Build Back Better

Posted on August 24, 2020 by sputterpub

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I almost died when I was 35;
emergencies and error laid me low.
But after weeks of pain I was alive –
they pulled my tubes the night before I’d go
back home, and left me in my sterile cell,
and that’s when I began to sob. Relief
cascaded, while I felt my body tell
how long I’d been suppressing fear and grief.

Last week I watched the roll call on TV
and started crying, much to my surprise.
Astounded by our great diversity,
I yelled “I miss us!” as I realized
how much I’ve held my grief and worry in.
But now the march to better can begin.

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A Little Adult

Posted on August 23, 2020 by sputterpub

SamHands

I told my toddler buddy he’d be four
next time he has a birthday. He replied
“and will I be a grownup then?” (Mature
for forty months, he’s lately working on
the values of our common number lore).
“I’m happy when you’re here. It’s like a gift,”
he said to me this morning. I was floored.
He learns so fast, he may be verified –
soon more adult than many I’ve adored.

(Magic 9)

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Tower Fan

Posted on August 22, 2020 by sputterpub

Tower Fan

I can’t remember when I bought this fan –
a tower that can radiate the air:
create a V-shaped breeze for pre-set span
of operation, placed most anywhere.
I used to use it for the dozen days
a year, when calefaction re-occurs
(a benefit to living by our bay
is little need for air conditioners).

Last year, I had a ceiling fan installed.
It cools my cottage and dismays the flies.
I moved the tower to my office shed
across the deck. Today, like I recalled
its good, I set it up to optimize
a breeze I love, upon my back and head.

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Still in My Room

Posted on August 21, 2020 by sputterpub

How it Feels to Have My Place Back

I wonder was my mother scared of me;
I think she was expecting someone less.
By far the youngest in her family,
she never thought I’d bring her so much stress.
I wasn’t good at tractable or sweet.
She called me lazy, selfish, and effete.
She said I must behave or be ignored.
I tried to be compliant; I was bored.

My story’s not unique. I had a choice:
behave or be alone. I chose the last.
I hunkered in my bedroom. She harassed,
but I enjoyed my solitude and voice.
(I thought I was too odd and spoke too fast,
but maybe I was lovingly miscast.)

(Pushkin Sonnet)

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IVV

Posted on August 20, 2020 by sputterpub

language

“In vino veritas” is not quite true,
unless by “true” we really mean “sincere.”
While alcohol can dis-inhibit you,
it won’t increase your honesty at all.
The qualities you tried to hide from view –
embarrassments and actions causing shame –
are given leave by booze to ooze and spew.
So bias and stupidity are clear,
but nothing wise or useful can ensue.

(Magic 9)

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New Neck

Posted on August 19, 2020 by sputterpub

Hospital[1]

At least a quarter century ago,
they said I had arthritis in my neck.
Referred for therapy, I got to know
techniques to keep increasing pain in check,
and traction to resuscitate the wreck
between my shoulders. That was when I learned,
to have my flexibility returned
I’d need to stop collecting tension there.
Relapsing lately, 2020-churned,
I fantasize a transplant for repair.

(Dizain)

Posted in Coronaverse, Health, Poetry | Tagged , | 2 Comments

Dawn Delay

Posted on August 18, 2020 by sputterpub

home 100

I’ve been an early riser 30 years
or so, with energy from dawn to 3.
I’m waking now before the sun appears,
but that’s from time of year and not from me.
I never set a clock; I’m naturally
awake by 6, but now the light’s recessed,
for dawn is daily later. Hard to see:
a marker for our endless house arrest.

(Huitain)

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Fern Volunteers

Posted on August 17, 2020 by sputterpub

Ferns

This year, beneath the young persimmon tree,
a clutch of ferns unfurled.
They seemed to feather symbiotically:
beginning tightly curled,
and opening beneath the summer shade,
like fans abutting bark,
retaining earth near roots the tree has laid
within the fertile dark.

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A Little Liveliness

Posted on August 16, 2020 by sputterpub

Little liveliness

The COVID quiet’s punctured now and then
by sounds of interaction near my home.
Across and up I hear the sounds of men
where only women dwell. My neighbor’s door
is propped ajar – I see her figure when
she steps and stoops to stroke the local cat.
I’m hearing college party sounds again,
as I enjoy my bench and craft a poem,
with noise a welcome motive for my pen.

(Magic 9)

Posted in Coronaverse, Home, Poetry, Writing | Tagged , | 1 Comment

Futility

Posted on August 15, 2020 by sputterpub

School_Building_21611_7[1]

The future isn’t boding well, and yet,
I’m doubtful that it ever has before.
Supposed to learn from history, we let
today distract. Instead of knowing more,
we act as if it’s different. We forget,
we never knew or, even worse, ignore.
“Utility” plus “future” make a word
suggesting that our attitude’s absurd.

(Ottava Rima)

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