Observing the behavior of some friends,
assessing misdirection trod by kin,
and knowing where futility extends
if I were to object or just begin
advising with a grimace or a grin,
I realize I should aim the scope instead
at infant implants under my own skin,
and ancient habits networking my head.
(Huitain)
A revolution’s start has neither place
nor time for nuance, subtlety, or laughs.
A splinter group must chisel out a space
where every claim is deadly serious,
and every member’s loyalty can grace
a clan dynamic tenuously grown.
So turns the tendency and limps the pace.
But I still dream another way, with staffs
for song, and lines for story’s comic face.
(Magic 9)
There was a young Oregon master,
who set up a gnome as a caster
of spells that would keep
us from falling asleep.
Now nobody wants to play faster.
(Limerick)
Thanksgiving brings us
together for Pathfinder
while chill Fall’s outside.
(Haiku)
I lost this piece of paper and my pen.
I searched for them three times before sunrise:
the room I used, with phone light, and again
by lamplight, straining lower back and eyes
to view beneath the bed and shelves, and then
I looked upstairs less hopeful. No surprise –
I found them in the shadows flatly floored
(as always, in the last place I explored).
(Ottava Rima)
I had a nervous mom. I must have learned
the trait was good. It meant she got things done.
Embracing nervousness, I often burned
with energy that wasn’t any fun.
Yet I decided to be unconcerned,
and harnessed my anxiety to run
productively. But I’m reviewing now,
and thinking there’s a better form of how.
(Ottava Rima)
Though common palms are tufted more than limbed,
they constitute a threat if they ignite.
Dead fronds that hang like bangs should all be trimmed
before a spark or flame sets them alight.
Exploding like a fireball’s a sight
nobody wants to witness, for the wick
of burning palm, resembling candlestick,
releases bits of burn broadcast by breeze,
destroying all but concrete, stone, and brick.
So barber these San Pablo palm trees, please.
(Dizain)
I walked 2,000 steps toward south and east,
to buy some groceries that filled my pack.
I looked at clouds and with the weight increased,
I waited for a bus to take me back.
I saw the clouds hint drizzle’d come at least.
I noted triple crows in corvid black.
I wondered if they sensed approaching rain
while wire-perched above our shared domain.
(Ottava Rima)
But don’t they care about the noise they add?
To broadcast music in the local air
while building next to me? It makes me sad,
but don’t they care?
I heard it from within my napping chair,
and I’ll admit I felt a little mad.
I sent a gentle text about the blare.
The neighbor’s fast responding made me glad.
The music died and peace reigned everywhere
until the drilling started. Not as bad,
but don’t they care?
(Roundel)
I chopped and cooked a square meal yesterday.
It’s actually enough to serve for four.
The sky invited me – it glowered gray
and hung the intimation it could pour.
No task or errand lured my feet away
from making food that’s suitable to store.
I had to leave at three to venture north,
but I returned by eight and ate a fourth.
(Ottava Rima)
The autism spectrum appears to be wide –
more nuanced than visible light.
While some demarcations are identified
I doubt that the shrinks have it right.
When Sally said neurodivergent’s the word,
I think Siggy tossed in his grave,
and Carl’s ghost suggested the notion’s absurd
while others mapped out a brainwave.
I saw a street placard referring a bit
to variance in sanity.
Omitting a letter was appropriate:
it read Neurodiverity.
 | sputterpub on About Mom, With Love |
 | groomie on About Mom, With Love |
| sputterpub on No Blocks |
 | Caleb Cheruiyot on No Blocks |
| sputterpub on For Now |
Sputterpub's Blog 