Best Sputtered Poems
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
In a house where a maiden's dreams were crushed
An open seam forever left impaled
Discolored remnants of a wedding veil
Beneath a stitch in time that came too late
A silver needle sewed her final fate
A blushing bride she never was to be
A spinster was to be her destiny
The war years seemed like only yesterday'
As I gazed on the ruins and disarray
A mildewed wedding dress that stood in wait
Beneath layers of soggy tattered lace
Then beneath the leaking roof and fallen beams
I heard the humming of that old machine
As she tried to mend the dream that fell apart
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
Categories:
sputtered, dream, marriage,
Form:
Personification
A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN
Her face was a constellation of perfections
She was ravishing; beautiful beyond condemnation.
Her voice was like many water
Yet, it's coo whenever she sputtered.
Her gait was just so alluring
No wonder men couldn't help but kept gazing.
She trod on her pathway like a goddess -
This woman I saw was priceless.
Even her dance step sent signals to heavenly bodies
The immortals were mesmerized - she was more than a novice.
The flexibility of her body was as a swift wind
It moved so fast, it could not be filmed.
When she sang, it was like that of an angel
Kingdoms let loosed: heaven, earth and hell
In her eyes, you'd see paradise
In her world, great men and women did arise
There was ample concinnity in her kingdom
Everything was cloudless, no entrenchment of freedom
She also spoke with authority and with great audacity
Owning to her greatness, she created a brawny fraternity
Loosed men and women longed to have her by their side
'Sorry, I'm not your type' she did chide
They tried to restrain, but they were so much in love
Her being angry at them only waxed their hearts together in her glove
Men of great status came to have her
They were with their luxuries - they came from afar
The splendour of her beauty got them sprawling to the floor
The radiance of her look made their visions blur
In her, greatness was defined
There are so many traits of hers which can't be outlined
She kept her statute; she was a woman of virtue
Her works were known, they reached their plateau
Of a truth, this woman is a goddess
And this makes me remember the game of chess
At the end, the king and queen are brought to rear
So also is this woman I saw. Her name is Nigeria.
Categories:
sputtered, beautiful, inspirational, success, uplifting,
Form:
Ekphrasis
He'd had a bad day, he was snapping and snarling.
His behavior, it was anything but darling.
But I couldn't shut up, be compassionate and care.
Oh, hell no, not me. I had to poke the bear.
His eyes were red coals. He sputtered and shrieked.
Sure I'd just made it worse and now he had freaked.
sigh.....
Off to the store for ice cream for his highness
and to keep my rabid tongue from some of it's wryness.
In the line before me someone was hunting for money.
My ice cream was melting, my disposition, not sunny.
Instead of patience and a rational aire,
oh no, not me, I had to poke that bear.
"Hey Lady !, we're waiting, you could let us go through"
She threw down her coins and started counting anew.
sigh...
With running ice cream, home I now went,
where old grumpy-pants temper tantrum seemed spent.
I scooped out his ice-cream, delivered it to his side.
He glanced at it , then me, and made a comment quite snide.
I could have said "sorry, it melted somewhat"
but oh no, not me, I had a different thought.
I couldn't be contrite, compassionate and fair.
That just isn't me. I had to poke that bear.
After some comments about ice cream and his weight
I bit my tongue but I bit it too late.
sigh...
So heed my advice and just be aware
when things are going bad, just don't poke the bear
Categories:
sputtered, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
Attempting to await St. Nick, small Ted
lay trembling with excitement in his bed,
one Christmas Eve while all his siblings slept
(their promise to stay up with him unkept).
Like smoke that rose above his house that night
and drifted to the moon, his thoughts took flight.
He wondered (and he couldn't comprehend)
how dear old Santa ever could descend
the chimney to his house when at its base
were sparks that sputtered in the fireplace.
So as he pondered what St. Nick might do,
he left his room just as the clock struck two.
He tiptoed to the stairs where he could see
a figure on the rug nearby the tree. . .
Midst wrapping paper, boxes and a tangle
of ribbons knelt his mother. At an angle,
the firelight warmly touched her face. Her hair
showed flecks of sugar. Ted stooped on a stair
transfixed. . . The sugar looked like angel's dust!
And then he understood how long she must
have worked because the scent of cooking pies
was proof of it. Ted suddenly felt wise. . .
He realized how sweet pies could appear
like magic every Christmas. All was clear!
A single mom, this angel in his sight
began to hum the tune to "Silent Night."
Unseen, Ted lingered on the stair, content
in knowing his St. Nick was heaven sent.
(not sure if this is the "epic" you had in mind, Leonora.
but this is my submission for your contest! Merry Christmas)
Categories:
sputtered, christmas, house,
Form:
Rhyme
Furious scowls reveal marked displeasure
Void of joy, she pointed her finger
Muddling through a decayed existance
Cloaked in hostility she sputtered and hissed
While keeping her life clenched tight in a fist
The goddess of war reigns pained indignance
Afraid of losing control, she tightens her grip
Unable to unlock the secret of this spiritual disease
The angry spirit of menacing flesh has thrown away the key
KA 2003
Categories:
sputtered, anger, war,
Form:
Rhyme
Rain slipped in
sliding on the din
just passed dark
came midnight sparks
before the light of morning sun,
spits and spats, tips and taps,
lulls and dulls,
sputtered mutters culls,
on the shutters closed,
clammy, dank, and damp,
click-clack, stamped,
pitter-patter tones,
on the walk path stones;
soft and harsh,
wind blowing scowls along the tarps
glistening glows
misting the grassy rows,
October doom looms,
harvests wells consumed
rain falls
as autumn calls.
Categories:
sputtered, allusion,
Form:
Alliteration
Sewing machine long idle, gathered dust
inside the room my sister liked the best.
Old fabric pieces lay where they’d been left.
I let my hand upon soft velvet rest.
I lit a candle like she used to do
nights of our youth when she’d gone there to keep
her mind off her young groom who’d gone to war
and not returned. Sometimes I’d hear her weep.
The war years seemed like only yesterday
when mother , then my sister, passed away.
All those years she’d sewn for pay, heart-broken!
She’d chosen - with our mom - alone to stay.
My fingers lingered on the velvet meant
to have been worn by her so as to spark
romance with her lost love. Unsewn it lay.
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.
April 28, 2018 for Viv Wigley's One nine and sixteen poetry contest
(total fiction except I have a sister who loved to sew!)
Categories:
sputtered, lost love,
Form:
Quatrain
Grasping the mantle of Heaven's raw wound,
Fear dripped as tears to the cavernous dark ...
Swallowed my conscience and rational mind,
Strength and resolve, but the food for its ire.
Breeding through torment when I, a wee lad,
Knew in its object, the beast 'neath my bed ...
Cold breath of reason pervading that gloom,
Years as a sponge, sopping horror and awe.
Futile, that struggle to peer through its veil,
Then in mid-age, thru no fault but my own ...
Death bared its visage, my flesh in its teeth,
Sputtered my face, lifeblood clotted as truth.
Yet, as I washed the red stain from my skin,
Tender, its wings closed around me in care ...
Filled me with quietude, whisp'ring my fates,
I would, not once, dread the darkness again.
Not with that ocean of stars swimming high,
Only revealed in the night's deepest black ...
Just as the bright of the heavens is known,
Solely 'midst death's dark eternal embrace.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Something I Am Not" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
sputtered, analogy, change, courage, dark,
Form:
Blank verse
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
A willing victim to time’s soft crust
Dulled sergeant stripes lay on the floor
Fading remnants from a worldly war
This old, now lifeless, bricked in room
Is now but a capsule, her timeless tomb
Her future and dreams enjoined in fight
It's here she threaded her rifle each night
The war years seemed like only yesterday
Still, both them and her have gone away
Yet here in this room Mom's candle does glow
It's here in this room she labored so
Her faint initials still etched in the rust
Beside her machine she is frozen in dust
That wonderful lady and her vanishing mark
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark
Categories:
sputtered, allusion,
Form:
Rhyme
The sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Held my attention to make it work against rust
Reminding me “I am whom your mother did trust…
To clothe you well from harm of sun, wind and gust.”
Oh, I’m sorry to forget Mom’s tool so great
In crafting masterpiece of excellent rate
That showed her love, care and nurture – never late
While testifying about God midst bad fate.
“The war years seemed like only yesterday…
Great is the Lord* for prevailing in His way
He’s in control and in Him, there’s no delay
Let’s believe Him always.” Good words she would say.
From that wondrous memory emerged hope’s mark
To wake up with faith’s light and courage-spark
So I lay joyous in the Lord’s peace-bulwark
While candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.
*Psalm 145:3 Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised; and his greatness is unsearchable.
April 14, 2018
6th place, "One Nine and Sixteen" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Viv Wigley; judged on 5/2/2018.
