Sticky Temptation

Posted on September 3, 2023 by sputterpub

I’m not hungry, but
here are two ripe nectarines:
sticky temptation.

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Reversal of Intention

Posted on September 2, 2023 by sputterpub

How often now I wake and feel my age,
and shuffle to the kitchen for my brew,
and listen to my neck, and try to gauge
the quantity of creaks and tweaks. I skew
intention – maybe I should rest today.
Perhaps I’ll take it easy – skip the bike
and yoga too – just read a book and play
at solitaire – that could be what I’d like.

But thirty minutes later something stirs
in me. I figure I can stretch at least.
And bending leads to poses leads to spurs
to pedal, just a little, soon increased
to constitute my customary ride,
and yield delight at how I feel inside.

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Please Hang Up

Posted on September 1, 2023 by sputterpub

I noticed the unnoticed in my youth –
my friends and neighbors often failed to see
the world around themselves. But here’s the truth –
the situation’s worsened drastically.
No doubt the Web and brain plasticity
have changed those minds – distractive in all ways,
inducing stuttered impulsivity,
but how I wish you’d just look up, and gaze.

(Huitain)

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Books and the Bookstore

Posted on August 31, 2023 by sputterpub

I walked into a bookstore and secured
the lowest-paying job I loved the best.
I got to spend my days with dust, immured
amid used books, near maps, at the behest
of inattentive managers. I sold
the stuff I craved; I dealt in print with glee.
I found old folios and grew so bold
I hawked the 13-volume O.E.D.

I interrupted college to work more,
advancing to book order and return,
and searching for the out-of-print. That store
was love but little profit, as I’d learn.
I have no better memories, I think.
I read a Kindle now, but still love ink.

In time I moved ahead, as did the shop.
The owner passed – retirement or death
attracted a new buyer. Soon a stop
was put to vintage – retail paid for breadth
of profit and the changes, banal, dull,
made uninviting any future there.
But I went on with love of books so full,
I always sought more shelf space everywhere.

Eventually I downsized to this place.
I had to part with hundreds and restrict
my further acquisitions. I have space
for what is here – in general, well-picked.
Such books have been my sweetest friends, I think.
I read a Kindle now, but still love ink.

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Sorry for Your Loss

Posted on August 30, 2023 by sputterpub

I’m sorry for your loss, my sister-friend.
Although there wasn’t likelihood you’d get
maternal love and nurture, still, her end
eliminates the chance that she’d regret
her failure, and employ this time in tender
late expression. Please don’t be upset
too much – she suffered punishment of sorts.
You saw her live too long, by all reports.

(Ottava Rima)

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Not Missing You

Posted on August 29, 2023 by sputterpub

I’ll want to say I missed you when you’re back,
but I don’t think those words will be sincere.
We talk too much – I never feel a lack –
and you’re so often home you’re always near.
You like to wage a vehement attack
against old ills. I wish you’d disappear
for just a little longer, my dear friend,
and then my loneliness won’t be pretend.

(Ottava Rima)

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I Don’t Suppose

Posted on August 28, 2023 by sputterpub

I don’t suppose you’ll stop advising me,
although I’m seldom sad or prone to lows.
Your strong suit isn’t your sagacity,
I don’t suppose.

Your reading’s always fictional and prose.
And though you say you relish history,
your own mishaps don’t put you on your toes.

Suggesting I increase my quantity
of leisure days sends giggles through my nose.
Don’t you like resting after energy?
I don’t suppose…

(Roundel)

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Under the Skin

Posted on August 27, 2023 by sputterpub

Repeatedly she self-describes aloud.
“Emotional” she calls her point of view.
She’s plugging into feelings, and she’s proud
to publicize what’s in her heart as true.
She makes me recollect the man who claimed
he’s so endowed and full of empathy
he’s almost paralyzed – he’s frozen-framed,
by feelings trapped, retarded frequently.

Conversing once, I heard myself declare
that though I’m tough outside, in fact, within
I’m mush, I’m insecure, I’m stung by air
that gets through cuts to underneath my skin.
And then I laughed, for my pathetic claim
was not unique. In this we’re all the same.

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The Silence Keep

Posted on August 26, 2023 by sputterpub

The structure that they’re building to the east
of me, has now attained the framing stage.
The concrete work is done. The noise decreased,
and two-by-fours are starting to assuage
my zeal for future privacy – at least,
I see few window spaces in the cage.
Perhaps I won’t be overlooked, except
the way I wish – unbothered, silence-kept.

(Ottava Rima)

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On an August Morning

Posted on August 25, 2023 by sputterpub

I’ve watched dramatic sunsets now and then,
or sky so blue it almost spanks my eyes,
a valley dawn that makes me sigh “amen,”
and massing clouds portending drought’s demise.
I’ve looked above me over and again,
assessing what our atmosphere supplies.
The view at nearly 7 yesterday
comprised a calm, congenial display.

(Ottava Rima)

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