Best Sputtering Poems
Held unyielding in your narrow mind
is the ignorance which keeps you blind.
Building dams will only hold you back
from accepting that white is not black.
Like a slow moving, barricaded stream,
your thoughts clot like curdled cream.
Thin skin has need to slough rejection,
Your rigid stance in mirrored reflection.
Break open the dam across the estuary
that hinders your vision. It's necessary
to move in sync with malleable fluidity
instead of sputtering words of stupidity.
Shedding skin will allow you to breathe.
Release your potential from its sheathe.
Even a snake slithers out from its skin
to crawl from where it once had been.
Little is the chance you have to accept
new ideas if they are not circumspect
to the fault of having such a closed mind.
Throw off the veil that keeps you blind.
Don't become stagnant and decompose
by turning your back, continuing to oppose
any idea with which you just don't agree.
You'll drown in arrogance, acting so lordly.
The experience of penning one's thoughts to paper
for the perusal of others
offers a certain inner satisfaction
that must be experienced to be appreciated;
letting your words guide you
to a deeper appreciation of your surroundings and self.
Poets do not garner feelings from their pens,
but from their hearts;
for the pen is but a brush and the page a canvas
upon which to paint dreams, desires, and thoughts.
The underlining passion
and potency of the written word
can be cathartic;
when it is your thoughts that embroider the page.
Intimate feelings are allowed to drift
through those thoughts,
and gather between the lines of each verse.
A poet's words, like a poultice,
can draw emotions
from the wounds of memory,
and catapult the reader into a reality
previously undiscovered.
A poet, using a creative collage of tinder thoughts
stirs the embers of conformity,
hoping to ignite sputtering flames of awareness.
" From the debt of my heart"
The African child
Sat behind the bamboo fence
He was sober and tense
Sputtering and wondering.
He forsook the bush meat
And the gathering under the moonlight
For sobriety and the causes of his uncertainties.
His clothes were like dried leaves
His feet like openings in the eaves
He longed to see a brighter tomorrow
He clarified the causes of his sorrow;
Sins of the father,
Fighting not to make things better
Therefore darkening the weather,
Making his destiny falter and bitter.
Tears exuded from the sound of his flute,
His fears enlarged like a parachute
But one thing he never understood,
Watch and pray, oh! African root
For your foundation is stinky, filthy,
Faulty and guilty...... watch and pray.
Oregon’s, wildlife, mountains, lakes, and bogs
Fields of green, awaken refreshed at dawn
Where salmon runs the rivers blue to spawn
Drawn wandering above the sea of fog
Black-tailed and mule deer birth their newborn fawns
Where shaggy mane elks labor their spring calves
Rustle sounds while they graze off open paths
Wander under the full moon of predawn
Sea of umbrellas on rainy season
Fireplace frames warm sputtering ember flames
Snow cold, in fella’s embrace with no shame
Turning me into shades of pink crimson
Savoring the earth's nurturing labor
Giving my heart to the verdant nature
12/30/2016
My home for 36 years
My life is very insular, I move from page to page
never straying far from words which prance upon the written stage.
like a sputtering engine my tongue tangles on a phrase
I rub my eyes, red and raw, I can't remove my aged gaze.
My fingers curl and knuckles gnarl as velum dances right
I read, I write, I think and pause, I can't turn out the light.
Compose, I will, adjust I must, each simile an anchor
to a life much analyzed, but lived with little rancor.
like the scribes of ancient Rome my fingertips are worn
yet I persist with joyous bliss for I know I must go on.
My form has bent, bowed and curled to meet the need of the word
God forbid, I went through this lifetime never being heard.
The house sits locked and bare;
a derelict car sputtering off
with the last of the possessions
that owned her.
Bellows of dust and sparks
trailing; lingering behind
as busted tail lights disappear
against a burnt sun horizon.
Sitting tall and square
behind the wheel of her old truck,
with bare shoulders, essentials,
and a folk rock playlist.
Windows down, volume up,
a long last look,
releasing her breath;
a slight smile twisting.
