Best Fatal Flaw Poems
(Inveniam viam)
Far beyond these eerie things, where limits have no scales
Fish are replacing gills, with turbine aerated tails
Sea level’s losing all meaning, for the humpback whales
Ships piggyback them, harpoons syphon wind from their sails
Today I woke up early, lately I’ve let dreams flow
Into an abstract yonder, where visions often go
A wave came over me, up from my downy pillow
When tidal forces passed away, many moons ago
As the ocean waved goodbye, I called for an encore
Behaving like a poultice, the beach drew back old gore
You could’ve bowled me over, sent ripples to my core
Never again I’d sleep soundly, near this bloody shore
After a fretful lie-on, facing truths with each turn
My sundial running on empty, stars can’t always churn
Moribund in dimness, til an old spark can return
Reigniting glory days, (let supernovae burn)
Overhead the vacuum grows, just to make more space
Stretching my dysmorphia, to align with gods face
No one knows for certain, who enhanced his human race
Gave an artful hand, outsmarting evolution’s pace
As life spirals forward, in a world out of control
Entropy dismantles, stripping back our maker’s role
The poet in me keeps goofing, digging deeper holes
He’s a junkie rhymester, overdosing on this soul
So hail all billionaires, who never walk down my street
Flying above fake cripples, with power in their feet
Prodigies of bad and worse, scheming to make ends meet
Leaves an aftertaste of smugness, one that will repeat
As for those big questions, some take a straightforward twist
Two things I thought might go away, stubbornly exist
Not death or taxes, I’m already over that list
Each day I arise, how come lies and bullsh!t persist?
First there was oblivion, til I woke up and saw
Now fully awake, dead ahead looms a fatal flaw
But so long as I can dream, and able to guffaw
It only hurts when I laugh, Don’t you think? vents my jaw
By David Kavanagh
Hms
Fool of Infiniti
A wanton bird pecks at the stars
A Jester peers through crystal bars
This prison of love with rainbow hue
Illusion parts to lets you through
On dragon wings forever free
You quest into your dreams to see
Smoke and mirrors and shadow haze
To guide you through an endless maze
Slow motion tear rolls down her cheek
Its only passion that you seek ?
Engulfed in strange duality.
She wonders her reality
Your eyes still mock her with desire
Your kisses light her inner fire
Your touch can melt her to your will
But you will never take your fill
Black widow spider guards your heart
She spun the web, she keeps it taut
It is your only fatal flaw.
A secret, silent metaphor.
And all about her swirl the dreams
The nightmares all with voiceless screams
And in her hand the strangest key
To fit the door of What Will Be ?
And when her eyes search yours again
You take her to the spider den
You spin the dreams she hopes to see
And lock your hearts in mystery.
So enter in to lick the flame
Eternal prisoner of the game
Illusion is false imagery
She whispers your Infinity
The Queen of Fate
The Queen of Fate by the outer Gate
Her carriage to Nowhere, will await
Her cloak is wrapped against the night
Her eyes are wide with peculiar fright
Gray horses eyes turn back in fear
With thunderclaps upon her ear
Blue jagged lightning points the way
Along the path to yesterday
Cold, sullen driver cracks his whip
His crooked smile curls round his lip
His horses leap the cruel abyss
Dark Queen of Fate sees none amiss
Above the mist a gate appears
Who will wipe the Gate-man's tears ?
Gray horses strike and paw the air
Fate Queen ascends the carriage stair
And all about her swirl the dreams
The nightmares all with voiceless screams
And in her hand a wondrous key
To lock Enigma's Mystery
Pass through the gate O Queen of Fate
Another carriage will await
Drawn by steeds of Promises
Illusion starts and finishes.
