Best Sputter Poems
To the little machine, that's so hard to clean
And sits alone on the shelf,
I'm thankful to you, for that potion you brew
That turns me into myself.
You may be a squatter, but I still give you water
Some grounds and then flip a switch
My steps I retrace, brush teeth, wash face
Come back and drink 'til I twitch
You're always ready, you drip so steady
And that smell is heaven sent.
You always work quiet and help with my diet,
My hunger you circumvent.
I have heard you stutter, sometimes spit and sputter
But in truth, that's all on me
If I do my part, then simply push start
Then you do the rest for free.
You start everyday helping me find my way
As I wake in my early brain fog
Then at noon, then night, you continuously delight
You're my hero, my silent demigod
Life wasn't the same before you came
I just couldn't seem to wake up
So here's to you and all that you do
A Toast! Hang on, let me fill my cup.
Daniel Turner
2/22/23
“Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.”
Matthew 7:6
So hard it can be
to take that upward trek
leading from the depths
of resentment’s abyss
where the stench of offensivenss
surrounding you
begins to gag you.
You can sputter and choke on
your horrible displeasure
(a few times in my life I've allowed this to occur)
but how good it felt to rise up
from the pit
where my own shiny pearls
had been hurled back at me
so cruelly.
I knew . . .
I knew very well
my pearls were never meant
for swine.
I say to all who feel that pain
of utterances most profane,
let them not echo in your ears.
Let not others' evil deeds
bring you to their level.
Take that road
that leads you up out of the abyss.
Tread steadfastly
and never look back
until their oaths against you
fade
into
nothingness.
Oct. 17, 2021
For the High Road Poetry Contest
of Regina McIntosh
"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!:) ~
A lonely beam of yellow-white light,
carving a curve in the ink of the night,
upon the snow-burdened branches of pine,
standing still guard to the lord of the line.
The icy wind howls in the silence serene,
tempting the light to avert and careen,
off of the timber and iron ahead,
into the water, the darkness, the dead.
And the blizzard, it beckons, with comfort sublime,
whispering rest to the lord of the line.
For burdens oft carried can even bend steel,
and wheels are not able to lay flat or kneel.
The engine is tempted, it lets out a peal,
a horn most forlorn to the wind most surreal.
Yet as the sound leaps through the valley of ice,
there redounds an echo—once, twice, and thrice!
And under the frost-covered rivets, inside,
the fire burns hotter, and strengthens the hide.
A purpose so strong is written within,
that heard from without, can bring life again.
As noble as Atlas, the train carries on,
knowing some where to go, and much where it's gone.
Accepting the fate of bitterest wine,
following on as the lord of the line.
But there is a crowd in the carriage behind,
they have many eyes, and still they are blind.
Driven by torment and anger and spite,
to tear out their hearts and sleep in the night.
Too proud to sound the horn of lonely man's fear,
their fires die within them, drowned by a tear,
a droplet of brine they would never expose,
so they swallow it whole, like blood in death-throes.
And they choke and they sputter, bottling steam,
they rush to the brink, as if in a dream.
A nightmare of pain in a cold hinterland.
And they cast off their life by no one's command.
In fear of the trials, they surrender their hope.
They laugh at life's line and they sever the rope.
A road through the darkness might lead on to shine.
Do you dare to take it, O Lord of the Line?
I look back fondly on this poem. Though I have grown in my ability to deviate from very structured poetry, I see my natural tendencies toward order when I look at this piece. I think PS drives me to explore new themes, structures, and ideas that will expand my abilities as a poet, and offer insight into my life outside of poetry.
While driving down a country road
One dark and lonely night
My engine began to spit and sputter
From a strange and mysterious light
I saw this little green spaceman
With antennas on his head
He was standing beside my window
And this is what he said
"Take me to your leader,
Or we will end your life"
So I did exactly what he said
And I took him to my wife
When I got home my wife was mad
And asked me where I've been
I told her about my crazy night
And about those little green men
She asked if I'd been drinking
And I don't drink a drop
About that time that spaceman yelled,
"Okay now, everybody stop"
Now my wife was really pissed
And said, "Who do you think you are?"
She grabbed him by his spaceman ear
And drug him from that car
Now, there she was in curlers
With that spaceman by his ear
I think he might have peed himself
As he stood there in all his fear
Now you may not believe my story
But I've got a souvenir
When they beamed that spaceman back to his ship
My wife held on to his ear
So if you ever see a UFO
Don't scream and run for your life
Just take him to your leader
And by leader I mean, my wife
Before diving into the music video ‘King on a Throne,’ above,
I encourage you to first read the poem ‘The Glass Throne,’, below which serves as its preamble.
Together, let’s shine a light on the upcoming ‘NO MORE Week,’ a global movement uniting people from all walks of life to say ‘NO MORE’ to domestic and verbal abuse.
You can help spread this vital message by clicking on the YouTube tab for my video above and viewing it on my channel.
Your support through comments—both here and on my channel—would mean so much.
If you enjoy my work, consider subscribing, and get notified, as some of my creations on YouTube are not available on Poetry Soup.
Note- You do not need a YouTube member to post a comment or to Like and Subscribe.
Thank you for being a part of this journey. Now, read on and immerse yourself in the
‘The Glass Throne’
the Poem!
Clay castles built on fleeting breath,
where thrones are carved from glass not depth.
Once love adorned with shimmering gold,
now whispers weave through mirrors cold.
Shifting like a restless ghost
In shadows doubt—the spiteful host.
A monarch drunk on self-versed curse.
Malicious barbs that once disturbed
Now sputter into broken verbs
Darts shot through ego’s bliss
A precarious balance at the pale abyss
But glass will crack, and winds will rise,
As shadows bleed beneath her skies.
From gold leaf lips deceptive lies
Though hidden truths unveil their guise
As complex carved illusions fade
The masquerade unmasked ~ No charades
It’s a time to shine a spotlight on an epidemic that impacts 1 in 3 women and 1 in 6 men globally. But it’s more than just about increasing awareness; it’s about collective action.
When individuals, organizations, and communities get involved in the movement to stop and prevent abuse, we are louder, stronger, and more impactful.
Power to the People who put up with it.
wind always knows
it limitation
as it writes its swirling
scripts upon threadbare roof.
lamentations for the
fields of empty prairies
as the dry leaves rustle
in strings of grass…
i do not know
my boundaries
the geographical shapes
of my darkness
for life
has been left empty
with only a puppy
of narrowness
to feed
scraps of plain verse too
how the tail wagged for years
as empty …
i light candles
like images on the window
of my smile
for the sputter of light
is much more reassuring
than the breathless darkness.
i recite my own alphabets
that i have
hidden in the mysteries of my throat
and marvel as the moonlight passes
through the simple words
the trellises of upper
and lower case
shades i have formed
with my craftless hands
and letters
speak upon the glass
of outside
like frost
for i have found my true words
and they fit my squalor
with a strength of calmness
for darkness cannot
abide in smallness
so it leaves me
as the darkest raven
ever imagined…
At night the city is full of bones
And they
Are very dry
Beneath the trample of urban feet
They are ground
But to live, these dry bones
Must drink words
Sad nervous me, I stammer
Against those arid limbs
Grinding bone-dust songs
Into scattered fragments spun from raging blades
But realizing so many so, I sputter
Thought-hacked soul-flakes, soaring
Crooked in an angry wind. . .
Though stinted, inconsiderable, I say them
Spit them down the papered street
Into a shadow where the dew will stay
And some anonymous day some
Stray seed will grow on them
And suckle upon a speck of misty bone
And though the nights will continue
To align the humps of an un-slaked dune
Something out of this sand will rise
Small, and secretly original
And I will be part of her:
my bony, blue, and sensual city
They talk…
All fires do
Some mutter, some sputter
And if you think they don’t live
Then ‘shame on you’…
They consume…
All fires do
They eat virtually anything
At times leisurely
Licking and tasting
Other times quickly
As if time was wasting
They breathe…
Sometimes they whisper
Sometimes they whimper
Sometimes they sigh…
Sometimes they sputter
Obscenities to the sky
They feel…
The water that we use
To extinguish the flame
They protest…they hiss
As if feeling the pain
As they die…with a sigh
As will do you and I
Fire is the genesis….
Of things great and small
Our atoms created
From brimstone and blaze
It’s our father and mother
It’s our Lord and master
It’s The maker and measure
…of all things…and ways
‘ Volcano’ ( or The Perils of Passion )
Volcano … You Inferno ! … You, Latent Threat
… I am not Ready, for Your Rise … just Yet …
So Stay Low and Do Not Throw …
… Your Boiling-So, … Nor Tell-Tale, Glow
Your Trembling Thrill, is Unseemly, So Leave
… Is that Bubbling-Fire, Leaping ? … Not Now, Please !
With Cool-Logic and Reason, Let The Brain- Blow ! …
and Ease the Simmering, Sultry, Steam Below
… Stay Sluggish and Drain thru my Strained-Veins
‘Lest Nothing, but Ashes and Embers Remain
Journey to The Center of The Earth … Don’t Emerge !
