Mother to Son

Posted on May 13, 2023 by sputterpub

She asked my comment – should she intervene?
Sit down and look sincerely in his eyes,
and tell him to escape the liquored scene
he lives with? To abandon compromise
and leave the lady love he doesn’t love?
Her son has always acted like he heeds
advice from her. Should she say better shove
off now, and move to satisfy your needs?

Oh dear, I said. Your boy is 56.
He hasn’t asked your counsel. It’s worth less
than nothing, unsolicited. The fix
could be in psychotherapy, I guess.
If you can steer him down that avenue,
that may be all your mother love can do.

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More Good Than Gold

Posted on May 12, 2023 by sputterpub

Though silence may be golden, that depends
on what inspires it. When it proceeds
from earnest ignorance, it none offends,
but is that gold? Or simply lack of noise?
The platinum of silence comprehends
how biding and awaiting leads to good.
To dwell unsure and pause complaining tends
to incubate a silent growth that breeds
a valuable result, with dividends.

(Magic 9)

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Metaphor

Posted on May 11, 2023 by sputterpub

I longed for independence as a kid.
I wanted power, to be in control
of self of course, and boundaries I’d rid
or cherish. I took on an adult role.
I wasn’t scared of bills, and though I loved
my family, I pushed their care away.
I sometimes yelled or threw a fit or shoved –
I tried to modulate most every day.

When parents cut me off, financially,
I didn’t hate them but I wouldn’t bow.
I never took a dime from them again.
To owe them would have cost too much to me.
It’s strikes me, for I am the parent now,
my kids don’t share the feelings I had then.

Posted in Family, Money Stuff, Personality, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

The Deciding Symptom

Posted on May 10, 2023 by sputterpub

“Reactive airway” were the words I heard.
“Disorder” (or “disease”) succeeded those.
That’s how he named the wheezing that occurred
when I sustained a cold. Such breathing woes,
a temporary asthma, virus-spurred,
a side-effect from all the smoke I chose,
and kept inhaling till I got too old,
determined recent symptoms were a cold.

(Ottava Rima)

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Two-Toned

Posted on May 9, 2023 by sputterpub

Gaslighting me, this Spring the trellis hosts
wisteria of white, where purple bloomed
three years ago. They dangle like the ghosts
of plants I bought from experts who assumed
the petals would be lilac on my posts
and lattices. But this is white-costumed.
Although the blossoms cause me no anxiety,
I’m sure I didn’t buy the white variety.

(Ottava Rima)

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Disparagement

Posted on May 8, 2023 by sputterpub

Describing the slob, I implied he’s a jerk.
I think worse than that may be true.
When young he’d a job and I’m sure he did work,
but now he’s in charge of a crew.
Now he sees clients, quotes what will be due,
and yesterday bragged of a fee
he padded to some. What he told me and you
is colored with dishonesty.

Posted in Money Stuff, Personality, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Meters (2)

Posted on May 7, 2023 by sputterpub

Professional, with decades on the job,
the contractor described himself to me.
I overlooked him looking like a slob
and took him at his word, initially.
But when he turned to gas utility,
he didn’t know that mine was piped exempt.
I had to after-teach to make him see.
I’m now relighting pilots with contempt.

(Huitain)

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Living with No Earthquake Valve

Posted on May 6, 2023 by sputterpub

My cottage sits behind a shingled box
that holds four separate units. They all share
a gas line but my own’s alone. When shocks
from work around their basement (to repair
the drainage) caused the earthquake valve to trip,
I understood why heaters didn’t flame,
why stoves refused, hot water fell to zip –
their gas was off, the safety valve to blame.

I opted not to so protect my line,
and more than once I’ve seconded that choice.
By present hand or absent luck I’m fine
(unless/until) – more often I rejoice
that I decide to live with risky bits.
Statistically, my resolution fits.

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Morning Sights While Walking

Posted on May 5, 2023 by sputterpub

The first remarkable: an ailing mouse,
mid-sidewalk, all a-twitch, a grounding sight;
then doors with labels at the firehouse,
read Medic, Truck, and Engine, left to right;
and third I saw the shoes, 6 pair, upright
amid the weeds adjacent to the street.
Such were the views the morning brought to light,
before my eyes, around my striding feet.

(Huitain)

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Best Guess

Posted on May 4, 2023 by sputterpub

Does this post-nasal drip portend a cold?
(The kids I hug have recently been well.)
Or could it be the start of Covid’s hold?
(I’m negative but it’s too soon to tell.)
I woke at 3 to feeling choked with phlegm,
and didn’t screen a dream till 5 a.m.
And I was hale and hearty yesterday –
a harbinger, sometimes, of health’s decay…

I have a theory, and I hope it’s right.
I’m clearly senior now, reacting more
profoundly to the garden pollens, spore
and dust. It’s not so odd to wake at night
when one has lived 10 years beyond three score.
I’ll nasal rinse. I’m really not that sore.

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