Best Spatter Poems
our wedding day portrait
two made one
misted by years
masked by smoke-filled skies
bobby, gina—two of our three
days seared with sun and a child’s scuffed knee
through spelling tests piano recitals saturday games
kneeling together strokes of unquestioned belief
caps and gowns, crystal and dented brass
degrees in business and medicine
marriages grandchildren colors filling the sassafras
then job losses metastasis scares hospital gowns
loneliness
values smudged
quibbles spatter pigment
no one budged
boredom drowned in tanqueray the glass smelled of pine
blue smoke, screens, two strangers behind painted glass
lost in a bell jar of belladonna
two martini glasses, an untouched olive
the letter’s paper like granite, vows sun-washed away
body mind and spirit—desaturated
a torn canvas split along jagged lines
no reconciliation
reimagining life with unfamiliar faces
a torn canvas becomes two paintings
no masking tape or super glue
can ever repair a canvas torn in two
=======
Going out of his way, the obliging taxi driver drives to the top of the hill.
A young man gets out, walks a short distance to a vantage point
where his gaze falls upon the village down below,
the old cottages and farmhouses, sprawling fields,
winding lanes, and the clustered trees
where the stream skips by.
an overcast sky
scent of rain is in the air
a lone robin chirps
His eyes roam slowly, taking in little details,
keen to save them in his mind, fresh,
like the morning dew clinging to the swaying grass.
the cool autumn breeze
ruffles hair and memories
stirring emotions
Time is pressing. One last look.
Then he reluctantly goes back to the car.
Soon, it’s speeding along the asphalted country road
heading to the station where a steam train awaits.
A new chapter in life...The city beckons.
sudden drops of rain
spatter on the hazy glass
sad eyes turn misty
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Written: 15th November, 2015
Contest: Any Poem Written in 2015
Sponsor: Laura Loo (2016)
Placed 1st
Contest: Creative Haibuns (2015)
Sponsor: Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
Placed 4th
We stroll beneath the Eiffel Tower,
Caught amidst an autumn shower,
Just my petite amie and me,
Snuggled warm and dampness-free.
Bound to hear true romance call,
Close 'neath our crimson parasol -
Her little dog takes shelter, too,
(Chance for a stolen kiss-or-two).
Oh, blessed am I to be your fella,
Your lips, bright as our red umbrella,
Juicy fruits, fresh from the vine -
Succulent when pressed to mine.
So, let the droplets dance and spatter,
Sweet its song, that pitter-patter,
The bubbles in our day's champagne ...
How wondrous, Paris ... in the rain!
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Red Umbrella" Poetry Contest, Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.
"Oh, how you splinter me...."
Looking, through your looking glass
Portraits, of your present
And images, of your past
You say you see
You say you know
You say you do
But really....
You don't!
You sprinkle your sugar
You sputter your spatter
For all of those as yourself
To whom, it doesn't even matter....
Wrapped in your paper
And wrapped in your chatter
These monuments and pyramids
Of your self, absorbing...."Splatter"
Your purposeless, and your pointless
Pitter patter....
Your lines, they are divine
Your words, they are immense
But unto me, they do all seem
Void....And teetering
Upon the pretense!
Standing in front of you now
Staring, into your eye's....
You tell me that you do
But I do, wonder why?
Peering through your window
Looking through your glass
Your visions, for tomorrow
Should your yesterdays....They pass!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~ Splattered ~
{Repost}
"Casting down imaginations...." ~ II Cor. Ch. 10 ~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh, how you splinter me....
Looking through your looking glass
Portraits of your present and, images of your past!?
You say you see; you say you know; you say you do
But really, you don't....
You sprinkle your sugar; you sputter your spatter
For all of those as yourself, to whom
It doesn't even matter?!
Wrapped in your paper, and wrapped in your chatter....
These monuments and pyramids, of yourself
Absorbing, "Splatter"
Your purposeless and pointless, pitter patter!?
Your lines they are divine; your words, they are immense
Yet unto me, they do all seem, void, and teetering
Upon the pretense....
Standing in front of you now; staring into your eyes
You tell me that you do, but, I do wonder why?!
Peering through your window; looking through your glass
Your visions for tomorrow; should your yesterdays
They pass....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Splattered!?
Note: Smile ~ This is a repo aimed at no one in particular....
"Dare You to Move, by Switchfoot; 'Love,' Always," John!:) ~
I love to sketch with a pen and ink;
to feel the flow of the lines that I think;
as they pour their way down my arm to my hand
and softly on the parchment land.
I love to sketch the shadows deep,
as from hand to pen point they creep.
The joy of all the special nibs;
My pen will use; the page to fill.
