like the day’s dirty dishes at midnight
wandering about the countertiop
hairy and langourous toward either
a smudged and sour drunk or some
conspiracy of benign Palmolive bubbles
which leave you screaming
For the love of god! I’m on fire!
Diane Puterbaugh
dputerbaugh
Five years ago I quit my job to write a novel, freelance and work on a chapbook. I have had a few poems in some online journals and my chapbook is at a local publisher right now. I belong to Jackson Writer's Club, an eclectic group of supportive creatives. My novel, Sketching Birds, is about 3/4 done. This is my first poetry marathon though I have completed a couple running marathons. I live with my husband named Ron, a cat named Cleo and a boxer puppy named Pippa. I like to garden, hike and read, too, but don't do enough of any of them, because, well...novel, husband and puppy!
Nocturne #1
Moths at the street light
beloved dusty jewels
jockey with June bugs in
tireless flitting and flapping
creating shadowy exhalations
on the pavement
still warm from the cult of day
July 1, 2020
I put Shasta down
Well, the vet did, but
I was there in a blue
plastic chair whispering
good girl mama’s good girl
Her chest was full of fluid
She couldn’t breathe
That evening I took a walk
at the same time we always
took a walk and when I
came up the slope just past
the ditch with the big rocks
the sunrise was orange
The same orange as Shasta
I began to sob and I was glad
no one else was around
The more orange the sky
became, the more I cried
I tried to tell myself the sky
was a sign from Shasta and
I tried to let her go, but it
has been 360 days since then
and my heart still aches
Views
Out the yawning window
50 shades of roofs
Bluebird houses
Clouds and birdsong
Sherry my neighbor called to
tell me the mail box was open
the mail, wet from last night’s
rain
At 4 a.m. we had hail
the pling pling against the
windows woke the puppy
I was silently chanting
don’t need to go out
don’t need to go out
It worked
I dreamt we were visiting
a few faceless others and
when I returned from another
room my purse that I had placed
on the back of a sofa was
missing
There’s one in every crowd
that late afternoon cloud refusing
to boil up to a thunder storm
or
the jonquils near the front door
every spring the tight little buds
turn brown and wither
or
the one misshapened button
on my red blouse, the one loose
shingle on the neighbor’s roof, the
one french fry under the driver’s
seat
or
one spring a bull frog took
residence in the neighbor’s pool
he croaked and crooned all night
harmonizing with an orchestra of
friendly crickets, but I didn’t have the
heart to tell the little critters that
the bullfrog only kept them around
in case he needed a quick snack,
because, you know, there’s one in
every crowd
Gulf Islands National Seashore
Sanderlings quickstep with the waves
shucking and jiving seaside style.
They dip, dip, dip their beaks in the sand
trying to score a crustacean lunch of
crab salad or plankton plate.
On the mud flats the oystercrackers
roam with their red beaks ready for
a salty mollusk meddly.
Tourists line up at restaurants with
names like The Grand Marlin and
Peg Leg Pete’s, but beyond the
dunes and pier Poseidon waits with
his famous trident. It is 2017 and I
stare across the sparkling water
of Pensacola Bay at the Naval Air
Station. I’m missing my daughter,
wondering what she could be doing over there,
because I’m hoping Poseidon decides
tonight will stay calm.
Sardines
Head pounding hoping
serendipity returns
equal to the ache
News reports remain
an insufferable catalog
of monosyllables
Where is the Advil?
We need an antidote
for this caravan of nonsense
The sun is out
somewhere a sea is
growing the tide high
and sardines small
Yes, sardines
they’re in the ocean
before the can
loitering on a Kroger shelf
What a long voyage
from the Atlantic to west Tennessee
by car, about 11 hours
by can, who knows
Partly Cloudy
to some extent there are clouds
but not completely it’s just
overcast
not transparent
The clouds like a traffic jam
of ghosts
ghostly gridlock
spirit vapor
they better wear sunscreen
the UV index is 8
but not tonight
it’s supposed to be clear
a good night for haunting
Two thoughts on laundry
Folding Friday’s starlight
Smoothing circumstance
Hand wash only
Dry flat
Cautiously close the drawer
Keep those wishes prisoner
There is no moral razzle dazzle
in the spin cycle
If there was, I would have
figured out how to get that
stain out of your favorite
Salt Life t-shirt
Afternoon
The afternoon is easy to love
walking just so between displays of
the middling and spectacular
Desire is natural as the light
down the hall or So. Cali’s June gloom
daring us to wander deep in
urgency and twitches to
interrupt lunch or shopping or
other busy difficulties like flossing
Consider higher aspirations, the
clock counsels like the trill-a-ree of
a red winged blackbird or the
patch of clover along the fence
Clamor and glamour all at once
it’s the afternoon, easy to love