Putter Poems | Examples

You Haunt Me

You’re the tame auspiciously lurking in the still of my nightmares, frivolously evicting the static that haunts my memories, illuminating this frantic mind if even for a second.

Crippling the narrow minded ways in which I’ve become entrapped, a one way road futile in substance and willingness to succeed

The savior of superficiality aligning the monstrosity of a broken roar, promising problems putter to the likening of a minuscule oblivion

My first car

My first car is starting to smell old
Like my grandparents house that they no longer live in
Reminds me of an antique store
With trinkets and wooden and things I’ve never seen
It smells of a jacket
In the back of the closet 
That no longer fits

My first car took me anywhere
When anywhere seemed like so much
It took me to games and stores and houses and places I shouldn’t have been
But it always got me out
My subtle savior I never remembered to thank

My first car was old a decade ago
It was rusted and I never heard the end of the jokes
But it was mine.
Mine in a way a lot of things never have been
Mine like a name
Like a part of myself
 Of my past
Of my shame

My first car doesn’t run
It doesn’t putter and shutter like it used to
And I can’t curse it anymore
When it doesn’t turn on
It died before I could say goodbye
When I thought we had more time
Seems like an old friend maybe
That just won’t text back
Seems like a dumb silly promise
Like maybe it will whine at me again
If I turn the key
But it doesn’t
And it won’t

Critterature: The Saga of Veronica Vole

This is the saga of Veronica Vole
Who committed the perfect crime.
She murdered three lovers,
But not all at once,
She did 'em in one at a time.

The first was a lemur,
A two-timing schemer,
Who seduced all thirteen of her nieces.
Every female enticed him,
So she sliced him and diced him,
Then stir-fried and ate all the pieces.

The second, a lobster,
Was also a mobster
Who threatened her once with a putter.
So she got him alone,
Then boiled him well done,
And had him for lunch with drawn butter.

The third was a vulture,
Devoid of all culture,
Whose name, she remembers, was Vince.
He was planning to eat her
After he bet her,
So she tased him in self-defense.

In a big pot she tucked him,
Then scalded and plucked him
And served him "en casserole"
To her fourth beau, a critter,
Who'll make a good fritter,
She thinks as she spoons out his food.
'cause though she doesn't tend
To have good taste in men,
She does tend to like men who taste good.

Ms. Vole is not a siren or a femme fatale,
The kind of dame who'd tell a guy to take a hike.
At heart she is simply a sweet-natured gal
Who never met a man she didn't like.

Kitchen Knife Hygiene

Finally, my blood began to coagulate. 
I counted up my fingers, and found I had eight; 
And so, I'm sorry to say, for me it's too late; 
But I'm still alive, and hope to spare you my fate.  
Let me stress the importance of kitchen knife hygiene. 
Listen up, budding chefs, and you will see what I mean. 
If you do not sharpen your knife, you’ll pull and you’ll tug, 
And you’ll fight with your food, until you give it a slug. 
You’ll cut up your fingers until you’re covered with blood
Which will spurt out from you like a diluvial flood.
Your face will turn white; and then you will fall with a thud
While up on your cutting board remains that dumb spud.
So, sharpen up your knife until meat cuts like soft butter,
But miss and you’ve no fingers in the kitchen to putter.

Ocean Waves

Waves of the ocean are the music of the sea, 
They hum and rumble in a perfect harmony. 

Songs of the tides they compose, produced by the moon,
By using the wind to putter a rhythmic tune.

Dances of the loops, spins and leaps they carry out, 
And blustery plays of thrills and chills they act out.

Blazing art they construct, on the ocean surface,
With strokes of sapphire and amber in countless shades.

Figures of foamy mountains they chisel and sculpt,
And embellish the beach with seashells and pebbles.

Ocean waves are the echoes of eternity,
And perfect models of implacable beauty.

Junk

"Nothing haunts us like the junk we didn't buy."
                                                   Anonymous

"I should keep this," I always say
"I might need it some other day"
Where I put it, there it will stay
That's just my way   That's just my way

Stockpile of junk is what it's called
Trinkets but nothing that has crawled
All over the house, they are sprawled
Hubby appalled     Hubby appalled

At first, it was just a junk drawer
Until my 'things' fell to the floor
"I'll stop."  I promised and I swore
I still want more     I still want more

It's a collection of clutter
"Yes, but they're all mine." I sputter
Even that old broken shutter
And golf putter     And golf putter

I've no room to walk in my house
Not space enough for a lil' mouse
Couldn't find my favorite blouse
Mislaid my spouse    Mislaid my spouse

Mitch

Mitch

My friend is my brother
from another mother
who is like no other.
In Christ, he’s my brother.

