Short Sputters Poems

dry dirt road-car coughs and sputters...

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my desire
sputters out
now
but my joy
of mozart rises...

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Desk top
Chaos, clutter
Shredder coughs and sputters
No deadlines, no pressure, no work
Clean slate...

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Sunshine warms my skin 
Skin browns a shade darker
Darker ivory still pale
Breeze caresses my face
Face seeks sweet smells
Sweet Hyacinths and jonquils
Green grows new life
Mower sputters and dies...

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the wick is gently 
lit
the flame staggers
at first
then stands up
straight
reaching up
fully bright

the wax wanes
the flame sputters
the wick disappears
leaving a lasting
memory
of the bright light...

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Red Sun 

The engine coughs and sputters
Then roars and shows it’s ready
To catch the sun at Hilo
Rising from the sea.


Written 06/24/13 for Russell Sivey’s
Red Sun Contest....
Remember Pearl Harbor...

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ice bound by solitude
as electricity's comfort sputters in doubt
cold intrudes

from vast blind hours
light's sweet after a week without
power

complete
fine lines reroute
heat

ice bound by solitude
light's sweet after a week without
heat

2/28/21

(the syllable count was verified on howmanysyllables.com)...

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On the table
The candle sputters
Flame flickers
Almost guttering
But does not die

At the table
A heart yearns
Tears form
As hope fades
She cries inside

At the table
A rhetorically thought
He’s not coming
How cruel
She dies inside

At home
Her heart aches
Her spirit breaks
She drains the glass
And she dies...

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Calabash cracks
On the frond chair
Splinters

Black sash, then sparks
Tooth, bone and hair
Whispers

Patter-patter
Footfalls on stone
Midnight

Blood-moon and fog
Shadows haunting
Mist-white

White dress, bare feet
Root, foot… slipped
Whimpers

Neck and wrist slit
Wine of soul, spilled
Sputters

Dawn and duskblade
Spell rites fulfilled
Hunters....

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Amidst the glisten of toys
the confetti of nursery rhymes
play dates and toddler pools...
children prefer a cardboard box
that becomes a boat-
a magic flying machine-
a train
a place to ignite the mind and dream.

In short time the train runs low on steam
the boat is docked to a flock of demands
the magic flying machine sputters 
in a cloud of graying tasks.
Must growing up burn imagination into ash....

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Bitter black coffee and piping hot tea
Sit a-steaming and a-boiling just for me.
The java spits and sputters, and mutters in its wrath;
The yellow shrieks and bellows out of its kettle's mouth.
Spitter sputter, sput spit, whoo whoo whee!
Better bitter black coffee and piping hot tea
When the winter nights are raving
And the snowflakes are a-sailing,
Than ice-cream and candybars
Under a summer night's bright stars....

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I wouldn’t do that if I were you! She says.
Why not?
It’s a sin.

I have to keep my mouth straight.
She has been immersed in sin soup.
She sputters it when she speaks.

Everything is a sin.
Walking on a sidewalk crack is a sin.
Loving a man without being married to it is a sin.

I have to keep my face straight
Remembering that she does not know any better at ninety-five.
Frankly, I think her upbringing is a sin....

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This brutal March wind
that bellows and bullies
tearing through trees, 
and assaulting roofs

as it pounds against 
my window’s glass
and rips away expectations
of long awaited spring

Even as it brings frozen drops 
and sputters of snow
pushing trash cans
scattering life’s remnants

though I am forced to
hide under woolen blankets 
and stir the coals
of hickory logs

I bow to its greatness
and behold the beauty 
of its power...

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He hath become religious of late
prostrated before the virgin Mary
Cornflower blues blown to wild violets
and thin lines puckering in concentration

Prayers spilling in loud sputters from his mouth
She hath listened a time or two
to testimonies led by callused hands
Run lukewarm holy water upon him

Coaxing gentle promises from cold maidens
candlelight vigils by the goose feather altar
Ordered 10 Hail Marys, and 5 Our fathers
and she bled for both of their sins...

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TANKA VERY MUCH

saw a bloody face
up in that leaf-bare old tree
a face      no body
hatchet man at work      must be
loud belch      monster picks his teeth


look at that weird moon
like a pumpkin in the sky
black eyes      nose      and mouth
i laugh at the illusion
a pile of white seeds


halloween      the spooks
i’m sad because it’s over
pumpkin sputters out
racing moon with angry clouds
“moo hah!      who said it’s over?”


Dave Austin...

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The candles light mouses through the dark
Shimmering against random shadows
Of images the night brings to life
Like a dying ember gasping for breath
The flame sputters and smolders into smoke
Lingering up the air disappearing into fear
Blackness haunts the tired mind and weary hearts
Sounds of winter brace cold against the window
Heavy the tired soul falls into slumber
Buried under blankets for warmth survival
Note to self,  electric bill due 2nd week of the month....

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HOPEFUL TRIO

the first hint of spring
cannot be put into words
no special color
it is the song of the wind
softly breezing warmth and hope

hint
of spring
gentle breeze
come from somewhere
stings but warms your cheek
the northern god is tired
labored very hard this year
there is no pity in his voice
sister sun has weakened him with age
he coughs and sputters round the neighborhood

the first hint of spring
subtle change of attitude
breeze instead of wind...

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The sun became a luminescent pearl
softly glowing behind thin gray clouds
in eclipse before crystal tears of snow
piled in drifts on Winter's frozen ground

White quilts cover bare branched trees
Tranquil has become the hush of night
I stare at logs crackling in the fireplace
remembering the things that used to be

A candle wick smothers in hot wax
like the flame in my heart that sputters
Frozen is the love that once was mine
beneath a blanket of snow over my heart...

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Heart flutter hopes
like wind scattered leaves
tangled in dream twigs
By breezy adversity
 
Clinging and clutching to branches of memory
of yesterday's sunshine in torrents today
Glimmers  so golden they flicker so faerie
As dream dazzled  tears yet drip in dismay

Tempering splashes of minor discomfort
Mocking the mind games while three moves ahead
What will it matter when every thing's dead
Ride with the flow living the now
In a present so tense  it's teaching you how...

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