Hands, ten and two; pedal down,
heading north to anywhere,
the wind tangling her hair;
stripping away stress; urging on.
No more 40 hour weeks.
No more juggling bills.
No more corporate slavery,
building someone else's dream.
This is the moment
she became free.
*For my dearest friend Anna, who inspires me more than I am able to express.
A kite is soaring through the air
I see your laughter, but I can't hear
except for something in the dark
that sparks a light from yesteryear
The reel unwinds, on fragile wings
No sound of wind, no sound of you
A spartan view upon the screen
that's faded, frail and sputtering
My throat is tight. You flew the kite...
The three of you, run down the hill
Your innocence, the timeless dance…
To watch you now, I feel the sun
A cherished piece from yesterday...
My throat is tight. You flew the kite
No whispered voice or word is said,
No measure of a favorite song
Just the silent movie, chattering
with bluebird sounds that tag along
in harmony with treasures, found..
You trampled grass one August day
and childhood quickly swept away
into the world, just like the kite
You soared so high, that I've lost sight
My throat is tight.... You flew the kite
A summer breeze has stirred your hair
Your smiles, carefree, are unaware
that childhood is a fleeting game
that takes you far away
The sun is like a tangerine
It blinds me from the serpentine
Your kite is lost to summer's sky
As I was standing by
I smiled and watched you fly the kite
And wonder where the years have gone
How fast you grew. Now, who are you?...
My throat is tight.... You flew the kite
______________________
Broken blades for tongues,
a gaping slash where there’s a mouth.
Spewing out whatever phrase,
makes it to their lungs.
Exhale, then inhale,
Cycles of words that none can beat.
Sputtering and gasping gasps,
Let’s sew up that fault with a needle and pin.
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
Hope is a collage of fragmented feelings
that fan the embers of today;
scattered amidst yesterday's ashes.
Stoking the sputtering flames of tomorrow;
egos and pride parade brazenly
upon dreams of love;
drawing the heart's attention
to unfulfilled fantasies of youth.
Betrayal is a bitter pill to swallow:
so you try washing it down with tears.
But your broken heart draws painful emotions
from the wounds of memory;
like a poultice.
And so, you don one of your many masks,
stored upon life's ethereal shelf;
and smile, as your world falls apart, piece by piece.
Yet, there can be no greater pain
than when the dagger of rejection pierces your heart.
For you have failed to find
what you've been looking for all your life;
the missing half of your soul.
But hope won't let you stop searching;
for somewhere out there
your soulmate is looking for you.
She stands on cliff’s edge in her skimpiest nightie, not caring who sees.
Feeling her connection with the east wind which has always protected her.
The shale-like red rocks have settled, they give her a firm grasp of herself. She goes to the edge.
Peers down, wondering if she should have brought someone else, so there would be a witness.
It is only thirty-two feet to the water, her Dad used to say, before he dove off this cliff.
She watched him do it at least six or eight times during his lifetime, he was 78 the last time.
She had never tried it, never feeling that her swimming was good enough, but today felt different.
She felt invincible today; she had a dream about this, and she knew she had to try as a tribute.
In her father’s honor she takes a dive of faith,
falling rapidly toward the water below.
There is a crack as she hits it, she feels like it has
slapped her face. She is coughing and sputtering.
Underwater, she feels scared and cold, ‘Just like Dad,’
says a whispery voice, startling her.
It is not until she is sitting near a warm fire,
in her home that she remembers a sister she never knew.
Dad always said the cliff had magical powers,
but to develop them, you had to take the plunge.
Her sister was killed in a freak accident when they were little;
she had been a few months old.
She rarely thought of her or the few photos she had of them.
Had her sister been the mermaid in the water?
She ponders this for a bit, as her toes warm up.
The flames nod in agreement. She feels her Dad beside her.
She knows she must go back.
Leaderboard paradox
Bard, crank or chatterbox
Irreconcilable
Most undeniable
Two titles possible?
