Etymophilia

Posted on July 18, 2021 by sputterpub

I once was a person who heard
significance in every word.
I spent so much time
loving cadence and rhyme,
I didn’t see speech as absurd.

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Filia Cave

Posted on July 17, 2021 by sputterpub

Antipathy was powerful in me.
Contempt for how she parented was strong.
That brusque behavior was her specialty,
and motivated me to prove her wrong.
Her insults and insensitivity
were evidence that I did not belong.
I’m lazy, selfish – words that stained my youth.
I long to earn them now (that’s nearly truth).

(Ottava Rima)

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The New Account

Posted on July 16, 2021 by sputterpub

Because I’m good with numbers, most assume
I’ve figured out the market and invest
to great returns, but I can’t time a boom
or downturn – that’s no field where I do best.
In fact, I’ve never tried the game before.
I bought a house instead and with amounts
for late-in-life, I pooled and let the more
expert select the mix for my accounts.

But having sold the family abode,
I finally have cash to put to earn.
Unmanaged but diversified, the mode
I choose is my advice. I tried to learn
and found me blind. I’ll average in my buys,
rebalance, and set course for gentle rise.

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Vacation Without Vacating

Posted on July 15, 2021 by sputterpub

I thought as usual I’d have today
and half tomorrow quiet here, alone,
and then I’d juggle bouts of toddler play
and visits with my sibs and Mom (no phone
but in-real-life). And then I heard them say
the young will camp; the elders will postpone.
So now I have 5 days, unplanned and free,
to recreate without contorting me.

(Ottava Rima)

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No Stairs

Posted on July 14, 2021 by sputterpub

A single-story home was ours, but friends
had houses with half-staircases inside.
“Split-level” was the term I heard. Such trends
abounded then with fresh suburban pride.
(My view of homes, at 8, was modified).
When Mom complained she needed skates to care
for me, I thought it good we had no stair.

(Rhyme Royal)

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For Just One Day

Posted on July 13, 2021 by sputterpub

For just one day, it’s feeling normal here.
We’re summer cool, beneath a sky of gray
at dawn and dusk, at midday mild, clear.
For just one day.

I’m smelling skunk but didn’t see the spray.
My garden tenants thrive – they all appear
to eat and drink sufficiently to play.

Pandemic is around, but lately we’re
advised we don’t need masks to be okay.
It’s like of old. I like the atmosphere.
For just one day.

(Roundel)

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Lost Love

Posted on July 12, 2021 by sputterpub

Don’t love you enough
to argue any longer.
It’s time to quit now.

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Pearls

Posted on July 11, 2021 by sputterpub

Was it my birth order? I was the first.
Or does she have contempt for edgy girls?
I know she loved us all, but I was cursed
with sexist expectations, given pearls
I never wanted, mocked for thoughtful aims,
told that as I grew I’d have to shift
from solo walks to her cosmetic games,
and ply her schemes, ignoring natural gift.

“I’d sooner die,” I didn’t say. The cuts
were nothing lethal and I’m not extreme.
I recognized her errors. I’d be nuts
to let them hold me back. I had a dream
I’d not abandon – to be hale at home,
and own the time and space to write this poem.

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Shade

Posted on July 10, 2021 by sputterpub

To match this garden
you must love shade. You can’t plant
like this in full sun.

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A Mess of Resentment

Posted on July 9, 2021 by sputterpub

I tend to misconstrue when I am hurt –
at least that was the pattern in my youth.
Confusing it with anger, I’d assert
a righteous argument, although the truth
I hid within, behind my strident blurt,
was needy kid. It doesn’t take a sleuth
or shrink to diagnose my ancient pain:
“Your feelings? Can it!” was my mom’s refrain.

(Ottava Rima)

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