Eyebath

Posted on May 20, 2019 by sputterpub

Eyebath

There come some days here, nearly every May,
when dirt and branch infect me with surprise.
I felt it first this year on Saturday,
as if a balm applied to soothe my eyes
became effective at the stroke of one.
Surrounded by the cleansing sweep of green
from trees and vines and bushes, lit with sun
and shadow-flirting – satin, velveteen
and rayon spangles blue and yellow made –
removed me from a selfish reverie.
I woke up dull but verdure so displayed
infiltrated and redirected me.
From morning teetering, on edge of pout,
the local landscape hued my sight about.

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A Season Off

Posted on May 16, 2019 by sputterpub

220px-Cerebral_lobes[1]

It’s eerie how contented I feel now,
expecting and anticipating stress
removing my home comforts, but somehow
while sleeping, eating, exercising less
I’m feeling satisfied, beyond reproach,
relaunched, exploring other neighborhoods,
as if I’d found a skeptic-burning coach
to challenge me to sample other goods.

I’m certainly less cozy now, but dream
of how exquisite nights are bound to be
with bed and bath available. I seem
suspended, stimulated, apt to see
a new perspective for analysis.
I have the time for comprehending this.

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The Opportunist

Posted on May 14, 2019 by sputterpub

vicodin

I know an opportunist thief of pills.
She likes the gloss a light narcotic adds
to sedentary mornings. Norco kills
her appetite; a little oxy pads
her nervousness. She won’t shop on the street
for drugs — she guards against addiction’s curse.
She pilfers what she finds at friends’ — discreet
and sly, she tells herself she could be worse.

There’s little chance her friends will intervene.
The issue and the secret’s up to her.
Today she’s been imagining the scene
if ever she’s uncovered. Thoughts occur —
ideas emerge — the fantasy is dread.
Returning that last pill, she vapes instead.

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Sabbatical 2019

Posted on May 13, 2019 by sputterpub

history books

I get some leisure time 2 days a week
and weekends too; I have since I retired.
It used to be to read or smoke, I’d sneak
a quarter hour from the work required
by kids and clients, husband, mother, friends.
I’m lately occupied with family
and office questions; reconstruction fends
me from anticipated apathy.

I’ve several to consider now, outside
myself, immediate, not hard to aid.
Some others’ short-term worries amplified
my urge to listen closely. Leisure made
me recollect it’s scholar’s origin.
I’ll let a month’s sabbatical begin.

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Enervation

Posted on May 9, 2019 by sputterpub

Berk2010

I’m suddenly too tired to be smart
in spite of all the coffee I’ve imbibed.
I feel too weak and vigorless to start
a project half as big as mine’s described.
Like when I drank too much, at 34,
and raced at home to get my contacts out
while still awake, I’ll home-improve before
I lose my drive and trade my plans for doubt.

I seek a bigger bed for better rest,
a soaking tub to warm and nurture me,
a kitchen that invites my cooking best,
appliances more fun to use and see:
a nest of safety, comfort and profound
organic sense, as long as I’m around.

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Discombobulation

Posted on May 7, 2019 by sputterpub

220px-Cerebral_lobes[1]

The discombobulation hasn’t stopped.
I’m 3 weeks out of house and not too fussed,
but try as I’m attempting to adopt
new customs, I keep failing to adjust.
I’m looking for the toilet paper wrong.
I’m antsy missing in-home exercise.
I haven’t been without a printer long,
but lack has made me list. I had my eyes
wide-open when I left my tiny house;
I made the space to alter and improve.
I’m not unwell and hesitant to grouse:
I planned this course and knew I’d have to move.
Until the actual completion date,
excuse me if I fail to keep things straight.

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The Flock

Posted on May 6, 2019 by sputterpub

House_Crow_I2_IMG_1093

Approaching Rockridge Station from the south
at 8 a.m. on Monday, in the cold,
a vision raised the corners of my mouth,
amused me to a pause, and soon cajoled
a chuckle — where the platform spans the street,
I spied a mass of passengers who stood,
commuters heading west to start a week
at work, apparently for livelihood.

Each form I saw was draped in City black
and seemed to hold a stationary pose
so vertical and hulking that in fact
that crowd appeared a flock of giant crows.

I didn’t think to take a picture then.
I’m using words to see those birds again.

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Well and Homeless

Posted on May 2, 2019 by sputterpub

Berk2010

I’m homeless now — I’m sheltered by a friend
and family, although my fortune’s fine.
My cottage needs repair. I’m set to spend
a fair amount pursuing new design:
improving or replacing most its parts,
updating goods for more utility
(and pleasure). I have permits. Now it starts.
I’m self-displaced from continuity.

It feels a bit like camping with a roof:
a long-term stay somewhere without my stuff.
I miss my coffee pot and shower pouf,
but I’m prepared for this — I have enough
to function. Now I’m trying every thing,
and I’ll be back before the end of spring.

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Sensitivity

Posted on April 30, 2019 by sputterpub

220px-Cerebral_lobes[1]

I learned we have 5 senses, and some say
the 6th is what is known as common sense.
Another is location — it’s the way
our bodies reach, and some intelligence
of our address. And most of us detect
a stranger’s gaze upon us, or the eye
of someone reading from behind our necks,
or even what you’ll say before you try.

So I’ll admit there must be more than 5,
although I can’t affix a number yet.
But sure as I’m observant and alive,
I doubt we’re sensitive. I can’t forget
no matter what disdain I feel for you,
it’s obvious you never have a clue.

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Asphalt Too

Posted on April 29, 2019 by sputterpub

prince and horse

I wanna meet a millionaire on BART
(for certain that’s a prize I won’t obtain).
Attractive, tall and well beyond the start
of Medicare, he’ll choose to ride the train
because he hates to drive on crazy roads,
who walks in beauty, dwells where he esteems
topography and weather, loves the goads
to learning: that’s the partner of my dreams.

But I don’t look for him. He isn’t there.
I know because I’m sure if I were he,
I’d either want existence solitaire,
or someone home who’s softer company
than I can offer even now I’m old.
My fate is spun. My future’s single-souled.

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