The moon had held a wickedness
So unlike many of night I've seen
Embraced in an eerie listessness
While projecting an ominous scene
This night a warriors life was lost
One who unselfishly fought for all
She'd pay no matter what the cost
Her battles she picked, was her call
See it wasn't by beast's razor claw
She was too wise for them you see
Warriors hold at least one fatal flaw
One taking her life setting her free
It was much like an evil deception
One thing she was unprepared for
Like every rule held an exception
This one cut deep to her very core
The downfall of so many it seems
Struck down by the blade of a love
Laying there her blood did stream
Had to rise was all she thought of
High above that love raised his sword
With a swoop drove it deep in her heart
Her eyes stared at the one she adored
He broke her soul, that's the worst part
Her story will live on for the good done
How what a brave soul she held so true
Yet she knew for all the battles she won
Brought her even closer to her final due
Do random thoughts and
scattered conversation
deserve to be a poem?
I think a lot of things
like that as I drive
from work to home.
All day I've tried,
and struggled to
make sense of all
I heard in a futile
attempt to celebrate
the opening signs of Spring.
I sense old Lao Tzu
giggling at my naïve zeal
to impose a form
on random thoughts and
scattered conversations that
don't deserve to be a poem.
I bought flowers for the
secretary the first thing
at work this morn and yet,
I have to think if
the day would be
much different if
I'd marked it not at all.
Good Confucians, we name
the seasons,
Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall.
We note each one's passing
and that may
be our fatal flaw.
We want to feel we have control
of all that we survey.
From Stonehenge to the present
we crave to know the way
the planets continue on
their course, no matter
what we say.
But, if somehow we have a name
we fill ourselves with pride,
so Spring today will appear
at precisely eleven fifty-five.
With that nailed down for this year,
and of course we know the next,
we appear to give good order
to all the random thoughts and
scattered conversations that
fall in the spaces between.
Without these benchmarks
we'd surely live in
Lao Tzu's
formless reality.
Color me blue
Like the vast rolling ocean
I can be most things
Serene and cool, yet, hot!
Like a blue flame!
So slow to anger, calmly
I can battle many wills
Absorb all colors and shades
I Bend and blend
Can mix and mingle
Yet, stand firm on my own
Loyal and faithful
Tried and tested you will find
True blue am I
In all seasons and times
With one fatal flaw...
Impatience!
That is me
~*~
A little dog is a gift from God
Meant only through life to trod
As a companion to solace our mortal
Frailties through love unconditional.
But loyalty exposes its fatal flaw
When devotion's bonds exceed human law
And penalty is death for an unfailing friend
Whose only sin was a duty to defend.
Hers was love of a kind not easily shared
Yet, fate cast her with one as unprepared
As I to provide the healing balm -
And failing - it is she must meet the calm.
My crying brings her to kiss away the tears
I shed on thought of her end. I live with fears
she consoles as if to forgive
What I must do and can never outlive.
On the eve of euthanasia 2011
PS We found a new home before this was necessary.
Long lean limber. sultry, slender,
Pretty pout, neat nails, great grin.
Fatal flaw?
Incredibly clumsy, elbow bumpy,
Tripped twice, shiner. Shucks, chagrin.
Turn the page
history repeats itself
like worn pages upon a shelf
read, used and discarded
author's left brokenhearted
the will to believe, to follow
mirrored faces hollow
from the politicians lips
to child *********** hips
leaders of the new world
educating the little girls
onto the path to success
keys hidden beneath the dress
when will we turn the page
and voice our outrage
or just accept it as law
democracy's fatal flaw.....
