Interruption

Posted on February 4, 2019 by sputterpub

imagesCAZMTW3J

Life interruption:
cottage remodel moves me
away from this blog

(regular posts will resume in about 3 months)

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Breath

Posted on January 31, 2019 by sputterpub

performance-breathing-1

Obsessed of late with someone’s stricken lung,
impressed with every pulmonary fact
I have to learn, has given wisdom tongue
I hear, who’s known for years that I’ve ransacked
with smoking arrogance my breathing tree.

Tobacco first and then the weed I’d score,
I fired and inhaled so lustily,
I learned to cough and yearly to ignore
the signs my body gave to modify.

I’m smart, but I suppressed intelligence.
I bargained when too ill to quick-deny
the logic, science, choking evidence.
I’m lucky I’ve so far avoided death.
I promise now I’ll concentrate on breath.

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ABCs

Posted on January 29, 2019 by sputterpub

School_Building_21611_7[1]

I never angled for a better school;
I figured safe and good was hard to miss.
I didn’t want to elevate a fool
in family, or ignorance as bliss.
Although scholastic days were overlong,
experience with boredom is a skill
my offspring had to learn – their brains were strong,
and teachers were too impotent to kill
their spirits: safe at home, asphalt abroad.
They learned to educate themselves some ways.
Their schooling never drove me to applaud,
but also didn’t damage them, or craze
their moods, or motivate a turn to bad
behavior. And it taught them both to add.

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Skyward

Posted on January 28, 2019 by sputterpub

orionstars_small

The rain at 10 p.m. last Sunday night
concluded days unsettled, gray, and wet.
I stepped outside to savor sound and sight,
and looking up, I noted heaven’s net
of stars – amid the drizzle shone the belt
and sword Orion wears, and slightly east
there hung the moon at full. At that I felt
the boons of my existence like a feast.

I’ve obstacles and nettles in my path,
but I can walk with stamina and spine.
My worries are without resentment, wrath,
or railing. Life’s an analog design:
My dial spins to miracle from pain,
like moon and stars illuminating rain.

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Processing

Posted on January 25, 2019 by sputterpub

Smoke[1]

I went to bed a little after 9
the other night, although that might result
in pre-dawn waking. I could read the sign
of stress in neck and belly: much tumult
from tenants and concern about a kid
confirmed my bed the place that beckoned me.
I snuggled empty-minded, worry-rid,
till I was startled rude-awake at 3.

The sound of power sawing filled my space.
I rose and was confronted by the light
of firemen, who swarmed about the place
next door, and axed the roof, and filled my sight
with quick response. Perspective grew like glare.
I’m better now and watching roof repair.

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The Day of the Lab Tests

Posted on January 22, 2019 by sputterpub

how-much-coffee-content

I thought the fasting rule meant no caffeine;
I spent my first three hours coffee-less.
I walked in January brown and green
and gave up blood and urine for some tests.

It wasn’t all that difficult. No bad
occurred. The air was clean. I feel okay.
But now I’m home with fresh-made coffee, glad
to know the yuck’s behind me for today.

I’ve exercised and cleaned the house and me.
I get to stay an hour warm at home,
with solitaire, or reading history,
and shortly after I complete this poem,
I’m heading west by bus and train, to spend
the afternoon with my best toddler friend.

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Listage

Posted on January 21, 2019 by sputterpub

listage

I used a monthly planner till a year
ago, when I cut back as office thrall.
I bought a tiny calendar but near
misplaced it in my bag, it was so small.
Selecting something bigger now, I got
a sturdy spiral book too large to tote
conveniently. I leave it home and jot
appointments till I later make a note.

That’s working well enough, but now I find
I’m grabbing scraps of paper to record
the sundry tasks that tend to crowd my mind
when I hold them within. This week’s reward
is simple, now I understand what’s missed:
a pad of custom paper for each list.

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Murmuring

Posted on January 17, 2019 by sputterpub

imagesCA5XO29E

Consumed with judgments no one wants to hear,
I let the criticism rip inside:
unfocused; sloppy; paralyzed by fear;
deluded by a needy ego; pride
engendered by a spoiled attitude
and peppered with a petulance as strong
as conscience ought to be; with manners crude
and sweet and humble like a hackneyed song.

It won’t do any good to use my voice
for warnings that will ever be ignored.
I heard the arrogance. I watched the choice,
and now I’ll read the narrative. The word
will twist the memory into a lie.
The only person listening is I.

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Auto-Shame

Posted on January 15, 2019 by sputterpub

o-FAT-CELLS-570

My mother shared her people-watching skills
with me, in airports, shopping malls, subways.
Conjecturing on strangers gave her thrills;
her plans for their improvement would amaze
and make me note her subjects were obese –
she whispered overloud about their fat.
She dreamed of make-overs; even her niece
was not exempt from body-shaming chat.

Mom’s attitude infected sight and sound.
I learned to notice blubber and despise
my own increasing thickening. I found
my image was more ugly to my eyes
than any heavy other’s was. Her game
was mean; the harshest curse is auto-shame.

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Three Score and Nine

Posted on January 14, 2019 by sputterpub

birthday-candles

It feels like I should write a poem today
and savor it, along with nuts and wine
and cheesecake. I’ll select some words to say
here’s something for attaining 69.
Of course I never contemplated this
advancing to an age I thought was old.
I didn’t see the pains approach, the kiss
of gum disease, or aches in joints controlled
or maybe calmed by joints or oblong pills.
The lumbar weakness took me by surprise.
By luck I mediated stress with drills
of exercise and writing: body-wise
and lucky too genetically it seems –
with luck my future will exceed my dreams.

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