Removal

Posted on September 4, 2018 by sputterpub

duffle

Disruption is a catalyst for growth.
Although my place will be improved by spring,
I’ll have to undergo a move I’m loath
to make, so others can be hammering,
removing and rebuilding to refine
dimensions and the cabinets and bed.
They’ll work with a considerate design,
but I’ll need somewhere else to lay my head.

Three months are weeks too many to impose
as guest, but thank you for the offer made.
My budget won’t afford a trip to those
I’ve always meant to visit. Though I’ve stayed
with my descendants well, a quarter year
is out. I’ll have to sublet someplace near.

Posted in Home, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Pests

Posted on September 3, 2018 by sputterpub

17-rat-mite.w330.h330

My neighbor thought that she was getting bites
from fleas, although she doesn’t own a pet.
When I got bit my research led to mites
from rats beneath the house, who must sublet
from all the skunks and possums I observe.
I’m at a loss so yesterday I called
some experts I expect will have the nerve
I lack, to look at how I’m floored and walled.

My neighbor left her key with me today,
and I’ll defer departing here, to meet
the man I hope will drive the bugs away.
I’m starting to suspect we have discrete
but linked invaders at our separate sites:
in front some fleas from rats; in back some mites.

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

Unwell

Posted on August 30, 2018 by sputterpub

unwell

Our ocean is too warm. Our forests burn
too often now, too widely, and the air
bears irritants, but most in power spurn
the obvious, the facts: that they impair
tomorrow with the corporate hunt for wealth,
as much as they denied tobacco’s curse,
or how asbestos stole from human health,
as glyphosate compounds to make us worse.

Manipulated by a stale romance,
policed by social media, we swell
with sugar tumors while a final chance
expires, as the sky and oceans spell
our doom. I sense disaster, not far off,
but maybe I’m contorted by this cough.

Posted in Philosophy, Poetry, Weather | Tagged | Leave a comment

Mattress Season

Posted on August 28, 2018 by sputterpub

Mattress Season

Mattress season now:
university students
jettison bad beds.

Posted in Neighborhood, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Movement

Posted on August 27, 2018 by sputterpub

human_locomotion

When I was 12 years old my legs got weird.
They itched whenever I stood still at length.
A mottled rash on knees and calves appeared,
and though they never lacked accustomed strength,
I fretted and discussed it with my mom,
who said “Your circulation’s bad, like mine.”
Already hating them for size, that bomb
exploded any dreams that they’d look fine.

Within a year the issue seemed to go.
Except when as a freshman I took speed,
the rash did not recur. Why? I don’t know,
but I forgot near 60 years, indeed,
until last week, when illness stilled my thighs –
I’ve learned another good from exercise.

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

Half-World Problem

Posted on August 23, 2018 by sputterpub

220px-Cerebral_lobes[1]

I’ve no complaints. I’m dull but feeling well.
Perhaps I need a problem to confront.
This may be TMI, or overblunt,
but I’m aroused by challenge like a bell
is pealed by pulling – a compelling spell
upon me. I’m alive when in the hunt
for answer or solution, splint or shunt –
it spurs me to experience and tell.

And maybe that’s the way we all should be.
I don’t pretend to know what’s best for you,
but my malaise is nothing of concern
compared to your cascades of apathy.
I’ll bounce within three days, for this is true:
I’m bound to find a lesson I can learn.

Posted in Personality, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Complicated

Posted on August 21, 2018 by sputterpub

 

sphinx

It’s always been too difficult to solve.
When I was young I thought I’d suss it out
before attaining age, but we evolve
without regard to wisdom and I doubt
we’re made for reason or morality.
Sure black & white is comforting, but shades
of gray appear to be our destiny,
and simple choices mask complex cascades.

I’ll never understand why people lie –
I cannot comprehend some shapes we build.
The children ask me questions, and I try
to answer them with truth, but I am filled
with more confusion than intelligence.
To me the ways we act make little sense.

Posted in Philosophy, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Birdbath

Posted on August 20, 2018 by sputterpub

birdbath

Creek seepage to street:
a year-round lagoon for a
sleek murder of crows.

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

Familiars

Posted on August 16, 2018 by sputterpub

hands

I liked to think I had a magic touch
with animals, as if they knew I meant
no harm or hunt. Respecting them as much
as people, deeming them intelligent,
I noted critters never made me cry.
(I almost felt a bee when I was eight
and napkin-trapped a drone against my thigh,
but I was left unsplintered on that date.)

I’ve sometimes jumped between two dogs; no tooth
or claw attacked me as I stopped their fight.
I meet the eyes of wild birds. In truth,
a stranger-puppy nipped me just last night,
and then I wondered: have I lost my charm?
(He didn’t break my skin. I took no harm.)

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

Early August

Posted on August 14, 2018 by sputterpub

August sky

The sunshine doesn’t strike the roof till 8,
but white infills the skylight glass at 6.
Through lids my eyes see day, and then the state
of sleep departs; I stretch to spinal cricks
and move to coffee, email, online news.
I putter and proceed to exercise
my arms and heart and think of what I’ll use
today, intending little compromise.

I plan to be like Beauty in the tale –
my wants as simple as a single rose,
disdaining finery and riches, pale
in lust but focused on my floral goal –
a creature in dilemma black and white,
against the spectral context of our light.

Posted in Aging, Personality, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment