Checking (With)in

Posted on February 2, 2021 by sputterpub

Of late I feel some tightness near my heart.
My pulse is up – is this when problems start?
Have I been cell-betrayed? Is there a mass?
Or maybe these are symptoms caused by gas.
I smoked too long; I’m growing short of breath –
I cough like some old codger facing death.
The fact is, I have never been this age,
and don’t possess a diagnostic gauge.

I exercise most mornings, and today
instead of contemplating poetry,
I focused on my body while I moved.
I’m ignorant but mindful, and the way
it went I didn’t glimpse mortality
just yet. When I was done I felt improved.

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Poetic Forms

Posted on February 1, 2021 by sputterpub

I may have overdone the sonnet form:
expressing my ideas in 14 lines.
Of late it’s like a cogitating norm –
an octave of descriptive thought combines
with resolution’s salve, confusion’s storm,
or declarations sharp as porcupines.
Perhaps I need to vary how much ink
I use, and modify the way I think.

(Ottava Rima)

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Processing

Posted on January 31, 2021 by sputterpub

A week ago, I felt dissatisfied.
I’d been a little off for several days.
I may not have complained enough – I tried
to weather symptoms and to get more rest
and also less caffeine. I didn’t hide
conditions, but nobody really asked.
I kept them to myself, in part from pride,
but more to grow accustomed to the phase
and learn from living what can’t be denied.

(Magic 9)

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Fragility

Posted on January 30, 2021 by sputterpub

My mother knew a woman once who died
from vomiting, when she was 52.
I heard the retching caused a stroke that fried
her brain and took her life. The story’s true.
It made me understand how powerful
a normal body function can turn out
to be. A sneeze or twist or cough can pull
apart components we assumed were stout.

With every year now I appear more frail.
A tap will leave a bruise. A wound needs weeks
to heal and some repair is incomplete.
It takes no force to break a fingernail,
and coughing risks a torso tear. I’ve creaks
and leaks, and lately no surprise is sweet.

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Death Goes On

Posted on January 29, 2021 by sputterpub

Besieged by plague 300 days and more,
confined by house arrest and shut away,
we’re trying to comply, though we abhor
the masks and empty restaurants. We pray
for rescue by the science, and ignore
the claims of idiots. But yesterday,
amid the myriads that Covid kills,
we lost a relative, from other ills.

(Ottava Rima)

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The Cookbook

Posted on January 28, 2021 by sputterpub

The gift I got comprised a treasure chest
of goods that S and I can put to use
for recipes we dearly love to test –
low-carb desserts of egg, erythritol
(or allulose, which we think works the best),
and flours milled from anything but grain.
And most of all, a book I never guessed
could be so good, so now we two produce
desserts that help us live with house arrest.

(Magic 9)

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Grapefruit

Posted on January 27, 2021 by sputterpub

Adoring grapefruit when I was a kid,
I ate them fresh or, older, drink their juice
alone or mixed with vodka. Hormones rid
me of my appetite for pamplemousse,
amid and after my last pregnancy.
And right about when thirst for it returned,
I took in fruity facts and tried to be
a body which preferred that fat be burned.

I don’t eat fruit as often nowadays
(although I’m known to overdo the peach
and nectarine in August), but I praise
my brother’s Texas online purchase. Each
enormous Ruby Red’s got perfect taste,
and I won’t let a section go to waste.

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Doom

Posted on January 26, 2021 by sputterpub

Remembering the radiation burn
a worker suffered when his plant misfired,
and how it shocked my consciousness to learn
that doom can be as silent as it’s dire,
concealing symptoms while it works within,
and killing surely though it takes some time…
although we still have years, the origin
of doom is done. We can’t undo the crime.

It’s interesting to be alive this year
(but I’m a lucky one – still mostly blessed
with housing, health, and loving family),
for I can read the consequence. I fear
we’re in decline and doomed. I never guessed
the future’d make me like mortality.

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Inconstancy

Posted on January 25, 2021 by sputterpub

The oldest grandkid functions like a jerk:
insensitive to others and unkind.
His uncle can be called a piece of work –
an asshole when he’s in that frame of mind.
The mother of the poet acted mean
when she was young: abrupt and even cold.
The brother used a bullying routine,
exceeding teasing, if the truth be told.

As often as I’ve castigated some
(aloud at times, but mostly in my head),
no sooner do they sicken or become
beset by bad, then my disdain instead
converts to care, attention, and concern.
It happens every time. You’d think I’d learn.

Posted in Family, Love, Personality, Poetry | Tagged | 3 Comments

More Screen Time

Posted on January 24, 2021 by sputterpub

My BFF is nearly 4 years old
and Covid has deprived him, like his friends,
of preschool, parties, libraries. He’s holed
at home, and though he’s bright and comprehends
restrictions, he’s excited by a game
his parents won’t allow us to enjoy.
“He gets too manic” is how they complain,
and ask me to deflect him with some toy.

What is this fear of screen time? I agree
it’s not a good idea to use the app
as babysitter or to give him free
access, unlimited, alone. That trap
is not available – I watch him play
and we converse. This ban is not okay.

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