Category Archives: Poetry

Vocab

Posted on November 29, 2016 by sputterpub

“I’m aggravated,” Mama said so much, a pet might have assumed it as a name. The woman was impatient, filled with such an antsy energy, there never came a respite when we knew she was content. It seemed she never … Continue reading →

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The Old Refrain

Posted on November 28, 2016 by sputterpub

“Just wait until you’re grown – you’ll change your mind. You’ll value driving and you’ll like to shop.” My mother didn’t get me, and resigned herself to waiting for my weird to stop. But I was self-aware when I was … Continue reading →

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Die Dice

Posted on November 25, 2016 by sputterpub

Do people still tell bawdy jokes in bars? It’s far too long since I have been or heard. The months elapse like days – momentum jars me like some glimpses through my eyes: absurd how lined my face is now, … Continue reading →

Posted in Aging, Poetry | Leave a comment

Abundance

Posted on November 24, 2016 by sputterpub

When I was 8 years old, I had too much. I owned so many dolls I couldn’t pick a favorite. Most the books I loved had such poor heroines, their toys were either stick- and-yarn creations or composed of rags … Continue reading →

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New Law (a Forepoem)

Posted on November 22, 2016 by sputterpub

I’m glad this shit is legalized, because I’m old and it’s too pungent now to hide. I formed a habit of not flaunting laws I break, when I was young and terrified. I outgrew paranoia with bad dreams and though … Continue reading →

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Sunday

Posted on November 21, 2016 by sputterpub

I know I’m not a workaholic, now I’ve stopped the daily office job. I see instead the lists and multi-tasks were how I managed the responsibility my choosing work and husbands, children too, imposed upon the time I thought I’d … Continue reading →

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November Trees

Posted on November 18, 2016 by sputterpub

A glancing westward in the morning light of crispy mid-November finds a tree: a loose-leafed skeleton of branch, a sight of hibernating winter fantasy. Its bony limbs are lace against the white horizon built of fog upon the sea, and … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Weather | Leave a comment

Saws

Posted on November 17, 2016 by sputterpub

If something’s said enough, there’s got to be at least a grain of truth in it. And when you’re doing time with kids, it’s quality that counts more than the hours you expend. Now that’s a pair of lies our … Continue reading →

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Comments

Posted on November 15, 2016 by sputterpub

A week ago I flew home with a cold. The next day I sat down for the result from voters who apparently mistold the pollsters. Now I’m witnessing tumult and rampant fear. My Sapphic friends are freaked; the adult kids … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Question | Leave a comment

True New Crew?

Posted on November 14, 2016 by sputterpub

Three times I’ve joined a writers’ group before. It wasn’t my idea, but I agreed to weekly prose “assignments” or the more expansive task of trying what I need or want to work on. But my colleagues stuck to feminine … Continue reading →

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