Overloads (HA 75 Limerick)

Posted on May 31, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

The virus invaded our city.
The federal fuckup’s not pretty.
Germ load’s now our mess,
Aggravated by stress,
And everyone’s outlook is shitty.

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

A Scurry of Squirrels (HA 74)

Posted on May 30, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

A month ago, the music of the birds
was serenade from dawn to nearly noon.
Today to put the garden sound in words,
I hear the insect buzz and squirrel zoom.
The bees are drinking salvia and flies
are bumping window glass. The whine
of a mosquito makes me slap my eyes
and box my ears. The most disruptive sign
of spring is squirrels in the eucalypt.
A half a dozen spiral up the trunk
and down again, dislodging branches tipped
with twigs to clatter on the deck. They bunk
above, they piss from high in darting hurry,
and earn their term of venery: a scurry.

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

Calibration of Happiness (HA 73)

Posted on May 29, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

I worked for years with somebody so drab
and dull, I wondered how her weekends went.
For most the Monday lunches she would blab
about her social life: how excellent
that picnic felt; this party was a blast.
But then we took a business trip. She stood
alone against the walls until it passed,
and raved on our return that all was good.
It blew my mind. I’d seen she had no fun,
but she recalled and called it otherwise.
And ever since, when I hear anyone
enthusing, I don’t feel the old surprise.
I cannot know how purple looks to you,
when you’re confused, or if your joy is true.

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

Nextdoor and the Loud Boom (HA 72 Curtal Sonnet)

Posted on May 28, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

When I lived here in 1968,
we drove old Volkswagens and ate low-cost.
We roomed with dogs and fleas and smoked a lot.
Some nights we heard explosive noises, late
and loud. We learned the sound of bad exhaust
would never rattle windows. Some forgot
how bullets boom, and think the claps we hear
are weapons aimed and ammunition tossed,
yet I can tell from memory they’re not –
they’re fireworks, but Nextdoor neighbors fear
gunshot.

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

Changing Times (HA 71 Magic 9)

Posted on May 27, 2020 by sputterpub

House Arrest

Two months ago, I couldn’t find a roll
of toilet paper on a shelf or site.
An order of Feridies took a whole
three weeks at least to make it to my porch.
Supply chain tangles out of my control
induced in me not worry but concern –
attention to the shipment-tracking stole
good moments. Peanuts now come overnight,
and paper’s not a desperate shopping goal.

Posted in Coronaverse, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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