Pathfinder Poems

Posted on December 1, 2023 by sputterpub

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)

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

Lost in Guest Space

Posted on November 30, 2023 by sputterpub

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)

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

One Idea

Posted on November 29, 2023 by sputterpub

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)

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

Overgrowth

Posted on November 28, 2023 by sputterpub

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)

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

Market Musing

Posted on November 27, 2023 by sputterpub

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)

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

But Don’t They Care?

Posted on November 26, 2023 by sputterpub

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)

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

Square Meal

Posted on November 25, 2023 by sputterpub

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)

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

Neurodiverity

Posted on November 24, 2023 by sputterpub

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.

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

A Safe Hate

Posted on November 23, 2023 by sputterpub

There will be times a growing person hates –
occasions of confusion or ill will,
when anger fills the heart and no debates
can settle feelings mixed and poised to spill.
A child’s ego grows and separates,
and needs to learn to handle well and ill.
Ambivalence in passion is the trend –
that’s why a parent shouldn’t act as friend.

(Ottava Rima)

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

Punch-Drunk Policies

Posted on November 22, 2023 by sputterpub

Some people favor personality
and others espouse policies instead.
“I hate French food,” a fool once said to me,
and twice I’ve heard acquaintances declare
that they won’t read a novel if they see
the movie adaptation first, as if
both treatments have the same capacity.
There’s more than plot in print to charm the head,
and film must limit such trajectory.

(Magic 9)

Posted in Cognition, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment