O’s Words

Posted on January 12, 2021 by sputterpub

My hair consultant visited last week,
but not to cut the Covid mane I’ve grown.
She brought me product, and we stood to speak
six feet apart and masked, outside my home.
She’s middle-aged and smart, self-made and skilled.
Ten months ago is when she cut my hair
so well, it’s nicely longer, curling as I’ve willed.
I’d recommend her craft most anywhere.

But she no longer works in the salon
she founded with a partner – she can’t ply
her trade with business closed and money gone.
As she observed (her grin approaching wry):
“I figured I’d cut hair no matter what.
I never dreamed my living would be shut.”

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2021 Calendar

Posted on January 11, 2021 by sputterpub

It’s time to annotate my calendar,
although I may be jotting fruitlessly.
It’s yet too soon to plan where I can be.

We seem to have vaccines but not a cure.
We seem to have misplaced civility.
It’s time to annotate my calendar,
although I may be jotting fruitlessly.

I can’t imagine we’ll improve for sure,
and don’t think we’ll proceed responsibly.
There’s too much ignorance and bigotry.
It’s time to annotate my calendar,
although I may be jotting fruitlessly.
It’s yet too soon to plan where I can be.

(English Madrigal)

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Amorphous Unease

Posted on January 10, 2021 by sputterpub

I woke up feeling like I had too much
to do today, too driven and too pressed.
That’s odd because I’m locked inside, with such
a surge in virus that I’ll host no guest
and go nowhere, agreeing that I’m best
off staying safe and warm inside my home.
Too many books and puzzles? I felt stressed
and unproductive, till I penned this poem.

(Huitain)

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Olding

Posted on January 9, 2021 by sputterpub

We didn’t know our mom would live so long,
who lost her mother while gestating me.
But till the virus she was going strong,
although that struck coincidentally
with normal wear that’s no calamity:
her parts became too tenuous to fix.
She daylight falls asleep so easily.
She’s 95. Will she greet 96?

(Huitain)

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Big Puzzle Little House

Posted on January 8, 2021 by sputterpub

We build a puzzle every New Year’s Eve.
It started in my husband’s parents’ place
more years ago than many will believe,
when they were still alive, before disgrace,
divorce and scandal altered gatherings.
My daughter loves tradition, so she buys
a jigsaw puzzle with the winter things –
we bend to it as New Year’s exercise.

But now the virus forces us apart,
she purchased two and mailed a box to me.
She made me promise her I wouldn’t start
it early – we’d construct as family.
But I’ve a single table. It’s not good.
One thousand pieces cover all the wood.

Posted in Coronaverse, Family, Home, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Eight Days Hence

Posted on January 7, 2021 by sputterpub

It’s near 300 days since I began
this daily writing project. House arrest
continues and although I didn’t plan
it so, and probably would not have guessed,
I tend to write about a week ahead.
It’s Wednesday where I sit – in 8 more days,
when I click “publish” for this musing thread,
I hope my window features rain displays.
(That’s “window” lower-cased. I will not count
the virtual who hungers for the real.
Computer apps are nice but don’t amount
to weather, so no matter their appeal,
I pen a plea as if it were refrain –
When this is visible, I hope there’s rain.)

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January 6

Posted on January 6, 2021 by sputterpub

A civil war is slated to begin
today, that doesn’t bode civility.
The sane know Donald didn’t get the win –
he opened avenues to public hate
and celebrated racist origin
with media-magnetic vitriol.
America has taken on the chin
four awful years of unreality
amounting to obscenity, and din.

(Magic 9)

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What Are They Thinking?

Posted on January 5, 2021 by sputterpub

Let’s posit their shenanigans succeed –
has anyone considered consequence?
The neos act as if they only need
an overturn to make the country…What??
A semi-continent with resource-bleed;
a culture cropped with bigotry and lies;
a catechism based on hate and greed;
a place with no place for intelligence.
To what have these Republicans agreed?

(Magic 9)

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Chores

Posted on January 4, 2021 by sputterpub

I’m fortunate. I really shouldn’t rant,
but Monday mornings are intense and tough.
Committed to long exercise, I can’t
be Sunday sedentary. That’s a rough
reality, but add to it the store,
for usually I’m mostly out of food.
I have to hike an hour to get more.
The tasks combine to devastate my mood.

I walk there early to avoid the line.
So few are out I seldom need a mask
until I’m in the store. And I confine
the coffee till I’m finished with that task
(it’s bad enough without the urge to piss).
My homecoming’s a precious sort of bliss.

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PvZ

Posted on January 3, 2021 by sputterpub

At least 8 years ago, the oldest boy
installed a classic game on my machine.
His younger brothers each grew to enjoy
the play (the instigator’s now 15).
I showed it to their cousin. It’s a toy
that toddlers’ parents ration, fearing screen
time will distract their kid and dim his light.
Of late, I play alone when I should write.

(Ottava Rima)

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