![School_Building_21611_7[1]](https://sputterpub.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/school_building_21611_71.jpg?w=222&h=206)
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)
The (unelected) unelect’s a sure
deficient in intelligence and sense.
I’d call the man a moron, but he’s more
insidious than that, with lies immense
and myriad – a plethora of bad,
and everything he states should be ignored.
He isn’t relevant. It drives me mad,
the way the press provides his sounding board.
He said that he’d recruit the very best
to work the job – he doesn’t know those folks.
Expecting poor performance, no one guessed
the real extent – the fodder for the jokes
is worse than empty calories: a spate
of poison apples for the fourth estate.
![Question%20mark%20button[1]](https://sputterpub.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/question20mark20button1.jpg?w=239&h=179)
The ancient question is: which one came first?
The Bible says it had to be the bird,
and science argues that old bubble burst
as soon as positing a proto-hen,
not quite a chicken yet, that laid and nursed
the egg that held the gallus gallus chick.
My reasoning in general coerced
the view an egg alone would be absurd –
a parent sat before that shell dispersed.
(Magic 9)
“There’s no accounting for a person’s taste,”
is one translation of the Latin line.
“What’s liked cannot be argued” was replaced,
but neither phrase is accurate or fine.
The very best is judged by all supreme.
The worst we all agree is really poor.
It’s only when you move from each extreme
that you meet works whose merit is unsure.
The plotted line denoting quality
reveals a spectrum with a bulbous hill
containing sorts of mediocrity
and more, for us to argue good or ill.
By truly fine we all are found impressed;
the honest mind admits what work is best.
You have a choice about the rail you ride.
Ahead you see a crowd, so do you switch
to force the trolley on the shunt beside,
where one will surely die? Now tell me: which?
It doesn’t matter what or who will steer –
the answer is unpopular but clear.
You cannot choose the shunt and drive to kill.
No end can justify that act of will.
And if you complicate the question thus –
the one alone’s no person you have met;
the crowd contains your own adored cadet –
I have to say you can’t be serious.
Of course I’d spare my baby from the threat,
but that’s emotion owing reason debt.
(Pushkin Sonnet)
I moved back in here 15 months ago
and wanted to declare the job complete,
but then I watched the punch list start to grow
as imperfections surfaced in the neat
appearances that pleased in gross but not
on close examination. The design
was brilliant, but some tradespeople forgot
to notice where the edges don’t align.
My builder stuck with me and suped repair,
and nearly all the issues are resolved.
Before things break from normal wear-and-tear
I call it finished now. I’ve been involved
with choosing outside furniture of late –
the last amenities for this estate.
An ordinary nightmare for the young,
the one that more experience than not,
is dreaming we’re at school one day among
our peers, and realizing that we forgot
to put on underwear. Anxiety
invades us: how to handle vacancy
beneath our clothes, perhaps to hide the lack.
That little recollection takes me back.
Two nights ago I had a COVID dream.
I made it halfway through a store before
I sensed some glances I could not ignore,
and that’s when I inhaled without a screen.
I wasn’t masked! Embarrassed to the core,
I shame-walked like a leper to the door.
(Pushkin Sonnet)
She’s known me rather well for 50 years.
She understands I seldom take advice
or listen to suggestions. Mostly nice
and rational, my willful temper rears
when anybody states how I should spend
my time or modulate my tone of voice.
I grew up young – I early learned to tend
to me and advocate for my own choice.
But we had stimulating talk today.
I walked to visit and she drove me home.
And when she dropped me off, I heard her say
“Now get in there and write a pretty poem.”
And though these aren’t pretty words I’ve penned,
recording grateful love’s what I intend.
I never saw so many hummingbirds
in 13 years of living by this yard.
If I’d attempt to put their sound in words,
I’d mention “thrum:” soft tongue upon the hard-
called palate right behind the upper teeth.
I hear them when they flit in front of me;
I pause at hovering beside, beneath,
above the smallest blossoms, frequently.
I used to see a hummingbird a week.
I don’t possess a feeder. There are cats
that linger here. No reason for this peak
in midget visitors. Is it perhaps
this COVID-season? Better garden, less
of noise and dirty air and outside stress?
Considering the way I use outside,
I know I want a bench and table there.
I picked a set IKEA advertised,
but couldn’t get it shipped. I shopped elsewhere.
I found a better set and paid with card
(and started to expect it with some glee).
The vendor then wrote “Whoops – please disregard –
it’s out of stock two months or maybe three.”
I will not wait till winter, I then thought;
I cancelled and resumed my search online.
I found a metal-bottomed one, and bought
it for proportion and its clean design.
I liked the first okay, the second more,
but this one is the best, I’m pretty sure.
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