Featured among Poems of the Week from March 19-25, 2023.
Categories:
sputtered, blessing, christian, faith, god,
Form:
Rhyme
There you are
Not lost at all
Under all the bushels
Sputtered mouthfuls
Negative thought fire
Beating vehement pour
Readiness tread stand
Bright walk cloud tide
Looking up
Survive
Categories:
sputtered, faith, inspirational,
Form:
Light Verse
Spiked Drinks Got Them All So Rolling Drunk
Universe spun out of control and died
The planets sputtered out and then fell
The southern boy liked his chicken fried
And preacher's young son rang the old church bell
Hope lost its heart and thus began to cry
The throng laughed away, nobody cared
High sheriff asked, did anybody die
Mike gathered rabbits he had snared
Janet put on blue gown for that night's ball
As her older brother Bill dosed the keg
While white mouse in the corner saw it all
Kelly in miniskirt showed her legs.
Spiked drinks got them all so rolling drunk.
Most f'ed up of all was the local monk.
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet,
1973
"A prom night to remember"
Categories:
sputtered, 12th grade, art, corruption,
Form:
Sonnet
It was shiny and bright sitting under the tree.
There were other things there, but that's all I could see:
a Lionel toy train on a circular track!
The caboose was maroon and the engine was black.
And to top it all off on this fine Christmas day,
was an engineer's cap that I donned right away.
I had deadlines to make and my job couldn't shirk,
so I rolled up my sleeves, and went straight to my work.
Utilizing impressive construction techniques,
I made Tinker Toy tunnels through newspaper peaks.
With an engine, a caboose, and three railroad cars,
I would ride to the moon and haul back the stars!
It sputtered and sparkled and went round and around
with a clickety clackety sonorous sound,
and an oily ozony odoriferous tang:
my thunderous wondrous electric toy train!
And then Daddy and I had to go out for bread,
and to pick up the big Sunday paper he read.
We're just about home when there was flashing of red...
and the crossbars dipped down at the railroad ahead.
As the freight train slowed up, I could clearly divine
the big engineer's head with a cap just like mine!
We dismounted and yelled, and I signed him three yanks.
He gave me three toots - and I waved back my thanks.
With my engineer's cap and my blue overalls,
I was dressed in a style to give anyone pause!
I had grand places to go and marvels to see...
but Mommy had my breakfast all ready for me.
It sputtered and sparkled and went round and around
with a clickety clackety sonorous sound,
and an oily ozony odoriferous tang:
my thunderous wondrous electric toy train!
Categories:
sputtered, christmas, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
MY OLD FORD
I once had a '50 Ford
I bought it just because I was bored
It had been setting in a farmer's field
Where it had stopped and wouldn't yield
I hooked it behind Pa's old pickup truck
And out across the field I struck
Headed for the shade-tree mechanic's house
Knowing he would cuss and grouse
I parked this junk heap in his yard
He grumbled and sputtered long and hard
But went to work on it with skillful cunning
Certain that he could get it running
Get it running is what he did
I tell you, I nearly flipped my lid
My friends and I, all that summer
Rode the dirt roads in that little hummer
Until one day, it finally quit
And we knew that was the last of it
So I dragged it back to the farmer's field
Where it still sets and will not yield
28 August 2011
Categories:
sputtered, adventure, funny, old, old,
Form:
Rhyme
Grandma was a firefighter woman
For most of the 1960s--
When she was already in her sixties
You see, around about 1961
A brush fire almost burned down
Kanarraville—that little Utah farming town.
The men farmed or worked outside of town,
And there were no firehouses very near.
So the postmistress said “Sisters, volunteer!”
Housewives and mothers heard the call,
About 20 or so ladies in all
Were trained to put those fires down.
My grandparents ran the Ranch Café--
(Famous for their sourdough biscuits)
A classic mom-and-pop business.
When the old fire engine sputtered by,
Thelma would stop making pumpkin pie,
Toss her apron, and be on her way.
An all-women’s volunteer fire department
Was really unique--quite the novelty.
Papers mentioned them around the country.
Nothing could keep those old ladies down,
Except the expansion of the town;
Which eventually had a paid fire department.
Yes, the old gals put out their last fire.
The Ranch Café is gone, and so are they,
But those firefighters are remembered today.
I can still imagine Grandma then,
Riding on that obsolete fire engine,
In her fireman’s hat and waitress attire.
Categories:
sputtered, fire, grandmother, hero, tribute,
Form: