Sputters Poems | Examples

By The Streetlamp

Sponsor: Nette Onclaud 
Title of Contest: Sense Of Taste 
Date: 7/27/2025

By The Street Lamp 

Sputters in the thick of night
setting the pathway ablaze!  
Flavors of foretimes return 
bittersweet as my spirit; 
A street lamp pours out sweetly,  
upon my shoulders of bare. 
Recalling honey-dew words 
I weep, ...bitter tears for you.

March Wind

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

Shaking

I have a cup in my hand. 
Spilling it.
Then I pour some into my hands. 
Laughing. 
So I get more. 
Sipping coffee from my palms. 
Beautiful. 

The journal. 
Pages.
Folded up, turning into paper airplanes. 
A journal is like…
When my car sputters in the winter, 
But it starts up anyway.
Crying. 
It’s cold. 
Pulling out of the driveway, carefully.

I used to carry my flashlight. 
Sweeping the light around. 
These days?
I don’t know where light comes from. 
Just sparkles. 
And reflections in empty trash cans.
I threw away my phone. 
I didn’t think they would actually take it. 
But the garbage truck comes at 6:00 am every morning. 

Earthquakes seem very long.
So I think I imagined it. 
Cowering for three hours. 
Until I get anxious and want a cup of coffee. 
I pour a cup of coffee. 
But the shaking makes me drop it again.

Words

Words: Use the following words in a poem. Pretzels, shout, threshold, pine, now, sulfur, ladybug, percolate, cap and lamp

Let’s give a shout out
to the one who eats hot
salty soft pretzels.

Who holds a pine scented
lamp that sputters and flares
in the darkest night.

While they watch gooey
black tar percolate from
the bowls of the earth.

A cautious ladybug creeps
across the felt cap of
 of the pretzel eater.

Now is the time to swat
the nefarious ladybug
as she steels across their cap.

Smack! The ladybug is
no more as a sudden soft scent
of sulfur permeates the air.

Untitled

dry dirt road-car coughs and sputters

Summer Chugalug

Backyard dandelions
have parachuted upwards,
        on heavenly breezes.

The mower gave them a kick-start,
then they ascended; some to tickle
            ears and noses.

Ride along garden cowboy,
your straw fieldhands hat,
        is full of sunny sweat.

Old black dog
                  long past its time,
jiggles its hairy hind -
a hot tamale wagging the sky.

                        Small town
brown rabbits scoot the air.

Honeybunch arrives with cold beer.

Soon the gas guzzler
will dawdle, decide to die happy,
its clattering engine
between khaki shorts
sputters
upon a stubby green.

Orbiting Sol
dandelion children
                    return
loaded with raindrops
            to wet the whiskers
of a fat tabby cat.

Now where did lumpkins go?

Under the hedgerow
feline gums yawn wide.

The Impotent Poet

sputtering poetry,
   the impotent poet
      tells me, she was
“…puttering around Pittsburg.”

          potent poetry. perhaps,
        alluring alliteration
      potentially portends
   the winch to wind up
this bucket of water.

         diviner twitches, dips,
      dares to deviate
   direct, dilate.

like a mad scientist, moronic
   not to move these ready-made
      sputters into a test tube, shake
         and let them explode!

an avid, alliterative logophile
   holds the power to possess,
to render the procession of
   spoken word into usefulness.

alert to the prowess of moving lips,
   gears cranking creativity and giddiness,
      glad tidings go on and on, when
sputtered with regards to my sister’s trip.

Home Coming

When you left, I felt dark inside my heart,
Now when you will come back, there will be light within my heart.

My heart sputters faster on this anticipation,
My love songs are echoing beyond my imagination,

There is aura of romance everywhere,
I have been waiting to see you forever.

When you left, short distances seemed farthest,
Now even the long distances seem closest,

The farewell goodbye deserted my heart,
The arrival hello will brighten my heart.

In separation, the conversations seemed never ending
After one interlude, next feeling was impatiently waiting,

When you arrive, after greetings, no need to utter a single word,
Just your smile and happy tears will bind us together in this world.

After a long separation, an emotional hug will bring two bodies together,
With hearts beating in unison, we will be so much in love together,

Our world will be one, our dreams will be the same,
We will be one, and our thoughts will be the same.

Couplet poetry contest
5/4/2023
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet

Serenading Andromeda

He's strumming the guitar strings as if they weep,
near a warm campfire on a cold December night.
Sad chords of his song hold many secrets to keep.

Through Ponderosa pines, whistling winds sweep
while a silver moon hovers, lustrous and bright.
He's strumming the guitar strings as if they weep.

Visions of her appear. Each cutting cruelly deep,
memories that should never be brought to light.
Sad chords of his song hold many secrets to keep.

The fire sputters, causing golden flames to leap,
crimson embers and dark ashes rise up in flight.
He's strumming the guitar strings as if they weep.

Over rolling plains, echoing cries of coyotes sweep.
His heart fills with regret and he's gravely contrite.
Sad chords of his song hold many secrets to keep.

Serenading Andromeda, too restless for sleep.
Fingers picking the fret as he sings about his plight,
he's strumming the guitar strings as if they weep.
sad chords of his song hold many secrets to keep.



November 8, 2022-Third-Person Villanelle Contest
Sponsored by L Milton Hankins

Free Standing Invitation

With our verbal tango desire is fanned;
Still I fall shy under a hunter’s eyes, 
knowing what such an intense gaze implies; 
Embracing the chills from such a demand 
this impetuous action was unplanned;
Under the spell of what you harmonize,
my speech sputters alive with butterflies;
Now it’s time to dance I give you my hand;

Finding so soft a soul awakens truth,
rendering you limp in their arms like prey;
I give in to this foreplay of passion 
step by eager step I let you break through; 
Try to steady and all I do is sway,
make it a free standing invitation.

It Is a Sin

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.

Car Trouble

My front end needs alignment and my rear end sags a lot
My vinyl seats get cold in fall; in summer they're too hot
Beneath the seats; old french fries, pennies, napkins, Laura Scudders
My fuel intake is kind of rough, sometimes it coughs and sputters
My lights are growing dimmer and my gas tank's sprung a leak
My steering wheel's bent out of shape; my windshield wipers squeek
My engine's losing power and my tires have lost their tread
My spark plugs all have lost their fire, my radio's gone dead.
My axle's looking fractured, and my frame is rusting through
My paint job's getting faded and my brakes are fading too
My oil is getting grungy, my speedometer flat-lined
My A/C blows warm air and my transmission tends to grind

This car of which I speak is ME (in case you didn't know)
It's running rough, but still it gets me where I need to go
These classic wheels still get around - they just move r e a l l y  s l o w!


written 31 Oct 2021

Passion and the Poet

Without fiery passion, 
there is no poetry – Oh,
there are jingles of sorts!
jingles of naughts – 
Limericks so on, and on 
and on – Rhymes two
three and four, or as many
more; but, for a lyric to
soar, or heavily sink to
depths fond hearts dip
and taste-tally together
explore...there must be
great passion, smothering
smoking, burning passion 
or nothing at all:

passion above, passion below
as well as within – to the core
of earth-center while breaching
sky tall...or the poet's words,
the vehicles of his being
the reasons for his feeling
the scopes of his seeing
without such divine-juice
his soul-output sputters
and stalls – spent projectiles 
from
conforming 
passionless 
balls –

White Noise and What Ifs

I like to drive with the windows down,
White noise,
To drown out how whack the wheels sound.
My mind spits and sputters,
Mouth mumbles,
Words come out jumbled.
I hate the sound of myself,
My voice is too choppy,
Vocals hella noisy.
Audio stimulation, 
Too much,
Overwhelms,
Mixed emotions they are hit and miss.
Less enthusiasm, 
Live more,
Damnit,
Lie less,
Succeed more.
Why do I hate my right to a voice?
My right to speak up against the what ifs.
Walk the path,
Push through the storm,
Overcome the overwhelmed feeling.
Praise me,
I learned to live with and stand up for me.

Love Or Hate Minichu

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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