A very merry unearth day, to you, and you,
is senseless a la Lewis Carroll – true.
To celebrate what you’re supposed to do
is slash-and-burn or colonize a few?
Effective as a Meatless Monday spew,
attempting to awaken someone who
is fatally attached to stupid clue.
Perhaps we might create a better view…?
A little burn that took 12 days to heal
has left its object cured and looking well.
The targeting attack was no big deal –
2 applications marked but didn’t swell
and didn’t hurt – a scab had to congeal
and guard each stimulated healthy cell.
No doubt a youngster wouldn’t need so long,
and would have lacked the decades to grow wrong.
Regardless of the calendar, I think
that spring begins when I hear sprinklers spray.
The system’s set to let the garden drink
3 times a week, and as of yesterday,
its switch is flipped to operate the way
intended: early morning; minutes – 10.
If winter’s rain and fall is school, I say
the sprinklers sing the start of spring again.
Just check it out, if you are into games.
If you love art in vibrant hues that shout,
if you’re enchanted by Teutonic names,
just check it out.
Developed by some talents now about
five decades old and burnished in life’s flames,
their field’s a fertile fancy fit to sprout.
I love the makers. I’ve examined frames,
and of the product’s worth I have no doubt.
There’s nothing not to trust within their claims –
just check it out:
There used to be an umlaut on the “i”
I read somewhere, and two beats in the word.
The origin meant “wayward.” To apply
that knowledge, when I saw it what I heard
in mind was “way-erd.” That would satisfy
good spelling, for “i,e” would be absurd.
In searching for such etymology,
the Internet is not supporting me.
I’d made it past mid-century. My story
was more than halfway spun when I employed
a word I’d only read – said “desultory”
with accent wrong. I laughed, for I enjoyed
that token youthfulness. When I was ten
I mispronounced determine “dee-ter-mine.”
It tickled me that I was wrong again –
I hope to learn if I reach 99.
My circumstance is more than adequate.
Bestowed with time to ponder and enhance
my comprehension, I prepare to fit
my circumstance.
I’ve solitude to sway in private dance.
I’ve four days and home comfort for respite.
No danger lurks and no one looks askance.
I do not host a fool or hypocrite.
I have at least two projects to advance.
For half a week, I’ll value and admit
my circumstance.
The one event that’s calendared today
is lunch with a companion dear to me.
The weather’s soft and vernal – insects play
in blossoms – through my window all I see
looks healthy, clean and stirring in the sway
of breeze. Before and after lunch, I’ll be
at comfort in my garden or my room,
and watch wisteria’s cascading bloom.
Conversing with my brother, we recalled
occasions when a loved one acted poorly:
the time a sibling of the bride appalled;
or when his wife tried hurting my kid sorely.
I mentioned mine has not yet overhauled
her heart to allocate forgiveness surely.
Our tone was fond – we didn’t need a breather.
Surprised, I heard him say “I haven’t either.”
I usually want readers for my verse,
but some are just a memo of today,
recording healing progress as I nurse
myself (so slowly now), in cloud array.
The problem with my foot’s not getting worse.
Another week or so of rest, I’d say,
will let me hike. This stanza’s for no book.
I see you’re busy now. You needn’t look.
 | sputterpub on Old Haunt |
 | zumpoems on Old Haunt |
| sputterpub on Master of Destruction |
 | groomie on Master of Destruction |
| sputterpub on Vacuum |
Sputterpub's Blog 