Oh how Muse does love the ride,
as down my arm and pen she slides;
her words of wisdom, gushing forth,
like rain drops spatter on my porch.
The rhythm of the curvatures;
the notes that play, they will ensure,
A lovely drawing, revealed to me
I’ll dive into its reverie.
2-1-19
For: "Hobbies Poetry Contest"
sponsored by Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
I the lonely poet whose words
spill out onto the page
like blood spatter at a crime scene
will knock at your door
books in my eyes hoping
you'll want to critique them
while others partake of tradition
I will bring cheese
summer sausage, and wine
quote Auden, Ginsberg, and Dove
'til the aurora strums the horizon
this rhythm inspires the wren
that melody signaling the dawn
Brain spatter smacked me in the face
Blood was everywhere, so thick I could taste it
I rolled to the left and with blurry eyes aimed
Eliminating the sniper five seconds too late
I wiped off my face with the sleeve of my shirt
And looked at my friend that lay in the dirt
Headless now, only his tags to ID him -
An image my mind refused to believe in
This jungle would be his makeshift grave
No cherubbed headstone for Henry Mave
Nothing to tell of the soldier he was
The best friend I had, or the son who was loved
I buried his body beneath leaves and vines
Then I went hunting for Viet Cong lines
I killed as many enemies as I possibly could
Like a kamikaze, death was understood
Somehow I survived and went back to New York
Where the horror of war bled into my work
Lost my job, my house, friends, and family
Trying to forget the engraved memory -
I always knew I’d be a permanent guest
Because the instant he died, I became homeless
**Susan Burch**
*Won 8th place in "World of War: Vietnam" contest
Retired sweetness paints
a tiled mosaic of
unpredictable patterns.
Black, brown shapes
spatter the
grey concrete of
an underground kingdom.
The fresh ones burn
pink and seafoam
green against
this steely blue
and yellow lined world.
The stickiness clings
onto shining
out of spectrum,
before becoming
another dot
in dark masses.
buds exploding
on bare branches longing for
spatter of raindrops
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Regrets
They follow you like vultures
soaring in wistful circles
alighting on church roofs
at weddings and christenings,
never out of your sight
and chew on your dreams.
Their shadows mark the good things
that could have been yours
and spatter your life with the droppings
of what ifs and maybes.
Your past is inaudible over their constant chatter,
and when you lie still, fading,
with your family looking on,
they perch at the foot of your bed
and laugh
Silence shattered as thunder cracks ripping into the once peaceful night
Crackling flash of electric shock invades the sky in brilliant light
Rain spills from grey looming clouds beating the earth below
The old Oak tree bending to kiss the earth outlined by lightnings glow
Shrill blast as a siren adds it's wail to the once silent night
A dog begins to bark then others join in to express their own fright
Another bolt of sizzling electricity hits the rain soaked ground
As quickly as it came it's gone just spatter of rain the only sound
Haunted by your gasps come eventide
the shimmer of vour shirt climbs
and rugged flesh of your torso
Traces those hips
as I fondle the crease from your spine
... to fine mold Brach's melody,
its mellow refrains accompanying
spatter of viscous honey ;
In a voice of sizzling quiet
that makes your arms part my sea ,
I inhabit wedded bliss in the mists of your eyes
and night's starglow melts before me:
This fragrance of total surrender
leads me to one , undefined moment
while I blossom delicately---
until we tremble as one
my nectar overflowing.
RAINDROPS
Each and every raindrop plays its part
In a shower, or a torrential downpour
Do we know if they have a pointed tip
Or just a sphere, either shape will drip
Pure water in an innocent world before
Now slightly acidic, tasting faintly tart
When landing they spatter and coalesce
On windows, running down in a rivulet
And yet it’s worth looking to the skies
Letting all the raindrops wash the eyes
Be assured, all surfaces will soon be wet
Being caught in the rain can cause stress
The pitter patter of rain on a metal roof
Sometimes a comfort for the ill at ease
It breaks the grim silence of desperation
For the anxious, a source of frustration
Warm or cold, timely rain can still please
So stand and be welcoming, never aloof
Sophie's sweat
landscapes
the claret red horizon
thick serum
trickles
from a Sickroom -
a death ward
where cracked knuckles
spatter the fjords
moistening the planks;
bathing the laths of anxiety
‘neath
marquis de sade stumps
Norwegian expressions of death -
agoraphobia
murdering actuality;
the Dance of Life
rapidly burns
as a funeral pyre of Ashes are
seized from
your tribe’s headstone
the stench of brother’s legacy
replaces
a protected breath
and a Dead Mother can
descry muted
caterwauls
between
the Clock and the Bed
the two guardians of quietus
merely exit
this clotted bridge
contemptuously -
in soured and
staled
delight