Stutters Poems | Examples

The silence between the words

I love the silence between words, because when I’m talking to her,
every time she stutters, my heartbeat waits for her words to make me alive again.
Every time she looks at me, I think that maybe she’s the one.
Every time I confess my love for her, her silence between the words makes me feel important.

Was she the one, or was I just overthinking?
Those silences between the words could make me impatient,
but when she’s silent, I get to look at her tender face, her mesmerizing eyes.
That’s the time when she’s not trying to fit into the class, or trying to be someone else.
That’s the time she is what I like — she was not like us.

That’s why I loved the silence between the words — because I never got an answer from it.

Astir

Iridescent crow wings
scatter ice particles, patches of air clatter.

Grackle claws engrave the frozen creek,
small owls emerge from blanching shadows,
fieldmice burrow into snow drifts.

A small stir in the flappable; facets
dazzle a dazed daylight.

A newly unearthed sky pauses to blink
life stutters, shimmers back
twice as bright.

I'll Be There

In the beginning, 
there was no evidence he existed
except my breath still stutters
at the phrase weight check.

Dr. Wilson wore red socks,
offered sample packs in a manila envelope,
told me I was pretty and shrinking
in exactly the right way.

Said we’d do a quick exam—
just routine.
Hands under the gown,
thumbs on the outer edges like he was
measuring range or resistance.

He never said breast.
He never said anything.
Just held each one
like it was a question
and waited for me 
not to answer.

I didn’t flinch.
I didn’t leave.
I said thank you.
Took the pills and the compliment
in the same swallow.

At home I bragged
that my jeans fit like an apology.

There’s no evidence he existed
besides my body asking
how many parts it must offer
to earn approval.

Except every man in red socks
makes me want to run—

throw up about something
I’ll pathologize about later,
by myself. 
Even though it began
with his own being 
irresponsible with power.  

There's a day coming
when it won't be like this.

A Requisition For Solutions

Two scales must balance
for unfaulty and accurate evidence,
the relationship between God
and Humankind must stand;
where impetus winds originate,
there must be a justiciable cause
to sustain such a destructible impact
on those cunningly swerving from right.

Solutions need to be wisely thought out
before the next catastrophe occurs unexpectedly,
whoever makes a solemn promise for prosperity
must keep it or be called a person of deceit.  

Who can hold a notorious liar in contempt:
when he smiles and puts on an appearance
different from that of morality, from whence
remorse will emerge for being impudent?

How credible is the trust of a charlatan
when he's in a drunken state and stutters
to convince himself he abstains from lies
and thinks his name is Bobby, not Brian?  

A requisition for solutions spare us many pains
to avoid the pitfalls that entrap the naive one;
cleverness and awareness are never out of line,
they're needed to sharpen our senses for gains.

Staggering

Staggering
That man got a battering,
He brought on war, then started crying.
The weight of it all, still staggering,
Hollow truths, the world defying.

I hate when lies start multiplying,
You see it clear when stutters grow.
Mumbling words, and lips low, fumbling,
A face that cracks beneath the show.

Staggering breaths, their chest expanding,
No escape from all that ranting.
Don’t try to hide, your breath betraying,
One right blow, the pain is planting.

Still Night

"The snow did not even whisper its way to earth, but seemed to salt the night with silence" - Dean Koontz.


Still as the winter’s night, mourning
When will we heed His soft warning?
Snow dreams, believes, sometimes a sign,
This is the still who makes souls shine.

Gentle flakes, silently falling,
At times, winter’s breath comes calling,
Warming hearts and souls, so divine,
This is the still who makes souls shine.

Whispering to the spirit, winds
Risking moments as night rescinds
Wind rebels, and stutters a whine,
This is the still who makes souls shine.

Snow blesses those who love winter,
Wonder afore life’s midwinter,
Song of love, falling on the pine,
This is the still who makes souls shine.

Stutters And Chatters Reverse

Such a harsh gelid sprechgesang
filled with such soprano snowflakes
bitter whistling but so very beautiful
melodies change with the temperature 
emotions fall and form a blizzard 
the wind’s echo is never too sharp
a masque for a glittery wonderland
eyelashes made electric with silver 
backup singers for an icy smile
knives sharpen themselves on the air 
putting an end to the reticence
seasonal recluse finally set free 
that first scent sparks out of control 
swerving all over on black ice 
lips on fire at the thought of danger 
flushed with the breath of condensation 
the stutters and chatters have eased 
wrapped in this quilted blanket 
an unequivocal need to cover up  
Sprechgesang, so hard and gelid

Stardust on Autumn Leaves

pale yellow shards of brittle glass
shatter under my feet
as I stroll along this grey patchwork of concrete
and if the world stutters precarious on its spurious axis,
I pay it no mind
the ice of my pupils melts into inky lashes 
that bleed cold down my face
and in my head,
I conjure a universe where
every contradiction, every illusion you did not believe in this one
becomes a reality 

all around me,
there are people breathing autumn air who know the art of exhaling
their throats don’t choke, and their tongues don’t freeze
at the thought of forgetting the taste
and that is what I remember hope to be

the galaxies and supernovas and black holes in my chest-
I am tired of their weight
it’s too much for a person, and I am just half of one
so I tell myself it’s not selfish 
to fall to frail knees on a faded sidewalk
to double over in searing throes
and give up on starry eyes,
even if it is their memory
that dusts begotten leaves
their golden brown edges crumble into goodbyes
under callous feet

Rip Rap

constant brain feed 
constant feed my brain 
constantly in my brain 
I am in my brain
my brain is continually
going off and on, on
I own brain flutters
I claim brain stutters
my brain is cross-wired
In confusion I am mired



My brain waves experimental mic drop!!

Sound

Acoustic and raw, 
it doesn’t need additives;
Creeping up on you
so very unexpected,
the haunt in haunted rhythm;

Oh ravenous fiend
I can describe you as sound,
Acid on the drums;
Bouncers sit screening the door
not for I.Ds but hunger;

Inky bass line itch,
no words need to be written;
A Demon’s disco,
that sanctimonious scratch
electricity stutters.

Bus Station Beauty

Waiting inside the bus station
I see her there she is a BEAUTY
she is. The wind blows the door
To the station open. Her soft dark
Long Hair flutters she sees me. Her
Magenta lipstick colors Her full
Lips. "Hello." Caught. In the moment.
I wasn't sure which one
Of us spoke first. It was magical
Nonetheless I confess a BRILLIANT 
DAY! This display my APPRECIATION 
for LOVE  aah! Love love love! My
Heart My heart stutters!

A second glass of wine

Some nights I need a second glass of wine
Here we are poised like vultures on a limb
internal yearnings turn thin fog as we dine.

My mouth stutters as it runs ahead of my confusion
proximity to his powerful aura is a chink in my armor
in his shadow my own worth seems an illusion.

His pale eyes can become cold as glacier
pupils shrink like blackbirds chasing a horizon
to restore a mantle of invincibility my sole prayer.

To nourish my soul with expectations is disappointing
I only feel as conspicuous as a fly on a wedding cake
wishing for solace listening to a song is frustrating.

Now I need not a glass but a bottle of wine
with the edges of the room veiled in darkness
struggling to be formidable will be easy and fine.



@jjote030224

Strong Winds Recovering

Twenty-four hours ago,
the wind ran across the lake searching for a place to land.
Some shingles followed, torn from their topless roots.

This morning there is some abuse,
feathers fly on their own,
the mallards are whispering in the huddled reeds,
however, daylight stubbles upright
into a high-rising sky.

The television is predicting clear sight soon.
The radio coughs, and stutters, its talk
flutters from a loose tongue.
Behind closed doors
we gather wool from clouded minds.

Ropes of rain tangle the already tangled,
yet the air is not short of fresh breath,
it recovers
in the untrammeled stems of the living.

Tawny is the hair upon the slim vixen's back,
it is as sleek as ever; she goes to the water,
to sip the last few drops of a homeless storm
long past.

A Bad Poem About Christmas

Xmas is here tonight
At midnight, what a night!
Let's write a bad poem about Christmas
Before the Midnight Mass
As we offer our best wishes to all on the planet
This is it
Santa Claus is sliding in the chimney
Hurray, hurray!
Papa Noël is coming to town to bring gifts
Garlic, olive oil and onion
To everyone
Stop all types of cheats.

Long live Papa Noël
Who hates to dwell
On negative things
Santa Claus stutters and sings
All the time
And he will never nickel and dime
The poor, the crazy and the pelicans
Except the poor Republicans.

Long Live Santa Claus
Regardless
Of our mess
He has been fair to all of us.

If you like this poem
Please wish your friends and neighbors
A very Merry Christmas and many Happy New Years
To come
Oh! Ho
Ho, Ho!
This is a gaffe
For Baby Jesus: laugh and laugh.

Copyright © December 2014, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.

Cartoon Animal Footles

Ratatouille’s Remy

Chef hat
on rat

Mighty Mouse

Small mouse
moves house

Tigger

He knew
the Pooh

Porky Pig

Utters
stutters

Yogi Bear’s Snack

Yogi
Hoagie

Bugs

Funny 
bunny

Miss Piggy

This hog
loves frog

Kermit of Sesame Street

This frog
hates bog

Goofy’s Reformation

Hound fool
found school

Garfield

One fat
sarcast!

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