It’s Obvious

Posted on September 20, 2020 by sputterpub

It’s obvious he thought he’d never win.
He tossed a clown hat at us to begin,
and aimed for national publicity
without a clue to what the job would be.
He played a game in which he had no skin.

He cannot solve a problem, but he’ll spin
repeated lies ad lib, with nasty grin
and no intelligence or strategy.
It’s obvious.

He will not work. He will not read. The din
is empty noise and so it’s ever been.
We can’t allow him any legacy,
except for record-breaking calumny
and failure to surmount his origin.
It’s obvious.

(Rondeau)

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Small Animals

Posted on September 19, 2020 by sputterpub

Although the count was high, I left my space.
I needed crackers for my favorite three-
year old – the cheddar goldfish with a face
that make his own light up in pleasure’s beam.
As I approached the street, I saw a trace
upon the path – like dander from the trees –
that made me, sobered, halt my forward pace.
Then I took in the tiny casualty:
today this ground’s a hummer’s resting place.

(Magic 9)

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Rubaiyat on Frozen Meat

Posted on September 18, 2020 by sputterpub

I’m not a fan of meat. I never wish
for steak or dogs, and I don’t crave a dish
of stew. My mother cooked and tried to feed
me flesh – I never cared for more than fish.

My favorite meals are based on nuts and seeds
and vegetables. I satisfy my need
for protein with legumes and dairy fare,
and covet avocado halves with greed.

My brother raises food with feet: a pair
of cows, some pigs, and lots of poultry share
his pasture till he slaughters them to freeze
his future meals. But now he’s in the flare

of fire: poison air and scary breeze.
His farm is safe but power’s off. Degrees
increase, and I admit anxieties –
concerned about those carnal calories.

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Assurance

Posted on September 17, 2020 by sputterpub

I told my brother and I told my mom,
four years ago, when all were blown away,
when voting tallies hit us like a bomb –
“There will not be a wall.” That dreadful day
was just an introduction to the mess
our culture would experience: the shock
and depredation, everyday distress –
too facile and too horrible to mock.

I’m back to reassuring them again.
He won’t be reelected – people thought
he might be a refreshing change back then,
but now all know the travesties he’s wrought,
how big his lies, how all his aims are mean,
and no, we won’t soon have a safe vaccine.

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

Cause and Effect

Posted on September 16, 2020 by sputterpub

Remember when the sun appeared each day?
When sky at 2 p.m. was nothing strange?
I understand the cause with full dismay:
the term for it of late is climate change.
We saw it coming 60 years ago.
My father gave me Silent Spring to read,
and woke me to ecology. I know
too much of how this sequence must proceed.

And yet, there still are morons who proclaim
that facts are only guesses, and what’s worse,
our culture grants them air time, press, and fame.
The bad decisions made, we can’t reverse
the dread effects produced by selfish cause:
the consequence of breaking natural laws.

Posted in Poetry, Science, Weather | Tagged | 2 Comments

Fourth Grade

Posted on September 15, 2020 by sputterpub

We chanted “I am rubber. You are glue,”
when someone playground-called pejoratives.
“Your words bounce off of me and stick to you.”
And that’s a clue, when comprehending Trump.
We’ve learned he won’t say anything that’s true,
but also understand the names he calls
are properly applied to him. His view
is so reflexive that each insult gives
a case of how he fails to think or do.

(Magic 9)

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Extended Family Status

Posted on September 14, 2020 by sputterpub

Is this our future now? Will we contend
with summer fires till all fuel has burned?
Will conflagration make our weather bend,
or weather rend our fortunes overturned?
In San Francisco, Berkeley, San Rafael,
in Oakland, Portland, Talent, air is hell.
The visuals are noxiously obscured –
each day’s a greater ill to be endured.

Although we understand it could be worse
(the earth might quake, a fresh calamity
could visit here, and wrest new ransom), we
are wearing thin without parole. The curse
of poisoned air removes all remedy –
shut in where even breath cannot be free.

(Pushkin Sonnet)

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Sunday Puzzles

Posted on September 13, 2020 by sputterpub

A dozen years I rarely sat outside;
the space was broken rock and rotting wood.
But then I spent a fortune, modified
the cottage, and installed a redwood deck.
I contemplated furniture. I tried
a chair, but soon I opted for a bench
and table, where my pen could be applied
to puzzles and composing what I could.
The glad result’s a deck well-occupied.

(Magic 9)

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Accommodation

Posted on September 12, 2020 by sputterpub

They roomed together 50 years ago
in Berkeley, at the height of its unrest.
They both liked drugs, but one of them was slow
to move and opted for cocaine as best;
the other raced a lot in legs and brain,
and liked how marijuana modified
her processing, let TV entertain,
increased the challenge friends did not provide.

The two are close and frequent even now,
and sometimes they indulge their youthful trade,
but allocate the tasks a bit. That’s how
the hophead bruised her finger with the blade
she used to chop the coke for her old sis,
whose wrist arthritis limits acts like this.

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High Horse

Posted on September 12, 2020 by sputterpub

I love your love and value your respect
but honestly, your vehemence is dire.
I need your ears and heart – I don’t expect
defensive bold assertions, and your ire
becomes a force that forces me to pause.
It’s like I never own my own complaint.
I want to judge my kids – they give me cause,
but you reduce my words to quiet feint.

The soapbox isn’t tall enough for you,
but legs you up to mount the highest horse.
The wrath young you suppressed is overdue,
but not on my behalf. I was a force
indignant, all my childhood and youth;
with anger I don’t need your help, in truth.

Posted in Aging, Cognition, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment