Lies My Country Told Me (HA 70 English Madrigal)

Posted on May 26, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

They said we’re free; we’re great; we’re number one.
I watched and felt too doubtful to believe.
When I complained, the world called me naive.

The war before my birth the allies won,
but since I’ve been, too rarely we achieve.
They said we’re free; we’re great; we’re number one.
I watched and felt too doubtful to believe.

Analysis and memory are spun
to serve some purpose petty to perceive.
I don’t know why compatriots deceive.
They said we’re free; we’re great; we’re number one.
I watched and felt too doubtful to believe.
When I complained, the world called me naive.

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Overgrown (HA 69 Almost-Pushkin Sonnet)

Posted on May 25, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

I never have liked gardening as much
as mother, brother, friends and cousins do.
My thumbs are beige; I seem to lack the touch
and patience. I prefer to read and view
the scene outside my windows. I don’t own
an inside plant. Bouquets can make me groan –
cut flowers are like cat-mauled birds to me:
a gift of fugitive morbidity.

But I adore the green outside my place.
I marvel at the dignity of trees,
appreciate the bees and birds and shade.
I live where roses thrive and sages grace
the yards. This spring I shrink from dread disease,
but stretch to use my pruning shears and spade.

overgrown

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Heroes (HA 68 Bref Double)

Posted on May 24, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

Lance Armstrong fell. Now Elon Musk
proclaims his vain stupidity.
Ambitious heroes tell us lies.
Naive I barely understand.

At 9 I told a lie to friends
of hula hoop ability.
They stared, denial in their eyes,
but didn’t kick my house of sand.

I learned that day a lie makes murk,
and tracking takes up energy.
No win by falsehood satisfies,
for self-esteem is self-command.

A hero, sung or mute, will be
a character of high surprise.

Posted in Coronaverse, Philosophy, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Fear and Sadness (HA 67 Decima)

Posted on May 23, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

I watched a loved one hunker down
as soon as house arrest began,
embracing a pandemic plan
in black-and-white (and shades of brown),
amassing safety with a frown
while reading stats of dire news.
His rigid views did not excuse
an unmasked face, an ungloved hand.
I don’t think he can understand:
unbroken fear produces blues.

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Gum Disease in Pandemic (HA 66 Rondel)

Posted on May 22, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

My mouth is hurting more today.
I may be forced to make that call.
I thought I could hold out till all
this house arrest had gone away,

ignoring ache until dismay
along with swelling isn’t small.
My mouth is hurting more today.
I may be forced to make that call.

Bacteria begone, I say;
to brushing/flossing I’m in thrall.
No matter what, the microbes maul
my jaw and let my molars sway.
My mouth is hurting more today.

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Masked in Class (HA 65 Ottava Rima)

Posted on May 21, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

A catalog of safety tips I heard
last week included rules for running schools,
prescribing masks full-time. But it occurred
to me that face expressions are the tools
we use to see if kids absorb a word
we say, or stare at us like stubborn mules.
If we can’t see the miens, we lose the means
to read the face. We’re better off with screens.

Posted in Coronaverse, Poetry, School | Tagged | Leave a comment

Graduation Party (HA 64 Magic 9)

Posted on May 20, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

I live near college students. Come each fall
they take up residence and party some.
One year they launched a beer across the wall
between us, but they aren’t pests to me.
Of course I miss their liveliness – the pall
pandemic blocks their fetes and futures too –
as they matriculate, the omens maul –
but Saturday I heard guitar and drum,
and caught cork evidence of alcohol.

Grad Party 2020

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Frail Memory (HA 63 Curtal Sonnet)

Posted on May 19, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

Remember how we tried to reuse bags?
The steps we took avoiding solo drives?
Conserving resources for equity,
disdaining plastic and employing rags
where paper went before, protecting lives
of dolphins, reefs of coral majesty?

Or are we on the pathway to forget?
The name of every shop now gone survives
in public records, but the memory
is vague as infant faces age won’t let
me see.

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

The Phase of Stage 2 (HA 62)

Posted on May 18, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

Progressing to Stage 2, we’d like to know
it’s progress, but our only certainty
is lack of information. There’s a show
on every network, short on strategy
and tactics, acting like we’re in a war,
and featuring some hospital release
with “I beat COVID” signs, when truth is more
the whispered “I survived.” I wish they’d cease
reporting lies from president and pals.
I hunger for good science and some fact.
I’m sick of the unreasoned rationales,
and yearn for tests so vectors can be tracked.
My hair’s too long, my mouth is sore: at heart
I know the risk, but want Stage 3 to start.

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Rhyme Zone (HA 61 Spenserian Sonnet)

Posted on May 17, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

I started writing poetry at 6,
and cranked it up when I was 41.
Initially it must have been a fix
for some need then unmet, for once begun
I kept composing – efforts ever fun
but never frequent, needing to be spurred,
until I set assignments and when done,
I learned reverse – it’s work that summons word.

Now recently a symptom has occurred,
for after 60 days of writing verse
I feel I’m dull and dallying, absurd
(but not affected yet, or tending worse).
It may be best to take a little time
without my pen, before I’m sick of rhyme.

Posted in Coronaverse, Poetry, Writing | Tagged , | Leave a comment