Best Falling Short Poems
I'll always, forever
be just falling short
hopelessly hopeless
with angry retorts
I'm tired of losing
it's always the same
I'm finished with playing
a bottomless game
I'll never be stronger
or good enough, too
I can't reach expectations
that no one can do
insult me or taunt me
the matter won't change
failure is nearing
and I'm in it's range
I'm broken, I'm empty
no more last resort
winning's impossible
because I'm just falling short
Steam from a passing train funnel
wrapped under and over the footbridge
like regret around a jilted lover.
We were walking home from school
(people walked places, then).
Afternoon sun was glittering
on the maturing wayside grass,
tall and feathery.
Term was ending.
I was leaving primary behind.
The "big school" loomed.
Just then, Tiddler came up.
"Good afternoon, David,"
said my mother. I hadn't known
Tiddler's actual name, ere this.
Tiny, fine-boned, frail,
he was in some way underformed.
Some mysterious brush with something
grown-ups, hushed, named "diphtheria".
"What's that, Tiddler?" ventured I.
His end-of-year school photo.
He proffered it, reluctantly.
My raucous guffaw split the air.
I don't remember handing it back -
just my mother's voice,
softened by sadness.
I'd let her down.
"Do you suppose," she said,
once he was safely out of earshot,
"he wants to look the way he does?"
I was already burning with shame.
"He'll show that picture
to his mother, and she won't see
the defects that you find so funny.
She'll see a little prince."
I watched his skinny legs,
trotting on ahead,
felt acid tears etch my cheeks.
There was more to this being big
than simply being big.
I wanted to hold him in my own arms,
and tell him how handsome he was.
Or even just refer to him as David.
But he trotted on,
his image guarded tightly
under one withered arm.
Needing again to find the
words to convey—where
did the need come from?
Unreliable thoughts that
birth the damnedest
feelings yet lack the
cognizance to see
reality—
it hurts to breathe
when all I can do is
exhale and anticipate
failures—
I'm tired of needing
Meaning.
I'm sick of
Falling Short.
childhood memories
daddy says get the lead out--
pencil tip shatters
emperors run empires
kingdoms are for royalty
religion owned by paedophiles
and numpties run the countries
democracy is a mockery
communists and conning tricks
socialists are emotionalists
and dictators are just total pricks
people need controlling
but never trust control
conspiracies are interesting
what do cover ups up hold
a story just to past the time
yet some commit and pick a side
others say they're out their mind
nit picking their twisted find
belief in God or not a God
always seeks a closure
and then one day just like that
your clucking life is over
a stupid slab stands in the ground
this is where your corpse is found
athletic, thin or somewhat round
once made noise to not a sound
and everything is stuck and spoiled
rotting deep beneath the soil
at least you're not a lobster....
those poor gits get gutting boiled
gutted before their gutted
destined for your hungry gut
you'll see your day disrupted
as they erupt out of your butt
some call it a miracle
the part we play is miniscule
destined as a particle
i think life is fart-cical
It feels like no matter how hard I am trying
I keep falling short of the expectations of others
I'm hurting not helping those I love
And I can't seem to make anyone happy at work.
Life goes by fast and it just isn't possible to
please everyone and I would exhaust myself trying
Doing my best, I am striving to be kind to others
and be the best me I can be.
He should have loved his children
more than himself
He should have shared his dreams
with somebody else
He should have left a trail
that a blind man could find
He should have been more than just
—one of a kind
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)