I’m hearing commentators voice surprise
at stupid lack of strategy from Barr.
Did they forget that chiefs just supervise?
I’m hearing commentators voice surprise,
but rainmakers are neither sharp nor wise
(their loss of will and skill to work is par).
I’m hearing commentators voice surprise
at stupid lack of strategy from Barr.
We both feel anxious
about being together
after months at home
but as we start to amble
we recollect our humor
I didn’t mean to carry on so long.
I started this for one and twenty days,
intending to employ new verse arrays.
I didn’t mean to carry on so long.
I started this for one and twenty days.
The metrics were a challenge to my mind,
distracting me from worry while confined.
I started this for one and twenty days.
The metrics were a challenge to my mind,
and day by day they mounted with arrest
to inventory neither planned nor guessed.
The metrics were a challenge to my mind.
And day by day they mounted with arrest;
the hills ahead look steeper till we climb.
One hundred days produced a wealth of rhyme.
And day by day they mounted with arrest.
The hills ahead look steeper till we climb
(I didn’t mean to carry on so long).
Now mass anxiety is running strong –
the hills ahead look steeper till we climb.
I didn’t mean to carry on so long.
I started this for one and twenty days,
intending to employ new verse arrays.
I didn’t mean to carry on so long.
Two incidents surprised me recently.
A couple of the people I love most
(one lifelong friend and one close family)
asserted they need words as speech or post.
They want to hear “I love you,” “You’re the best,”
“I’m sorry,” “I’ll admit that I was wrong.”
Behavior’s insufficient, they both stressed.
They claimed their stance was popular and strong.
I don’t agree. Although I’d have preferred
the pen to be the weapon beyond all,
I’ve spent my life devoted to the word,
and know the true effect of talk is small.
I’ve pondered why our species learned to speak.
I always wanted language to be clear
and used for truth (like all the Houyhnhnms seek),
but life has taught me action is what’s dear.
I wearied with too many “I love you”s.
Assertions smothered me and sucked my air.
Repetitive apologies abuse –
I want to see offenders learn to care.
I need to watch your means to learn your ends,
so save the tropes and bromides for my friends.
I used the toilet paper I preferred
until I couldn’t find it anywhere,
when panic/hoarding mounted to absurd
degrees, amid coronavirus scare.
I bought what roles I found among the rare,
more quilted than I like and with more ply.
Now TP lint pollutes my bathroom air.
I’m dusting more, but worse than that’s when I
don’t notice pocket tissue till I wash-and-dry.
I need to walk outside most every day.
That’s why I chose a climate that affords
activity. Beneath blue sky or gray
I walked for years to travel or commute,
to shop or meet or visit where I may.
But months ago I started sheltering;
my walks had no objective to convey.
Of late I move with nothing to walk toward,
and learn I’m only aimless half the way.
All creatures have to notice things that move,
and people are no different than the low.
Our species is impulsive too – we prove
it by the way we all feel boredom grow
when custom stills or culture stalls and sticks,
and interaction loses all intrigue.
That’s when we need a change, a spark to fix
the symptoms of emotional fatigue.
Abhorring lack of stimulus, we sink
amid the doldrums of dull weariness.
Escaping house arrest (as if we think
it’s safe) is our response to dreariness.
It seems all tactics must evolve, or dim
to meme fatigue and tepid acronym.
I walk for transportation and for health.
I guess I started doing so at 5.
I choose my residence where there’s a wealth
of walking avenues. I seem to thrive,
and I attribute that to daily moves
(as well as luck). I think my body proves
the case – my walking helps to manage stress,
to organize, to meditate, to bless.
Three months ago, I lost my walking goals,
all destinations taken from my days.
And though continuing home exercise,
no longer did I tread upon my soles.
A recent amble challenged me. “It pays
to walk,” my body said. My body’s wise.
I ambled Prince Street yesterday, a pack
of food upon my back, and looking down
I noticed names somebody chalked, of black
decedents – none who wanted this renown.
I read and said the names, and stepped aside
as if I were on holy ground. My heart
and head enlarged with grief that multiplied
with each succeeding name. That block is long,
but all its length beside my plodding pace
the chalking emphasized a grievous wrong –
so many killed: our legacy disgrace.
There’s work ahead – for rights and righting claims.
The time and chalk command I say their names.
For 90 days I dwelled in quiet here.
I mostly stayed at home like all of you.
We watched surrounding air and water clear.
We buzzed with nerves and heard the birds anew.
But now our house arrest is wearing thin.
We’re lacking facts but aren’t staying in.
Disease proceeds and ignorance destroys,
but we’re reopening and making noise.
The traffic hasn’t yet produced the crush
we dread ahead, but all around of late
are power sounds of home and yard repair.
No longer in a zone of beeper hush,
the chainsaws whined last night till nearly 8.
Now chipper grunts of grinding fill the air.
 | sputterpub on Vacuum |
 | Ronald E. Shields on Vacuum |
| sputterpub on About Mom, With Love |
 | groomie on About Mom, With Love |
| sputterpub on No Blocks |
Sputterpub's Blog 