It’s my privilege to utter
and I do not stutter,
nor would I mutter,
In Christ, he’s my brother.

He’s certainly no nutter,
as smooth as butter,
like a ship’s rudder,
In Christ, he’s my brother.

In line, he’s no cutter.
His house has no clutter.
He’s firm without judder.
In Christ, he’s my brother.

He’s surely not a hutter.
His roof has no gutter.
His garage has no putter.
In Christ, he’s my brother.

So now it’s time,
to end my rhyme
for he is sublime.
In Christ, he’s my brother.

He’s not poor nor rich.
In him I find no glitch.
His name is Mitch.
He’s my brother.

John Stasukevich
6/24/2023

Spring Footles

Mud season 
yucky mucky

Hummingbird in flight
zig jig

A flock of robins
swinging singing

New grass
sprout shout

Flying butterfly
flutter putter

Chipmunks at feeders
seed greed

Lilac trees
blooms perfumes

A bright goldfinch
yellow fellow

Tree branches
twig sprig

Better Putters Are Hard To Find

This is start of my poem that over 8,000 other poets
have read.

Be A Better Putter

Was with naughty iron that is a nine,
Which some say has become benign,
That balls seemed slow as molasses;
Did need to take a few more classes.

Poor Putter Who Would Stutter So Did Shutter

went on rampage
they never would act their age
creating much rage

what we always did dread
had nightmares sleeping in bed
more people were dead

when willow did weep
we would count the wooly sheep
soon were sound asleep

behind was facade
our minds they would seem to prod
God will love and laud 

in field sheep herder
fence supported by girder
news mentioned murder

such a poor putter
when we had heard him stutter
would often shutter

Summer Fun Rains

Summer rains are beckoning 
come outside, come play and sing
slip and slap, splish and splash 
hear those raindrops falling fast! 

Swing that old umbrella high
for now it is the time to fly!
Step in puddles, shoes get wet
live in the moment, no time to fret!

Simple rains do coax and tease
chasing childhood memories 
swish and spatter, soak and splatter
no time to fuss, it doesn’t matter!

Spurt and sputter, clogged like butter
straying leaves clump and clutter
rain water rushes down a gutter
run fast away, no time to putter!

Golden leaf races wild, astray
down the pipe and towards the bay
chase that crazy leaf away
so glad I came outside today! 






Written 9/9/2022

Debris

debris from dark storm
dredged by the leaf skimmer -
grandsons putter* in pool



* to move or act aimlessly or idly

I Am Going To Write a Poem About the Words Take the Shot

Now was i talking about a gun
am i coaching a photographer
Am i offering a shot to a shot putter
am i gee-ing myself as i stand infront
of a mirrored glass pretence
i definitevly know what the means
Now take has many definitions
forcefully
to reach for
to hold
your grubby money digitally erased
a basket.
a ball of the foot
sorry i went to far
those last two
are sporting refrences
a small drink that shouts in threes
Which the is definitive the?
Was that a question well it had a question
mark a try
a dart player talking to his inside voice
as eyes feather the edges
and grip unleashes quill
wait maybe they are not in that order
Shot the take
have i just given an innoculation
to a small dog called Take
The take shot- a movie phrase
no one has ever said
Maybe a mad Scottish fsh
a fish with no i
Shotthe Take
imagine i had more than free
cause it sounds like three

Of Putting and Putters

If you're putting your putting on hold
  
  perhaps the putter you putt with's too old

The Gambler

Instinct whispered
  Trust your gut
Put your money on it
  It's a three-foot putt

Don't breathe a word
  Keep your lips sealed
If you blow one more
  It's beg or steal...

Your putter meets ball
  You can't bear to look
Was your gut on the money
  Or is luck just a crook



___________________________________
Note: Visualize miniature golf: A putter is
the club you use in miniature golf. A three-
foot putt is really short, less than a meter
from the hole. Normally golfers don't miss
them.  But when there's big money riding
on the outcome...

• Short Putter Poems
• Famous Putter Poems
• Best Putter Poems
• Read Putter Poems
• Long Putter Poems
• Putter Quotes