47

Posted on September 17, 2023 by sputterpub

Two score and seven after giving birth,
I choose these words to publicize a child
my husband and I loosed upon the earth
who’s always been a force, and seldom mild.
In some ways she reminded me of me,
but we’re as unalike in wit and taste
as I am from my mother – differently:
I didn’t try to mold her. She was placed
upon my breast, alert and beautiful,
her focus forming as she tasted air,
from Day One bright and rarely dutiful,
implacably herself without compare.
She wasn’t easy but she widened me,
expanding how I deem reality.

Posted in Aging, Family, Love, Poetry | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Cautiously Optimistic

Posted on September 16, 2023 by sputterpub

“Odds are…” “You never know…” we tossed around.
“Of course it isn’t likely, but he may
be prompted to improve.” And then she frowned,
asserting yet another bald cliche.
But I’ve seen new examples that confound
her banal expectations, so I say,
“My optimism’s cautious but sincere.
Let’s keep the faith. We might as well. We’re here.”

(Ottava Rima)

Posted in Behavior Modification, Philosophy, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Gratuitous Malice

Posted on September 15, 2023 by sputterpub

I know she’s fueled by malice and complaint.
I’ve watched her all my life, and heard a lot
of judgment, criticism – nothing faint
or circumspect, and not to be forgot.
Though motes of truth were scattered in her shot,
unduly mean but not a fantasy,
of late her snips and snipes at me have not
an intimation of veracity.

(Huitain)

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Resisting Meds

Posted on September 14, 2023 by sputterpub

I bought black market drugs some years ago,
when I was young and laws had not yet passed.
Back then, of course there was no way to know
their provenance – who held them next to last.
But that was better than Big Pharma’s show
(concealing fact and leaving me aghast).
So though I suffer stuffy aging head
I’ll duck the pharmacy, and breathe instead.

(Ottava Rima)

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Careless Words

Posted on September 13, 2023 by sputterpub

When you hear hurtful words, they may be true,
in which case you might heed and thereby learn,
or else they’re not and thus your point of view
can shift, indicting speaker. You can turn
away then from the fool insulting you,
and let that careless blurting speaker churn
alone in sinks of verbal paucity,
except you’d rather like her, if you’re me.

(Ottava Rima)

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

Reception

Posted on September 12, 2023 by sputterpub

I like each poem I post, but some speak more
for me, and satisfy an itch I may
have not yet recognized. They might explore
a path unseen till now, or find a way
to pair the words that thrills me in my core.
I notice then no matter what I say,
what sings to me, true-put and firm-believed,
is likely to be not as well-received.

(Ottava Rima)

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Is It Too Soon?

Posted on September 11, 2023 by sputterpub

Is it too soon to put my nightclothes on,
at 2 p.m. on Sunday afternoon?
It’s light outside but all my vigor’s gone.
Is it too soon?

My stamina is low enough to swoon.
I’ve wrangled stimulated kids since dawn.
We danced around like we were a cartoon.

I’m strong but not a mighty Amazon.
I’m ready for the silence and cocoon
of solitude. I rub my face and yawn,
“is it too soon?”

Roundel

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Tolls of Old

Posted on September 10, 2023 by sputterpub

When I was young, the bridge tolls were so low,
we often paid with coin before we crossed.
The money went from driver-side window
to hand of bridge employee. Some had grins
and others friendly words they would bestow.
At times we paid the toll for who came next,
and then a grateful stranger raced to show
us thanks. Now Fas-Trak and a higher cost
without a soul without – is how we go.

(Magic 9)

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

Dead End

Posted on September 9, 2023 by sputterpub

“No Outlet” read the sign I passed last week.
Before I saw its front, I tried to guess
its words. I backtracked just to get a peek,
expecting “Not a Thru Street” I confess.
When I was young, the wording was unique –
so “Cul-de-Sac” was seen, and more than less
“Dead End” made our imaginations run.
But now few signs give transitory fun.

(Ottava Rima)

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

Unpeeled

Posted on September 8, 2023 by sputterpub

He didn’t lose his personality,
but buffers, blinds and masks were pushed aside.
The chronic fears and stiff anxiety
became more obvious. His macho pride
was weakened by his disability –
his bluster rose in fits; he often cried.
He meant well, but the failings were revealed
that pre-stroke youth and energy concealed.

(Ottava Rima)

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