House Arrest 33 (Self-Command)

Posted on April 19, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

Two hundred years ago, an English book
employed vocabulary obsolete
these days, or rare at least – we seldom look
askance, or box some ears, or take conceit
to mean idea – I’m sure you understand.
I came on this one recently – it stole
my grin delighting me: it’s “self-command.”
How utterly distinct from “self-control.”

We use the latter to suggest restraint –
our selves inhibit us from thing or act.
But self command connotes no brake or feint,
conveying a finesse, a form exact,
a step refined. I think we should relapse
to self-command, before our ways collapse.

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House Arrest 32 (Pushkin Sonnet)

Posted on April 18, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

I used to change my voicemail every day,
recording first the date and day of week,
informing callers I was not away
but mostly locating, by this technique,
myself in place and time, and planning, too,
the items on my list I meant to do
(committing to the tasks already honed
that couldn’t be realistically postponed).

That habit disappeared when I retired,
with calendar mistakes the consequence.
It wasn’t memory or lack of sense
that made me think a Thursday had transpired
on Saturday. And now, with House Arrest,
my space is here, but time is often guessed.

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House Arrest 31 (The Jerk Rispetto)

Posted on April 17, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

We told the boys they couldn’t play
more games until their room was clean.
We didn’t care who worked, what way,
or when (the oldest is 13).

The Ruler wants our house arrest
to end, but first we have to test.
The boys took days but did the work.
They’re that much wiser than The Jerk.

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House Arrest 30 (Envelope Sonnet)

Posted on April 16, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

I didn’t take the quake of ‘89
as serious, although I was outside,
until I heard they killed the baseball game.
Adjusting takes me time. I knew the name
Coronavirus when identified,
but waited several weeks to toe the line
duct-taped at teller windows in my bank,
to soap for 20 seconds, and to thank
the clerks in the beleaguered stores and shops,
collectors of our trash, the nursing boon.
The rules say I’m supposed to tend my yard,
and true – the labor wouldn’t be that hard –
but I’ve resolved to pay a pal to prune
in isolation till contagion stops.

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House Arrest 29 (Agoraphobia)

Posted on April 15, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

I used to claim “When I’m asleep I want
to stay asleep, and when I am awake
I like to linger in that state.” I’d flaunt
it like acknowledged truth. I’d even make
an ode to praise inertia’s steady touch.
But was that accurate? Did I resist
the change from consciousness to sleep so much,
or was that affectation’s witty twist?

I think of this while noticing how shy
I’m feeling lately. Though I rarely see
a person IRL, I’m back to my
agoraphobic thoughts. At 23
I self-prescribed a job took me outside
my home. Now I’m back in, I start to slide.

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House Arrest 28 (Terza Rima Sonnet)

Posted on April 14, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

My brother’s hypertensive and he’s out
of pills. His doc retired and he needs
to pick anew, but deadly flu’s about,
retarding him. The stay-at-home impedes
what it permits with stern pandemic press,
and thoroughly prevents desired deeds
like dental work. We joke no one can guess
about a haircut or podiatry,
but consequences must increase unless
we stop postponing all necessity.
Agreeing to forgo our customs now,
fulfilling our responsibility
to crush the curve, all media says how,
ignoring ills these closures will allow.

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House Arrest 27 (Catena Rondo)

Posted on April 13, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

We started as a glimmer in God’s eye.
We hatched a relatively simple form
abiding now, its case confined and warm,
amid potential energy to fly.

We hatched a relatively simple form –
our larval stage was ravenous and rough,
consuming like we couldn’t get enough,
more devastating than a locust swarm.

Our larval stage was ravenous and rough;
we ate by day and gorged beneath the moon,
but now we hunker down in our cocoon,
quiescent as we shed mimetic fluff.

We ate by day and gorged beneath the moon,
for we were stupid-young and arrogant,
too ignorant to feel embarrassment.
But metamorphosis is coming soon.

For we were stupid-young and arrogant:
we started as a glimmer in God’s eye
and pray before too many of us die
to prove the worth of the experiment.

We started as a glimmer in God’s eye.
We hatched a relatively simple form
abiding now, its case confined and warm,
amid potential energy to fly.

(not a real catena rondo…missed the need for 1st/4th line repeat)

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House Arrest 26 (Rimas Dissolutas)

Posted on April 12, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

Our species is a blight
upon the planet’s health.
We ought to be ashamed;
we think we’re apex strong.

We couldn’t be less right,
who mined the earth for wealth,
who hoarded what we named
or killed it for a song.

We hunker day and night,
emerging in a stealth
foray to shop (inflamed
by news we fear a throng).

Of course we should be blamed;
our course has been all wrong.

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House Arrest 25 (The Bop)

Posted on April 11, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

When I was young my mom preferred to say
“Because I told you so,” to satisfy
my quest for information. She would pay
me scant attention in response to Why.
My teachers didn’t shut me down that way,
but most would give a subject-change a try.

Was language developed in order to lie?

I learned to read and write, and turned to print
to gather facts and populate my mind.
I pored voraciously through fact and hint,
concluded I’d left ignorance behind,
and only later learned how thin the press,
political the science of reply
and publication. Never did I guess
the power of the pressure to deny.

Was language developed in order to lie?

Diogenes became my model then,
in terms of truth. I sought it low and high.
My filter was in place time and again;
no matter what I gathered, I would pry
away conspiracy, seek origin
and yet, my search has failed. How blind I fly…

Was language developed in order to lie?

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House Arrest 24 (Clogyrnach)

Posted on April 10, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

I thought the TP shortage must
subside as hoarders learned to trust
supply lines. The twist?
The paper that’s missed
is domestic. It’s plush.

There’s plenty of commercial stuff,
the rolls too big, the texture rough,
but never have we
at home used TP
uniquely, with enough.

Before we drill a bigger hole
at home, to hold the giant roll,
the mills should regear
to cover our rear,
and appear in control.

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