‘Lest The Core of My Being … Spill Over and Purge …
Burning This Complacency … This Routine Degree
For this Mercury, could Melt my Civility
or Expose my Feminine – Fear of Falling into Fissure
bringing Scalding Tears and Smoke-Screen Tissues…
… All in His Temperate-Touch, lays my Malfunction
He has Ignited, a Full-Blown, Sky-High Eruption !
Consuming Heat, Please – Show Some Compunction !
Would Moving Further Away, Stop Quaking Expulsions ?
… My Heart is Napalm-Warm … I Know …
but … Does It Have to put on a Shower of Sparks Show ?
Oh, I Can Not Stand This Incinerated Assault, Any More
Not, While, He Persists … To Pour and Pour …
… Too Late, I Sputter … Now, Lava Flows …
Alive-Thing … on Volcano Floes
Caught … In Volcano Throes … …
Molten Sea ... Let It Go
Tonight, I sit watching ebony skies
feeling the need for silence and seclusion
admiring the glitter and glimmer of stars
before one by one they disappear.
There's no solace found
when one loses luster and then dies.
As its twinkling torchlight flickers,
I drink deeply of its beauty.
In this haunting darkness of night
the taunting of its dimming light
once twilight's tattered tint loses its glint,
a star makes way for the moon to take flight.
I fear the imminence of its daunting death,
the last gasp of celestial breath
as it outshines the galaxy
before its flaming core collapses.
Suddenly, the night grows cold
and dire darkness holds reign
but not from a lofty throne.
Luna's halo has lost its glow.
How stark becomes the emptiness
where a star once heavenly hung.
It's not an illusion of pain...
I feel it as I feel the chill of winter rain.
It's as if into a black hole of stellar mass
it passes through mordant shadows
and I, although I fear the dark
would light a spark as it leaves
and time travel with it as luminance dulls.
If only wings were allowed mere mortals,
the portal they enter, I would breach
to reach its final resting place.
Sometimes, it seems as if in dreams
I follow where faded stars go to die.
Entering the depths of an abyss
from which they are not reborn.
I shiver while watching them flutter
the last pulsing beats
of dying hearts sputter
in demise before my eyes...
never to return to celestial skies.
A somber thought enters my soul,
that soon each dying star will depart
its shimmer veiled then extinguished
as if snuffed because of its beauty.
Stars should not be doomed to dwell
in skies with holes of desolation.
I mourn with miserable melancholy,
the glorious grandeur of its light
each time I see a fading star,
languishing as its journey ends.
A cry escapes my pouting lips
for all that's left of its existence
is stardust clinging to my fingertips.
Doing the leaf-stroke
across my pool
I spit
I sputter
I choke
on wet wintry appetizers
Well there I was twenty or so and never been in an airplane
Well...it just so happened two new friends of mine, were pilots
With many hours logged time after time
They even had an airplane of their own, which they had just flown over my house
Get off your butt, come have some fun, let us see one of your smiles!
So I climbed into this pop can with wings, anxious as the engine started to sing
Down the runway and up we go, the lump in my stomach started to show
But as I started to look around at the patchwork of beauty on the ground
I began to enjoy this soaring through the air, just looking around
Then these two ornery buddies of mine, looked at each other and grinned
I asked OK what are you up to? Oh nothin' just taking you for a spin
They turned and went low down over the lake, well OK this is kinda pretty
But they knew one wing was out of gas and soon would sputter, spit and quit!
Well needless to say when the engine stopped, I went all white in the face
They said, don't worry sweetheart we're OK, we can glide her in all the way
In? In where? The lake? You didn't ask if I could swim!
They had planned this (joke) for me for quite some time
Wanted me to always remember my first airplane ride
After a few seconds they switched the tanks and started her back up
Up, up and away we went back to the clouds above
I don't know if they cured my fear of flying or made it worse
But, I can tell ya some time later - swoosh swoosh - I hear
As I took my very first helicopter ride!
©Donna Jones
Golf Putter That Did Sputter
Have naughty eight iron and a nine
That are starting to become benign;
My small balls were slow as molasses;
Did decide to take a couple of classes.
From whole, entire course soon got cut
Because I never learned how to putt,
And should have seen the horrible scar
When they beat me for not making par.
Then golf game suffered a major mishap
Balls ended up being in smooth sand trap;
Was an incredible, complete catastrophe
Had hit ball hard from tee into a tree.
Wanted to replace old one which did sputter,
But I never could find another better putter;
On course, well-cared dead corpse remains;
All those terrible drives drove them insane.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
River Sea Plantation
Bolivia, NC