Best Spouts Poems
At my ripe age it's plain to me
That wisdom can come painfully
But found within our trouble, too
The best of what we humans do
All that's drawn from mind and heart
Is what weaves object into art
Crimping spouts of twisted metal
Changing common can to kettle
Time and Heaven's weep remake
A meager pond into a lake
The finest instrument lays quiet
Without a skillful hand to ply it
Still and barren, paints and brush
Until obliged a master's touch
Pen and paper don't enthuse
Sans a poet's poignant muse
And I am but a hand-less glove
Without my faith in God above
A walking, breathing implement
The tool for His divine intent.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Standard Contest Number 70" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Kettle, Pond, Lake" Poetry Contest, Nayda Ivette Negron, Sponsor.
Categories:
spouts, analogy, art, faith, wisdom,
Form:
Couplet
Circumstance encompassing around and flowing as the mill race in turbulent rolling curls,
Surges.' Forth to flow; and fall, visions issue with or without portent,
to my observation and my limited discernment.
Also fate makes it s call and then falls a power,
as do the oceans rearing ramparts downwards smash
On sand or shingle strands by night, by day, and twilight hours,
whilst magma as incandescent fire spouts and high hurled, red
In-veined opals show a pastel field green & blue
glistening inside more verdant hues, liquid colours flow as golden day
Ignites and shines, faint breaths of spring essay its designs
then retreat as the atmosphere chills, to threats of snow and sundry ills.
©Joe Maverick 18-2-2011
Categories:
spouts, life, seasons,
Form:
Rhyme
I’m thankful for the whispering winds and the gentle rain
And the absent sun on dark days, knowing it will be out again
The moonlit skies at night with twinkling stars shining bright
The change of the seasons and all its festive and seasonal sights
The birds who visit and sing their sweet morning melodies
Goldfinches, blue-jays, cardinals and feisty chickadees
Their daily return to feed and build nests nearby in the trees
And watching their entertaining antics as they frolic and tease
Spring blooms that I anticipate and wait for to reappear
In bright colors and scents that bring delight and cheer
The chipmunks and squirrels in my yard scurrying about
with their sputtering, chirping, and barking spouts
The fresh winter snow that cleanses and brightens the ground
and the magical moments of watching the snowflakes come down
When the air warms and crocuses and daffodils emerge through the snow
And the return of Spring when nature rejoices and puts on a beautiful show
Categories:
spouts, beauty, bird, imagery, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
water spurting
from a gargoyle spout…
I am drawn to
the gurgling of a baby
in his mother’s arms
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
© 20th January 2020
[Published in Cattails Spring/April issue 2020 p. 86]
Editor’s choice:
The hinge of the poem by Paul Callus is a homophony - gargoyle and gurgle. The similar sound reveals a distinction between a hideous gargoyle and an innocent baby, but the baby if it cries - spouts water - can also look like a gargoyle. However, this is circumvented by the mother’s care so the poem begins in the ugly but ends in Madonna-like serenity and centres on the implied but absent fountain - of tears or of life and love.
Sonam Chhoki
- - - - - - - - - -
Categories:
spouts, sound,
Form:
Tanka
Blue Leviathan
Sounding the bathymetric deep
Lazuline green to waters risen
Of sonic dark sung Cetacea poetry
With ever knowing smiles
The gargantuan glides
Graceful on angel winged flukes
Slow easy speed
Of winded massive lungs
Hits the surfacing
Blown by fountainhead spouts
Breaching upon the waves
Two hundred tones of aquamarine
Poised and ready
Driven to fly the salt-water medium
Lifting from the brine light domain
Performs a pirouette
Crashing leviathan
In a centuries ballet
Antediluvian epitome of natures
Balanced perfection
Sings a song haunted melody
Traversing oceans
Beyond the deepest knowing of land
The plummet and plumb line
Of fathoms
Still skirts a coral reef
And basks in shallows
Quiet phantom
Of the giant blue
Categories:
spouts, animals, nature
Form:
Free verse
The Seasonal family
of Mother Nature
and Father Time
When it comes to
a family reunion,
they are never far behind.
Winter, Spring, Summer
and Fall.
With her daughter
always on the ball.
Mother Nature’s
first born, Weather.
She is not as predictable
as we would like to think.
Weather may be
in the mood for
named hurricanes
or devastating tornadoes.
She'll place water spouts
over the ocean.
She may feel like a little
Wind, Rain, Sleet and Snow.
Weather has been known
to let a blizzard blow.
A drought in the desert
together goes well
with scorching heat,
and on some occasions
she has been known
to give us hail
in the middle of
a thunderstorm.
Just to let you know
Weather is always
on the go.
Categories:
spouts, daughter, family, fantasy, funny
Form:
Free verse
The sun has long receded from the sky,
Pallid gloom invades the wintry air,
Morbid silence hangs over him,
Memory sleeps like hibernating toads.
Trees stand bare with no leaves to array,
The Earth lies shielded in its icy crust,
There is stillness, the stillness of the grave,
Breaking it, a fox is heard howling afar.
Feeling utterly down, discouraged, and weak,
How he longs to overcome the emptiness he feels
Even nature looks dull and devoid of life.
Depression takes hold over him and his soul sighs.
Despondent lies he, in his battered shack,
With a run-out lantern throwing pale light,
It burns sending spouts of fume,
Like the last breath of the dying soul.
Tormented beyond endurance,
In excruciating pain, he writhed.
The tears that flowed from his eyes
Could easily make a swelling sea.
Once mirages of hope danced before his eyes
But he is now devoured by dark clouds of solitude,
Behind a wall of emptiness, he now gropes.
He is in the throes of utter dereliction.
Hungry for affection in a desolate arena
He once fought like a losing gladiator.
Every passing day was like a decade.
Everything was damp, life was mildewed.
Now he seeks redemption from all torments.
Lying in the darkness that has become his life,
He stares into empty nothingness.
He longs for death to come on swift wings.
Deserted by everyone, he awaits the dark space,
To lie unattended six feet underneath.
He wishes to be devoured by the Grim Reaper
Who is no longer his enemy, but a bosom friend.
He listens intently for advancing steps,
Of his long-awaited companion, sure to come,
To deliver him of his baneful state,
To row him away across the frozen seas.
Categories:
spouts, angst, depression, loneliness,
Form:
Free verse
In the morning I heard the tea pot singing,
With the amber liquid sizzling,
Saw spouts of vapor ejecting,
With a sweet aroma tickling.
While pouring my cup of steaming tea,
Adding some cream, a little sugar and stirring it
I thought of the magic effect it brings,
Reviving us on every morning and keeping us fit.
As we sip it while we scan the news paper
We feel the early languor being lifted,
Keeping us hydrated throughout the day,
With our cognitive abilities liberally assisted.
I feel there is nothing like a cup of well blended tea,
For a tired soul to enliven his body.
It’s delicious taste and delicate fragrance,
Make it everyone’s lovesome buddy!
It’s a heavenly drink for the torpid minds,
A beverage brewed from the best of leaves.
A magic potion for the feverish lips,
Which in tiresome hours, everyone craves.
Sure, teatime is the most pleasant family time.
How we babble and burble over a cup of tea
Drawing people closer and cementing relations.
Certainly, it’s a time to look forward with glee.
Categories:
spouts, appreciation, how i feel,
Form:
Rhyme
The sun has long receded from the sky,
Pallid gloom invades the wintry air,
Morbid silence hangs over,
Memory sleeps like hibernating toads.
The trees stand bare with no leaves to array,
The Earth lies shielded in its icy crust,
There is stillness, the stillness of the grave,
Breaking it, a fox is heard howling afar.
Solitary lies he, in his battered shack,
With a run out lantern throwing pale light,
It burns sending spouts of fume,
Like the last breath of the dying soul.
He listens intently for advancing steps,
Of a long awaited friend, sure to come,
To deliver him of his baneful state,
To row him away across the frozen seas
Categories:
spouts, age, death, journey,
Form:
Blank verse
Are we really free?
Free to chose to:
Go wherever we please?
Do whatever we desire?
Be with whom we wish?
Pick whichever thing we fancy?
Without coercion
Without ever being obliged by an unseen force in
A predetermined or predestined way?
How?
How can we have free will to be wherever we
Wish to be
When:
Bound to earth we are with the
Heavy chains of gravity
Obliged, incessantly to follow it
And move
Around its circumference
Around the sun
Around the galaxy
Around the universe,
Having no chance ever to escape its
Deterministic laws?
Are we free?
Have we got a free will?
If yes, when did it start?
The day we were born or later on?
For the day we were born
We knew nothing of:
What we were
Who we were
What we wanted
What we needed
What we desired
Subject were we to our bodily organs and
Their functions
No control had we over:
Our heart
Our liver
Our kidneys
Our spleen
Our blood circulation
Our brain
And had no idea of
How to defend ourselves against
Deceases
How to produce blood
How to digest
We had not any control then and we have
No more control now as adults
How then are we free?
In what respect?
Is it because we choose A over B?
To be here or there?
To do this or that?
What if our choices are just the
Result of the working of nature in us?
The outcome of ideas and tendencies,
Implanted in our mind and soul by Man or
Mother nature?
Doesn’t our acceptance of free will seems
Like declaring:
The earth goes aroud the sun because
Of its free will
Or
A stone falls as a result of
Its free will
Or
A seed spouts because of its free will
Or
The salmon, after venturing for years in
The ocean, returns to the river it came to life,
To lay its eggs, out of free will?
Or is free will the result of
Our Lord the creator and creator of the universe
As they say?
If that is the case then we may ask:
Would the wisdom of our God entrust His creation to us?
To our free will to do as we please?
If the answer is yes, then
What the result of such freedom would be on
The world God has created?
Whatever the answer may be, the mystery
Will linger
For
We, know nothing for certain
Hence
We just believe!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
13 OCTOBER 2014
Categories:
spouts, freedom, god, men, nature,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Shards of shimmering and redolent recollection, of images memories and distant life actions. Long since transpired, and now nothing holds my hand, yet thoughts still swarm my mind and sway my intentions today! overlaid reflections of former events flicker, as my desires and perceived values now play their scenes to a heatless aurora of irrelevance's, halogenic in flames and spouts of unresponsiveness, unyielding mediocrity now is coupled with both the current and contemporary, we are so bereft of creativity in the veins of social life, while in the public arteries flows the stuff of nightmare and mass animosity...
Copyright Joe Maverick 2011
Categories:
spouts, allegory, angst,
Form:
Free verse
I was rushing a project, due at 6,
With a messy top, I couldn’t resist
Arranging trays with photos of my man;
Such thick debris, a whole clean-up began.
A jar of expired tea spilled on my chest
Now, this made me shake off a lunch hour’s rest.
My hands pulled out scarves, lotion, and fake gems
From a drawer filled with old beauty items!
Then, I checked a pile of discs that was needed
Yet my eyes found notes, memos never read.
By 4 pm, job mates helped me wipe out
Heaps of litter, junk mail pouring like spouts.
Oh deadline came while I froze on page 1,
Knowing the boss would demand a rerun!
Sara Kendrick's Today I Accomplished
5/18/2015
Categories:
spouts, work,
Form:
List
The outpour
spouts gently. My lone thoughts
drain bitterly as pearly chutes ebb
Soft patter
of rapids flushes night
from angst. Though barren stream dives endless
And pierced rocks
lash at my lost chances.
The twirl of water eases love's blow
While I dive
into an evening's pool
like a rapid swollen by gray spills.
For nette onclaud
Manny Paras dated 10 30 2014
Categories:
spouts, pain, rainforest,
Form:
Ode
—the journey of a herd of mustangs in a picture on the wall—
The story begins with two stallions at the water’s edge, facing each other. When one of the stallions irritated, impatiently hits the surface of water with his hoof, the splashes of the water fly all over in the air as if it’s a declaration of merciless war. Then a ghastly fight has begun between two of them. They bite, kick, and wrestle each other in the shallow water to defeat one another. Each time one attacks his opponent, they raise high in the air with hind legs, they shake their gorgeous manes and necks, their muscle quake, and the blood spouts out from their shoulders.
After the long and bloody fight is over and the one who lost in battle draws back, the victor marches in triumph to the herd of mustangs. Nevertheless, the high and intermittent background music and splashing wavelets on the water’s edge scenery introduce the tension and suggest ever-ending darkness to come. They run down the stream while pushing each other as if they were compelled by the fate, which is invisible, or to say that they were driven by some evil but absolute power that is unavoidable. They pass through the deserted field; they swim to cross the rushing stream as if silvery dolphin in the water; they strut through the fog as if they were Pegasus galloping on the cloud; they even dash through the blazing fire like the Phoenix rising from cold ashes. The victor, now, dives into bottomless water before his many followers for a long journey; yet, the destination unknown.
Categories:
spouts, allegory, horse, imagination, journey,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Sea the wight-capped waives rolling inn the see;
here the howling wynds, wile I’m standing hear,
whale and forme hi waives. Theirs eh jumping wail-
tale upp inn the ayre! This should make gneiss tail
two tel wen eye get holm. Butt now theirs too
blew wales inn wiaves- there water spouts just blue!
Whether getting worse, kneed two sea weather
it's my thyme too lieve since wynd now blows it’s
grate, whiled sounds awl across the see, witch great
allowed and shriek. Could bee, I’m knot aloud
write hear two stay- dew knot want gnus too right,
“Sum man fell inn the see and payed the some
witch cost his life from storms angry whiled which.”
Week legs mite make mi sync and fall; eh weak
wood pass before they fined mi with eh would
bored inn my grippe from roe boat beet and board
bye waives and whild wynds that kame and flue buy.
Eye no, its thyme too lieve, cum back wen aye
cee com, and eye can stay eh wile two sea
wails jump inn waives without the wynd’s whiled whales.
April 7, 2015
~2nd Place~
Contest: Only Homo’s Allowed
Sponsor: Jerry T. Curtis
Judged: 04/30/2015
(Homophones)
Categories:
spouts, imagery, nonsense, word play,
Form:
Free verse