Can't have all three
Flourish and elegance
Meter and relevance
Grasp of the elements
Sensitive delicate
Post the best poetry
For all to see
Building community
Post with impunity
Dishing encouragements
Never discouragements
Attaboy lunacy
Nice job! Spondee
Magnitude, quantity
Content moronity
Quality suffering
Sputtering, stuttering
Faster through brevity
Haiku for me
Where is the paradox?
Chatter and atta-talks
Raising poetic stocks
Moving up leaderboards
Elevates all their scores
Best that you just ignore
All your competitors'
New poetry
Elegant, painstaking
Beautiful, time-taking
Longer time finishing
Numbers diminishing
Falling so rapidly
Not even on page three
Drop productivity
Maybe you finish a
Poem or three
Status? ridiculous
Leaders? superfluous
Seek to equilibrate
Advocate, animate
Irreconcilable
Paradox schmeradox
Sharing delightfully
Cranking productively
Poetry supersedes
All rivalry
—————
For the “This or That, Vol 10” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Title: Irreconcilable Paradox
Date written: 02/17/2022
Splattering, splashing, sputtering
Droplets wet everything, everywhere
Spraying waters in wishes, reflections
Captured amid the depths of puddles
Mirroring the gentle flow of liquid
With hues of dampened, drenching
Sentiments, sensations, sweet soothing
Sounds of rain covering the surface
Of cool, black earth – running away
On seas of flowing energies, soul
Quenching streams of translucent
Vitality, power and strength, vibrancy
Coming alive in the hues of soaked
Impressions, ambiances, perceptions
Of glorious grace, praying in the swells
Of pools filled with light caresses
Fondling, kissing away all melancholy
With damp dreams of a future joy
Rising across the azure sky, echoing
In rays of a fresh, stirring sunshine
Lighting the way for morning praises
From the heart of one who knows
God lives in the rain as well as the sun
Leaving His signature in the arc
Of that vibrant, intriguing bow
After the clouds have moved on
Genesis 9:16 - And the bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, that I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that [is] upon the earth.
Listen to the wisdom, oozing from the wheezing woods,
Whimpering in euphony, far from the bustling boulevards,
Crooning, mumbling mellow chirping soothing strains.
The warbling of the warbles, buzzing of the bumblebees, fetching sputtering riddles!
Listen to the cryptic hooting, hissing, howling of the forest critters,
The whooshing weald is whistling, winking, whooping as living being!
Twittering its' silent sagacious saga when the ringing roots are entwining,
Gusting, the swooshing symphony of the smashing symbiosis.
The seeds are throbbing spasmodically into mature trees;
Sheltering the myriads of native wild species.
The wild blooms in seclusion are trilling in the tranquil breeze,
Twiddling and twirling in oblivion, invigorating the dying dandelions.
There is no hubbub; discrimination, feeble and strong, old and new,
Even cheeping competing species sloshing in consonance are clinking in gleeful communion!
The flapping, fluttering forest is clicking, caressing each other,
To enliven, the stup of the felled trees for hundred of years.
The mother trees are murmuring the lulling lullabies, nurturing their saplings.
They know not, the survival of the fittest, the gluttony!
In the thicket, there is no cacophony, but mere
Mellifluous rumbling of dribbling polyphony!
You are shelling out a lot
Of racist evil remarks
That I don't appreciate
Your full of negative hate
Why are you so cruel and mean
What have your darkened eyes seen
That turned you into a bully
Sputtering out words so cooly
With no regard to the feelings
Of the people you sent reeling
Into a depressive state
Soon it will be much too late
To fix damage you have done
Every time your hatred runs
From the dark shell of your soul
Not knowing the tragic toll
Your creating with your ways
And the way your words will slay
Into innocent hears and minds
That break with new words you find
Disregarding everyone you see
That looks and acts differently
From others that fit your norm
Keep this up and soon the storm
Will fall on your poor existence
Making you see the conditions
You've been putting others in
Will backtrack on you again
As karma and fate combine
Slowly over years of time
Causing havoc in your life
Making your days full of strife
Unkind--not caring at all
As you finally take the fall
Leaving you alone to pass
To hell that will kick your A--