RSS

Posted on November 14, 2020 by sputterpub

I wake on Saturdays away from home,
so if I’m to maintain my posting streak
of publishing a daily lockdown poem,
then Friday’s my occasion, every week,
to schedule the meter in advance.
But I mistrust the algorithm’s deeds.
I long to give my verse at least a chance,
but often mine don’t make the Reader feeds.

It happens with a same-day sonnet too,
but then I can repost to catch a yes.
When I’m away from my home office, you
may fail to see what’s not in RSS.
I’ve taken to selecting lesser verse
for Saturday, to dull the WordPress curse.

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Estranged

Posted on November 13, 2020 by sputterpub

I fail to understand, although I’ve tried,
why millions of my countrymen support
a leader with no compass, who can’t guide,
who won’t seek any wisdom or resort
to knowledge, education, open mind,
or building bridges virtual or real.
I leave attempted empathy behind –
today I revel in contempt’s appeal.

Is that a swath of Puritans I see?
Great plains of ignorance between our shores?
A pale-faced chasm of conspiracy?
Perspective that sees witches and adores
the simple answers? I cannot relate
to half our voters advocating hate.

Posted in Civics, Misanthropy, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Foreknowledge

Posted on November 12, 2020 by sputterpub

“I know what you’re about to say to me.”
My father’d interrupt with words like those
when we grew heated. Furious I’d be,
but almost stopped, amazed at how he chose
to interact, predicting wrong, and close
the gate to any chance to understand
his daughter, bound to anger in her throes
of passion, sure to lose her self-command.

(Huitain)

Posted in Family, Personality, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Shining You On

Posted on November 11, 2020 by sputterpub

When things keep happening that boggle me,
between myself and one I dearly love,
when doors are slammed and chairs are shoved, and we
appear to live on different worlds, above
all else I want to talk the problem out,
but if my interlocutor resists,
and if my question’s answered with a shout,
a claim that I’m an act while anger twists
a face to hate, a jaw to rigid grind,
refusing to engage in any talk,
suffusing with confusion, I’m inclined
to laugh inside and take a little walk
away from tantrum and apart from murk,
unless/until you’re ready for some work.

Posted in Love, Personality, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Empathology

Posted on November 10, 2020 by sputterpub

I’m disinclined to watch performance live.
For years I’ve understood the cause to be
strong empathy: I want the act to thrive –
I wince at failure’s possibility.
(Then too, I never drew from any crowd
the energy I want. I suffer loud
invasions in a massive theater line,
a little anxious and about to whine.)

Perhaps I ought to look another way:
assume that the performers can admit
to imperfection when appropriate
at least as well as I do, when I play
my expertise in error. It’s in me
to trust they have their own resiliency.

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Couch Potato

Posted on November 9, 2020 by sputterpub

I’m glad we have power tonight.
The fires are down; winds are light.
Exhausted by news,
seeking what will amuse,
I’ll be screening a romance or fright.

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

Thanks to LC

Posted on November 8, 2020 by sputterpub

Persimmons start to ripen in the tree
outside my window. I was not the gard-
ener – my neighbor’s into botany –
she asked if she could farm the little yard
between us and I hastened to agree.
She made the labor look like nothing hard,
and finished it before she moved away.
She left it like a gift I love today.

(Ottava Rima)

Posted in Flora, Home, Poetry, Weather | Tagged | Leave a comment

Results

Posted on November 7, 2020 by sputterpub

It’s difficult to catch a cold right now
for those of us who shelter in our place.
I cannot get the flu; I don’t know how
to breathe the germs with mask upon my face.
The buses and the planes I used to ride
are not in play – I promised both my kids
I’d stay away from them and stay inside
(I feel the love that triggered those forbids).

The younger generation seems to fear
Coronavirus more than my cohort.
They’re 40ish and freaked – they need to live
a longer future. Sanitizing gear
abounds – their habitat’s a sterile fort.
I’m not surprised they tested negative.

Posted in Coronaverse, Health, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

My Briar Patch

Posted on November 6, 2020 by sputterpub

Mom cautioned that I shouldn’t speak, unless
the subject and my tone would be okay.
I always hated rude, but I’ll confess
I didn’t gird my thoughts or words the way
she wished. She also said that I should stay
inside my room if I could not behave.
I pondered that unfairness with dismay,
until I chose the solitude I crave.

(Huitain)

Posted in Home, Personality, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Testing

Posted on November 5, 2020 by sputterpub

We’re Northern California fortunate.
We have the weather and topography,
and most are masked when that’s appropriate,
and many aren’t at extremity.
But lately some are ailing. I can see
the symptoms of infection in a guy
who works with us (we think he got too high
and ate himself unwell). My son confessed
to sniffles, languor, breathing gone awry
like allergy. We now await his test.

(Dizain)

Posted in Coronaverse, Health, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment