Jacaranda (An Etude)

Posted on July 2, 2018 by sputterpub

Jacaranda

The legend of the Jacaranda tree
was told to me one Saturday in June.
I loved committing it to memory;
by 2 p.m. on Sunday afternoon,
I knew the tale as if it were my own.
I swallowed Amazon mythology,
acknowledging old custom, little known,
and reveling in ancient legacy.

Admitting Mitu and his priestess friend
to join the pantheon of magic thought
I harbor in my head, I comprehend
that lunar wit and solar love was taught,
and luck befalls the pate that bears the bloom,
yet students in Australia call it doom.

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

Not Done Yet

Posted on June 28, 2018 by sputterpub

250px-Out_of_ink

A year ago, I thought I might be done
with sonnet work, except revising those
already written, read by few or none.
I’d take a break and maybe turn to prose.
I had a thousand little songs or more;
I figured I’d revisit all and cast
them into subsets in the cloud, and pour
creative vigor into other tasks.

But though the pressure weakened, still the tap
has not turned off; the current isn’t blocked.
I’m sitting less to write, but concepts rap
at me, conceits occur, and words unlocked
while walking spur iambic phrases yet
(I pause to text myself lest I forget).

Posted in Poetry, Writing | Tagged | Leave a comment

The Cold

Posted on June 26, 2018 by sputterpub

how-to-build-first-aid-kit[1]

Two weeks ago I caught a simple cold
and carried it to Portland in my chest.
I didn’t think it much, but now I’m old
enough to feel a wreck and need more rest
than I arranged. Compounding as a cough,
it settled deep and durable in me.
It racked me and it threw my balance off;
it made me trip and sapped my energy.

I sacrificed a fortnight fighting phlegm,
endured a week of painful lower back,
concluded I won’t feel myself again,
or like my looks, or weather this attack,
until tomorrow, when I’ll wake and gauge
myself a little stronger than my age.

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

Zero

Posted on June 25, 2018 by sputterpub

doom

Remembering a comic who assured
us if we all agreed to not have kids,
then we could trash the place, embrace absurd,
and advocate what courtesy forbids,
I wonder have we reached that era now,
without restraining reproduction’s yield?
Are we denying future’s fortune? How
much more atrocity can be revealed?

What will it take to make us think aloud?
To put the mouse away, remove the bud
that closes ear and mind? Are we endowed
with wit, or have we lost our souls in mud
of misinforming Internet, and split
community? We’re stewing in our shit.

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

Exercism

Posted on June 21, 2018 by sputterpub

Back Yard April 14 2018

My father called me sedentary when
I wouldn’t leave my book to come outside.
“I’d say you were a vegetable, but then
that’s slandering the plants.” And though I’d ride
my bicycle, and walk more than allowed,
I gathered that he wanted me to like
team sports and sportsmanship. He wasn’t proud
of what I read or how I rode my bike.

We both were incorrect. I didn’t see
and didn’t know till I was 35.
That spring a medical catastrophe
befell me, tossed a challenge to survive,
and taught me that expending energy
addresses stress and spurs my cells to thrive.

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

Menu

Posted on June 19, 2018 by sputterpub

220px-Cerebral_lobes[1]

A while ago I heard that if you let
a toddler choose what foods he wants to eat,
you’ll see a daily lack of balance, yet
if you allow your focus to retreat
and capture several days at once, you’ll view
a well-proportioned course of nutrients.
The child will compose a good menu,
with increased time between ingredients.

And though I’m not a toddler, I contend
I like variety as much as you.
I may have months of favorites, but they end;
I eat the same a lot, and then I’m through.
I mix it up as much as you, I say.
It’s just my yearn lasts longer than a day.

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

Macro v Micro

Posted on June 14, 2018 by sputterpub

macro v micro

The nation is imperilled by the dumb
reactions of an unschooled populace.
The climate changes while the best are numb
and most are trending down to ignorance.
A hundred species each year disappear
as troubles co-evolve and companies
seek profit not regarding atmosphere
except as PR dictates tendencies.

It’s dreadful and I ought to feel depressed,
except our weather’s temperate as yet.
The gardens are so vibrant they suggest
a wedge of heaven. Walking I don’t fret
about the depredations of our race,
which seem belied by every local face.

Posted in Neighborhood, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Sugarless

Posted on June 12, 2018 by sputterpub

Illinois-Residents-Make-Pledge-to-Go-Sugarless-on-Wednesdays

I cut out sugar thirty months ago.
I didn’t miss the cookies or the pies.
But then I felt my love for cheesecake grow.
Indulging now and then, it was a prize
I shared when dining out that soon became
a treat I bought and carried home to freeze,
and sometimes ate unthawed, or twice: my game
repeating and increasing by degrees.

I shook myself last month, and then reviewed
how toxic sugar is, faced my short fall,
and researched alternates with aptitude.
Acquiring stevia, erythritol
and gear, now baking is my bravery.
(I’ll soon move up to making savory.)

Posted in Behavior Modification, Food, Health, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

17 Syllables

Posted on June 11, 2018 by sputterpub

pacific-oysters-unopened-shop-400x400-347f12f9

A small discomfort
evokes a response that may
result in a pearl.

Posted in Philosophy, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Metering Mine

Posted on June 7, 2018 by sputterpub

1200px-Dactyl_like_a_finger_vectorial.svg

I just couldn’t find anybody I wanted enough
to make it worthwhile to patronize coffee shops then.
Or maybe it’s really the fact I was carrying stuff
from ruptured old unions I’d never subscribe to again.
But somehow I got to be ancient and living alone.
The fear I’d turn into a misanthrope didn’t come true.
It seems that I’m best when away from companionship’s drone.
I might have been earlier single if only I knew.

And yes, I get jealous when watching or reading romance.
On special occasions and holidays I feel a lack.
But those are too seldom to argue for taking a chance;
I hunker until independence comes barreling back.
On balance, and knowing my personal proclivity,
I’ll follow my counsel and serve as my own company.

Posted in Personality, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment