renegade conformist sheepishly insists the application must be typed. He says they won’t accept facsimile because it isn’t doubled, folded, striped the same. “Impeccable,” the man demands, who seldom notes appearances. “It must be typed, in ink, just so.” … Continue reading →

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Home

Posted on September 20, 2017 by sputterpub

Eleven years ago, I bought this place: a single-room abode built sixty years before I moved. I thought I’d use the space most weeks, and share a habitat with dears at times, a state away. I’d have two homes. But … Continue reading →

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The Piercing

Posted on September 19, 2017 by sputterpub

My baby had the cutest little nose – Unsuffocatable that button was like every other infant’s; heaven knows design for life, so heaven perfect does. And as she grew, it stayed adorable – She seemed to train it upward with … Continue reading →

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Stripey and the Yard Birds

Posted on September 18, 2017 by sputterpub

I saw two hummingbirds beneath the crows that visited, the bold above the shy. The corvids sat the looming tree, in rows of roosting gossip, as trochilidae sought nectar from the blossoms in the yard (the nicotiniana over sage). The … Continue reading →

Posted in Critters, Neighborhood, Poetry | Leave a comment

Fatigue

Posted on September 15, 2017 by sputterpub

I wish I had a lover with a plan for something new we’d do with this weekend. I wouldn’t mind attention from a man, and company I’d welcome in a friend. But I don’t long for anyone I’ve had and … Continue reading →

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Wasted Worry

Posted on September 14, 2017 by sputterpub

I lived a half a year past 66 and called my age the number of the beast. The digits made 18 (mathematic tricks), and that’s the Chai denoting life, at least. Numerical coincidence aside, the fact is I’ve lived long … Continue reading →

Posted in Aging, Poetry | Leave a comment

Deep Desert

Posted on September 12, 2017 by sputterpub

The morning air is tricky, with a haze that to my coastal eyes appears as mist, befogging distance for my sweeping gaze, but air this low cannot be moisture-kissed. It must be made from something I don’t know, some flotsam … Continue reading →

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Apropos

Posted on September 11, 2017 by sputterpub

I’m never age appropriate. I’ve had a wayward brain, eccentric attitude, as long as I recall. I wasn’t bad in deed or thought, but teachers called me rude for asking natural questions, and my dad admonished me for lack of … Continue reading →

Posted in Aging, Poetry | Leave a comment

Cognitive Order

Posted on September 8, 2017 by sputterpub

If life is information and a game of zero sum, I think I’ve won enough. Amassing goods before they had a name, awash in blessings and with too much stuff, it’s time for me to lose. I’ll place myself in … Continue reading →

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Camping Lecture

Posted on September 7, 2017 by sputterpub

“The bigger dipper indicates the small: its handle points straight to the brighter star, Arcturus, in galactic lactic sprawl.” He held me as he told me what stars are. “Now this is quartz that makes a vein for gold. Here’s … Continue reading →

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