In the garage with my back turned
I hear the shatter and spin around.
Shards of porcelain on the ground.
Questions were asked, nothing was learned.
My 4-year-old stood there,
With a plastered smile and averted eyes.
He was guilty but proof was the real prize.
I had nothing but accusations to bare.
"You dropped it," I muttered.
"No I didn't," he asserted.
"It dropped itself," he blurted.
To the broom I puttered
With faulty physics to blame.
I swept up the pieces as well all
Floated up, up, up
Into the rain.
Categories:
puttered, spiritual,
Form: Rhyme
Working in my garden early in the Fall,
I spied a small white spider sitting on the wall.
He seemed surprised as I was to see him sitting there,
As I puttered in my garden in the crisp, clean air.
I stopped to study him awhile and he looked back at me.
I'd never seen the like of him nor, I guess had he.
He bowed up on his tiny legs to prepare his get away,
So I backed off to let him pass and go upon his way.
Perhaps I'll see him in the Spring when Winter's chill is gone,
Sunning himself in the garden 'midst the flowers on the lawn.
Categories:
puttered, september,
Form: Rhyme
Timid, gutless, young man feebly muttered
Then mustered spartan courage and puttered,
And fluttered he like a dove
And stuttered to say his love,
But "Shoo - Shoo!" pretty, beloved uttered.
Posted on Oct. 5, 2020
Alliteration 004 (I prefer old poems) Poetry Contest
Poet Destroyer A
Limerick – Syllabic count: 10/10/7/7/10 syllables
Categories:
puttered, humor, love,
Form: Limerick
Working in my garden,
Early in the Fall,
A spied a small white spider,
Sitting on the wall.
He seemed surprised as I was,
To see him sitting there,
As I puttered in my garden,
In the crisp, clean air.
I stopped to study him awhile,
And he looked back at me.
I'd never seen the like of him,
Nor I guess had he.
He bowed up on his tiny legs,
To make his getaway;
So I backed off to let him pass,
And go upon his way.
Perhaps I'll see him in the Spring,
When Winter's chill is gone,
Sunning himself in the garden,
'Midst the flowers on the lawn.
Categories:
puttered, garden,
Form: Quatrain
God Given Gratitude
Puttered around and to Poetry Soup do go
And see my great number of poems grow
Which were written by me and well-meant
Into state of ecstasy some poets were sent.
Poem appeared smack dab in middle of night
Went back to man cave and turned on light
Started writing freely and porously like I do
After a picture in my mind the poem drew.
Never would have a worry or even any fear
Words profusely on page started to appear
Into sentence after sentence they became;
To not write down would be a big shame.
I did delightfully accept the delinquent dare
To write one more poem beyond compare
Setting such a high standard poets may meet
And with each other could try and compete.
Finally, my monotonous poem is over and done
And horrors soon will be read by everyone
Why I like each Souper is their great latitude
Would God to my poems give His gratitude?
Tune in tomorrow for my next poem to borrow;
Even with sweet sorrow, Was it by Clarence Darrow?
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
PS.
It is my own funeral so I chose
funeral in the subject section.
Categories:
puttered, funeral, funny, humor, humorous,
Form: Couplet
Christmas Day is quiet –
Traffic’s light and stores are shuttered.
All the hype preceding it
Has fizzled out and puttered.
Families turn inward
And the streets are near deserted.
Temptations from the outside world
Are easily averted.
If you took all the Sundays
And you rolled them in a ball,
They might finally rival Christmas –
It’s the quietest of all.
Categories:
puttered, christmas,
Form: Rhyme