Weak Wishing

Posted on November 16, 2025 by sputterpub

Whatever the weather I’ll have to adjust.
I’m too lucky here for complaining.
And powerless also; to Nature I’ll trust.
But oh, how I wish it were raining.

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Who, Me?

Posted on November 15, 2025 by sputterpub

Three people whom I love but criticize,
have lately seemed improved. I’ve been impressed
with elder patience, peerage in my eyes
less testy, and the younger one unstressed
by daily perturbation. Is it true?
Have three of three self-modified somehow?
Or is this a mirage in point of view?
(and I’m the candidate of change right now).

Perhaps relief a milestone’s been passed
accounts for one. A new prescription might
be working, and my friend has maybe cast
her scope on self, with dim but wiser sight.
For really, it’s unlikely to be three
endeavoring. A better theory’s: me.

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Slowly Gently

Posted on November 14, 2025 by sputterpub

Self-inventory yesterday revealed
a shoulder tweak, a twinge in my left knee,
a tender hip that couldn’t be concealed
as I began to walk. So cautiously
I sat as solitaire and coffee healed
of my complaining joints two out of three.
I searched for gentle yoga then, and moved
with senior slowness till the rest improved.

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Phytolacca Icosandra (Pokeweed)

Posted on November 13, 2025 by sputterpub

My phone identifies the volunteer
that colonized the space beside the gate
as Phytolacca Icosandra: queer,
gigantic, berried, bending from the weight
of rainfall. I see birds appreciate
the fruit, but it’s no food our species loves.
The common name is Pokeweed, and its fate
will be some major pruning, wearing gloves.

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November Evenings

Posted on November 12, 2025 by sputterpub

The sun is going down at 5 o’clock.
The evening rolls in, darkening the view.
And though aware I host some writer’s block
at dusk, I can revise a line or two,
considering that while it’s nothing new
I write, creative is the energy
I loose to focus carefully and true.
I lease at least what’s typical of me.

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On Second Thought

Posted on November 11, 2025 by sputterpub

I think to write at night, but lately find
my hands would rather rest than hold a pen.
Although ideas may germinate in mind,
they need some percolation time. So when
a theme occurs – a question or a kind
of theory buds – I push it in again,
where it will like a beanstalk sprout all night.
Arising with the sun, I’m moved to write.

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Monday Medley

Posted on November 10, 2025 by sputterpub

Aware tomorrow’s full from dawn to night,
and glad I walked my errands yesterday,
I’ll fill with words and food and bath the light:
prepare some posts and meals, and scrape away
old skin from face and dander from my gray.
I’ll dress in sweats, and rest for spans at home.
I’ll move but log few steps, and I’ll delay
all acts except those listed in this poem.

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What’s Empathy?

Posted on November 9, 2025 by sputterpub

What’s empathy? I hear some people claim
preponderance but, really, what I see
is self-attendance by another name.
What’s empathy?

To understand oneself’s a quality
to cultivate and cherish. All the same,
for others it’s not sensitivity.

I don’t attend performances. That’s lame,
but fear of actor errors sets in me
discomfort overriding pleasure’s game.
What’s empathy?

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For Why

Posted on November 8, 2025 by sputterpub

As often as at dawn I feel my years,
and near-conclude I’ll nest at home all day,
my body after time and coffee veers
to stationary bike. Then yoga’s sway
betakes me, and intention soft-appears
to put on shoes and travel. While away
I gather hugs and sip a little wine.
I come home less fatigued in head and spine.

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Morning Write About Night

Posted on November 7, 2025 by sputterpub

Becoming more diurnal every year,
I’m up at dawn and comatose by nine.
Accomplishing all morning, then I veer
to lassitude by 2 pm, my spine
and brain to recess aimed. And that’s been fine
a decade, but I’m contemplating change –
tonight I’ll write and ply ideas of mine,
and try a week or so at what feels strange.

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