The Thing Is

Posted on December 16, 2019 by sputterpub

220px-Cerebral_lobes[1]

I want to give this observation tongue:
(I’m lately often somnolent or cold) –
they say that youth is wasted on the young,
but leisure’s seldom useful to the old.

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Being Me (Then)

Posted on December 12, 2019 by sputterpub

220px-Cerebral_lobes[1]

To tell the truth, I’ve had some lonely nights,
an adolescence frustrating and long,
a prime so stressed and busy that delights
were interrupted, sacrificed to strong
responsibilities, or else occurred
but didn’t meet anticipation then.
Oh there were dismal times, but rest assured,
I ricocheted to happiness again.

It helped to want to walk and long to write.
Selecting homes where no one needs a car
meant gracious neighborhoods. And with the height
of self-esteem my goal and guiding star,
I grew from mostly glad to gladly well,
but it took years to get here, truth to tell.

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Being Me (Now)

Posted on December 11, 2019 by sputterpub

220px-Cerebral_lobes[1]

I’ve met depression in my closest friends;
I know it isn’t sadness but disease.
I had to stretch to sense how gloom descends
on them, and colonizes energies,
while I appear to teem with neural wealth
(my serotonin levels must be high),
and had a patient dad who nurtured health
and counteracted Mom’s abrupt replies.

It’s not a gloat, but I appreciate
the fortune of my mental chemistry
and strong paternal luck. It wasn’t fate,
I think, but an astounding recipe
for happiness, bestowed on me and fed.
(It’s always entertaining in my head).

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Cold

Posted on December 9, 2019 by sputterpub

icy

There seems to be something about growing old,
or maybe I’ve lost too much fat,
but mornings and evenings I’m feeling so cold,
I’m wearing a sweater and hat.

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Honestly

Posted on December 5, 2019 by sputterpub

language

I wasn’t that surprised when I first heard
some athletes took some drugs to better build
up muscles and performance. It’s absurd
assuming fair behavior in a field
as wide as wealth, as vast as viral fame.
The aspect that astounded me instead
was hearing blatant lies, as if the same
insistent falsehood could make purple red.

I understand venality in those
who have too little or too much to hold.
Though I would lie uneasy if I chose
to lie (that windmill’s lanced, if truth be told),
the evidence compels me to believe
that we developed language to deceive.

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A Great Age

Posted on December 4, 2019 by sputterpub

220px-Cerebral_lobes[1]

The vet described my dog’s old age as “great”
when she surpassed her breed’s expected span.
He used the adjective to designate
immensity instead of good or grand.
Likewise your age is great at 94,
although you seem to hate it more each week.
Insomnia and bruising make you sore.
Return to formerly is what you seek.

You shop for docs and visit WebMD.
You search for tips or tonics to rely
on, though there isn’t any remedy.
You rush to meds, but that’s no UTI
you’re treating – you forgot again to drink.
Your age is great. You’re older than you think.

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Whether

Posted on December 3, 2019 by sputterpub

world

The sun is setting earlier tonight
than it did yesterday. We ascertain
we daily have a lesser length of light,
but none among us knows when it will rain,
or if the winds will hibernate this year.
Will quenching water fall from winter skies?
As much or more than politics, we fear
how crazing climate makes the ocean rise
and gulps the glacial ice and fries the trees.
I’m mourning every creature gone extinct
(except some insects), while I loathe degrees
of added warmth. It’s like Jehovah winked
creating evolution’s tournament,
selecting clever over diligent.

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Mostly (A Silent Reading)

Posted on November 26, 2019 by sputterpub

cornucopia_bw

I feel too fortunate to list aloud
the goods I have around me now I’m old:
my little Berkeley cottage with its crowd
of friendly skunks and possums, and the bold
intelligence of crows;
my offspring fledged to full careers,
affectionate to me,
in love with those to whom their faith is pledged,
and doing well enough with progeny;
a parent yet alive and not too hard to daily call;
two brothers I still like;
four days most weeks to contemplate my yard;
at least three sunrises to ride my bike.

I’m mostly healthy, mostly sleep enough,
and thinking that I’ve mostly earned my stuff.

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Dactyls on Home

Posted on November 25, 2019 by sputterpub

How it Feels to Have My Place Back

It’s stunning to sit here and know that the work is complete.
Disrupted for months I’m accustomed to sharing my space.
At last I’m alone with no tradespeople stamping their feet
to minimize dust from construction all over the place.

I get to decide how I now spend my hours inside.
The mornings and evenings are mine to be fruitful or waste.
I deem the cost worth it. I view with approval and pride
selections for comfort and function displaying my taste.

I know that I’ll summon assistance as things wear or break,
but I’ll be in charge of most days, and relaxing the guard
that I’ve been maintaining this year. I’d a castle to make,
and now I’m enjoying the blessings of cottage and yard.

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How it Feels to Have My Place Back

Posted on November 22, 2019 by sputterpub

How it Feels to Have My Place Back

When I was 35, catastrophe
beset me and my body nearly quit.
They hooked me up to drips, did surgery
two times, and scanned for an appropriate
response to symptoms dangerous no doubt.
I carried on, reacting brave and wise,
and only when the final tube was out,
did I release the torrents from my eyes.

In similar cascade, but more mundane,
I weathered most the year without my nest.
I worked with every ask, did not complain,
agreed to all the scheduling requests,
and only now it’s over do I see
how much and long I suffered silently.

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