Late Fall

Posted on November 2, 2020 by sputterpub

As if on hold for
regime change, leaves don’t yet fall.
Autumn’s in suspense.

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Ninfo

Posted on November 1, 2020 by sputterpub

Enjoying cannabis for 50 years,
we hungered for some facts about the stuff.
Outlawed no science looked, and it appears
we still can’t get, of useful facts, enough.

And business interests lobbied to conceal
the truth about cholesterol and fat.
We sought the best and only found unreal:
forsook the farm and bought the automat.

I hear your moans about the false reports,
disinformation spread in bold campaigns,
fear-mongering and propaganda, courts
of public op – the lying hurts our brains!
Manipulating facts, suppressing news,
are traits as old as words and biased views.

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Another Cancellation

Posted on October 31, 2020 by sputterpub

It sometimes takes awhile to adjust
to change that’s catastrophic or severe.
I didn’t rate that quake – I walked and bused
until I heard the Series disappear.
Or how the signs of my old age have slammed me,
when teenagers I meet have sweetly ma’am’d me:
the glimpse the morning mirror now displays –
the image of my father’s wrinkled face.

And though we all have missed six holidays
and many birthday parties, I’m aware
that costumed outings in the evening air,
involving wearing masks, will not take place.
Coronavirus keeps on being mean
and now it robs the kids of Halloween.

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Sleep Changes

Posted on October 30, 2020 by sputterpub

Sleep patterns alter as our bodies age:
From infancy when naps fill day and night,
decreasing dream time till we reach the stage
of teen ability to sleep in light
of morning, anywhere and any time,
to young adulthood woken by our kids,
to solid aR Ee eM when in our prime,
to broken rest at night as aging bids.

We seem to take development in stride.
We don’t appear to miss the baby sleep,
the college-age all-nighters, getting fried
and sleeping in. I wonder why you weep
at waking often now, before the dawn.
I’ll play the hand age deals me, with a yawn.

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EMTelling

Posted on October 29, 2020 by sputterpub

I’m older than I ever thought I’d get
when I was young and forecasting, and yet
my mother’s still alive and doing well
at 95 (which shows one cannot tell
the future with degrees of certainty).
I don’t desire any prophecy
about my date of death – I’d rather not
anticipate that lonesome final spot.

But there is something I would pay to know.
I hate to see the doctor. I avoid
immersion in the common protocols.
I’m rather healthy, as statistics go,
and frankly I’d be more than overjoyed
to know when I will have to make that call.

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Real Food Problem

Posted on October 28, 2020 by sputterpub

I have some gastronomic memories
I won’t forget: the flavor of a peach,
ripe yellow-gold with sour/sweet degrees
of juice; the texture avocados reach –
that fiber-hiding fatty satin feel.
Fresh produce often carries flavor really
fine, but there’s a risk beneath the peel:
the bad of inner rot or flesh that’s mealy.

Real food sometimes involves a taste roulette
I never find in processed packaged snacks.
This candy bar will taste the way I bet.
That box of silage won’t host bug attacks.
I crave authentic bites, and I conclude
there’s always competition for my food.

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The Apprentice

Posted on October 27, 2020 by sputterpub

I don’t think he knows
how stupid the show was. How
many didn’t watch.

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Re-Intro

Posted on October 26, 2020 by sputterpub

I turned to body health at 35.
I’d had a turn of hospital that spring:
A bad cascade a challenge to survive,
that taught me my mobility was king.
I took up daily exercise, and learned
returns so great I never retrogressed.
Three decades passed, I read, and then I spurned
all forms of sucrose. Well, I never guessed
how little I would miss it, how that led
to finding pasta mushy, to eschew
most days most meals most any form of bread.
My body keeps reminding me it’s true,
and yesterday I found a log I penned
3 years ago, inspiring me again.

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Pre-Grief

Posted on October 25, 2020 by sputterpub

I sought by Internet. I tried to track
him down in Google, Facebook, and obit.
I recollect the coronary plaque
he once confessed, and hypertension pills.
Conjecturing about a heart attack
or COVID, I began assuming death.
But then he called. I had no time to yak.
I’m writing uninformed like counterfeit,
before tomorrow, when I’ll call him back.

(Magic 9)

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CGG

Posted on October 24, 2020 by sputterpub

About a quarter century ago,
I met a man amusing and so smart
I wanted to be with him, even though
he packed a gun and phobias. My heart
indulged him through some mania and rants,
but we were not in sync. We dulled to friends.
He sought the solitude the desert grants.
We seldom spoke again; we’d other ends.

I recollect his keen intensity,
the time he said he wanted me beside
him when he died. That struck me recently –
I listened to a message, and I tried
to call him at the number I last had –
I found his phone was gone. Is he? I’m sad…

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