I Used to Think

Posted on December 8, 2022 by sputterpub

I used to think, whenever he would say
“I’m such a duck,” he had it wrong. Dismay
I felt – that couldn’t be – it was a bid
to make me laugh and reassure amid
our hug – “I love you. You’re my man, okay?”

In time I knew I shouldn’t have thought nay.
It turned out that he did have feet of clay.
(My ego might have listened to my id?)
I used to think…

I have another chance to learn, today.
My daughter’s history is on display.
We’re old but I’m attending to my kid –
I’m understanding what she felt and did.
I see her, and I’m finished with the way
I used to think.

(Rondeau)

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Negative Energy

Posted on December 7, 2022 by sputterpub

I must conclude she likes to feel annoyed,
who always seeks a reason to complain.
I’ve never seen her visage overjoyed.
Her attitudes exhibit her disdain,
impatience, criticism, and a void
of interest in another: like her brain
comprises avenues of malcontent,
that power her to everyday misspent.

(Ottava Rima)

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Gingko

Posted on December 6, 2022 by sputterpub

The season befalls
when gingko leaves drift to ground
in puddles of gold.

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Novelty

Posted on December 5, 2022 by sputterpub

The book I’m reading now has rave reviews.
It’s classified a novel, but it’s not.
It has a dozen characters, but clues
about development have been forgot.
The grammar and the language don’t abuse
my taste, but what a waste – there’s no subplot.
The narrative is lacking any arc,
collapsing short of climax. Fade to dark.

(Ottava Rima)

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Spectrality

Posted on December 4, 2022 by sputterpub

I didn’t comprehend the full extent
of her disdain for school, till recently.
Although I helped her dodge a year, it meant
no more to me than all her certainty
about bad style choices – she was bent
toward gothic, punk, and small depravity.
Well-educated, thoughtful, willful, smart,
I didn’t understand the spectrum part.

(Ottava Rima)

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Curmudgeonly Precosity

Posted on December 3, 2022 by sputterpub

He’s old at 46, with some excuse.
But though traumatic damage justifies
a frame of mind, a way of hanging loose,
we wish it didn’t also mean demise
of vigor and determination’s juice,
emerging petulance, impulsive cries.
It bodes that a curmudgeon’s taking form,
whose passion pales, diluted to lukewarm.

(Ottava Rima)

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At Your Mother’s Elbow

Posted on December 2, 2022 by sputterpub

It really doesn’t come as a surprise
that adding years does not result in wise.
But suddenly you’re listening to me
although I am disdained, for family
knows nothing, right? How could your mother get
enlightenment she’s capable of sharing?
You’ve known her so familiarly, and yet
she’s seeming smart (today beyond comparing).

It could be all her thinking’s paying now.
Perhaps she has observed a truth or two.
She utters words that maybe should be stressed.
She doesn’t have a formula for how
you should proceed or what you ought to do,
but Mother might be able to suggest.

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Retail Huitain

Posted on December 1, 2022 by sputterpub

This year November felt condensed.
We reset clocks and shared a feast,
digested tallied votes and sensed
a turn to some restraint at least.
Before its end the fall increased
to leaves afire not aflame.
I’m readying to face the beast
of retail that’s December’s frame.

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A Few Cherished Hours

Posted on November 30, 2022 by sputterpub

I haven’t had the time to write a poem
the last two days, with all the doing here.
The solitude and silence of my home
is missing in this loving atmosphere.
There’s conversation to be had – it’s clear
we want to cook the meals and serve the food.
There’s five to hug and one to pet, and near
to perfect’s everybody’s attitude.

(Huitain)

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Travel Pt 2

Posted on November 29, 2022 by sputterpub

Exaggerating yesterday – indeed,
there’s more for me to travel than return.
The treks and touring always seem to feed
imagination. Sure each time I yearn
for home, but my displacement plants a seed
that after-nurture sprouts. And so I learn.
It discombobulates, but could be worse.
It populates my mind and triggers verse.

(Ottava Rima)

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