Lit & Life

Posted on January 26, 2022 by sputterpub

Reading the stories
was better than life,
when I was young
and longing to live.

Reading the stories
is better than life,
now I am old
and remembering.

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Typhoid Tuesday

Posted on January 25, 2022 by sputterpub

I call it Typhoid Tuesday nowadays
(for sure I’m aiming to alliterate),
as dread Coronavirus wends all ways
and keeps me mostly home again of late.
One day in seven I associate
with others – work and dining comes about.
Returning home I have to isolate,
but Typhoid Tuesday’s when I venture out.

(Huitain)

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The Avocado Hunt

Posted on January 24, 2022 by sputterpub

I avocado-hunted yesterday.
Abundance is no January theme,
but I attempt to make my salads gay
these homebound weeks, and avocados seem
a treat, in guac or served most any way.
I captured four. I know their color scheme –
organic local’s large and incomplete,
but three from Mexico I soon will eat.

(Ottava Rima)

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The Bar Room Rule

Posted on January 23, 2022 by sputterpub

I drank too much when I was 28
and circumstances moved me, after work,
to meet a friend, to talk and celebrate
or air complaints about my boss – a jerk –
and other stressors bound to nag or irk.
She taught me – “Be aware of where you are.
Don’t ever lay your head down on the bar.”

(Rhyme Royal)

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The Dwarf

Posted on January 22, 2022 by sputterpub

The lemon tree’s a dwarf and in a pot,
and though the garden’s shady, most the plants
are thriving whether weather’s good or not,
but that poor lemon never had a chance.
No matter where, it drooped like it forgot
the path to prosper and the sunlight dance,
until I boosted water, food, and care –
today I see a perfect lemon there.

(Ottava Rima)

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She Hates Her Mom

Posted on January 21, 2022 by sputterpub

She hates her mom, resents her, and ignores
her now she’s old and dull and not aware.
I told her toxic feeling rusts and scores
the soul, suggesting that perhaps she’d care
imagining severity and sores
in mother-history. She won’t go there.
Her peace does not abide in shrink, on shelf,
because she has to first forgive herself.

(Ottava Rima)

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My Word

Posted on January 20, 2022 by sputterpub

At 40, when life seemed to run amuck
for everybody’s then and future play,
I found I kept reiterating “Fuck!”
But I kept living, till there came the day
when I moved to the mantra of “Ok-a-ay.”
Of late our world is worse – beyond absurd –
and now the query “Really?” is my word.

(Rhyme Royal)

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Rerun

Posted on January 19, 2022 by sputterpub

I know I’ve mentioned this before, but still,
reiterating doesn’t waste a page.
I woke this morning nearly feeling ill,
or better put, I felt my awful age.
I thought I’d skip the exercise, engage
in elderly pursuit instead but then,
I heeded counsel from my inner sage –
I moved, and now feel middle-aged again.

(Huitain)

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Unripe

Posted on January 18, 2022 by sputterpub

Been making salad all these homebound days –
tomato, lettuce, cucumber, and seeds,
balsamic-dressed, with grated cheese arrays,
and avocado (most my body needs).
But as this plague obnoxiously proceeds,
there had to come a day without the last.
Postponing unripe fruit for future feeds,
with thinner toss of lunch I broke my fast.

(Huitain)

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Subjectivity

Posted on January 17, 2022 by sputterpub

It’s anecdotal – my experience
of how the world is doing around here.
I don’t have stats – I may not make good sense
but then again, the news airs pain and fear,
and government has lost the nation’s trust –
its agencies are jokes but no one laughs.
My pride in place is dulled, and toxic rust
is etching us with dire epitaphs.

From my perspective, no one caught a cold
the first pandemic year – no common flu
beset us while we put our lives on hold,
but now there’s wounds and illness breaking through.
Intestinal infections, broken backs –
the health of friends and family shows cracks.

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