Bob Shank-Oct. 8th, 2006
the hell with a vote, grab a rope
Sinister intentions are met with solitude
A ghastly grin greets the grimy windows
And who knows where the words will begin
But we all know they'll end in some awful rhyme
So forced and juvenile we'll be shaking our heads
And clucking our teeth in frustration
At the pretentiousness of it all
And for every tower a writer builds
He feels he'll never fall from his bloated heights
Where he looks down
And sees those far more talented than he
Perhaps this fills him with anger
A seething heat that boils his blood
Or maybe he seeks opportunity in the words of the wise
And begins the ungraceful fall off his perch
Perhaps one is lost in some misguided arrogance
Even as they reject the notion of possessing skill
And there is a fleeting moment before hitting the ground
Where the writer should realize his place
He's nothing more than a mere mortal
And his fatal flaw is believing in his written word
And believing that such an unpracticed poet
Could stand next to the likes of Poe
For he is a walking fallacy
So conceited in his desire to write
That he often abandons the written word
Believing the words will come when they come
And until then his thoughts will languish
As he sucks the fruits of yesterday's labor
He's nothing more than a glorified failure
Who never amounted to anything more
Than a seething high school bleeding heart
With words that followed no form
With stanzas that rejected common sense
With cliche tacked on to cliche
With aspirations of grandeur
He's just the feeding fodder
For those who give him the mercy
Of observing his written word
And giving him a reluctant pat on the back
Even while preparing the guillotine
The truth is that he is a masochist
Sifting through painful verse time and again
Hoping that something will stick
Just hoping he'll find the words
When all too often they reject him
For deep down he is truly ambitious
But he has no dedication to the craft
His pen is a half a stroke away from retirement
That's not how the World Works
67.
I acknowledge your sacred mutterings
And the enthusiasm on which they gnaw.
But your argument seems fallacious
And for me... that be the fatal flaw.
You refuse to make allowances
For differing points of view
And before whittling other voices...
Try walking a mile in their shoes.
But also cease in your prostrations
Shouting at those you would convert.
No one ever won an argument using
Your brand of malevolence and hurt.
Be mindful of what history has to
offer and the times in which we be.
Your contentions may find relevance
And you may yet make bold of me.
Thus my friend...
We could pander to your grievances
Embracing such foibles and quirks,
But as my Mother rightly quipped...
"Honey...
That's not how the world works."
The End
Indulge Me
68.
Cease your endless quibbling
On when life is such to be.
You treat each abrogated fetation
As a death to set you free.
But indulge me for a moment
As I cast a shadow on your life...
You've only earned the golden ticket
By eluding some Doctor's knife.
Now it seems to me good manners
And from this I gently savor... that
Your lives be prized and cherished...
Just please return the favor.
The End
Home invaders
Climbed the fence;
Huffed,
Puffed,
And blew the windows in,
Suddenly, they're inside a mansion.
They came prepared
With large duffel bags.
They grabbed all they could -
A family heirloom,
Jewelry,
Knickknacks, etc.
Then one walks out to the balcony
And a caged parrot locks eyes
With the stranger,
Bows its head, thinking -
"Please, don't take me, too! I don't want to part with Mr. Tyson!"
"Matthew? It's time to go!" a voice calls out
.
"There's a parrot out here, Cam!"
"Nope, you heard Cam! You guys go now. Leave me be!"
thought the parrot.
Cam peeks out to the balcony.
"What do we need a bird for?" he asks.
Shouldn't we take it with us? Parrots talk, right? It could give us up." replies Matthew.
Cam thinks for a moment,
So does the parrot.
"Great, just great! I'm about to be stolen!"
"What about we kill it?" suggests Matthew.
Frantic thoughts: "Oh, hell no! You'll do no such thing, boy! Horrible idea! Cam? Help me?"
"No, we don't need the damn bird. Let's go, now!" Cam says, emphatically
"Whew! Thank God!" thought the parrot, breathing a sigh of relief.
The cat burglars made a clean getaway,
Or so they thought.
They made one fatal flaw.
They should've taken
Mr. Tyson's beautiful talking pet.
The parrot began spilling tea
Upon its owner's return -
"Matthew, we gotta go!"
"There's a parrot out here, Cam!"
"Matt, let's go, now!"
"Damn, I can't find my phone!"
"Back door! Back door! He's pulling in the driveway!"
Personification- Pets Talking Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
06/08/2022
A serpent lies writhing on our divan,
we see now how denial might begin.
Hissing at all who would foil his vile plan,
our fatal flaw is not delving right in.
Climate Change is much more a twisty tact:
coiled thoughts like stone turrets in ivy.
If nations can't accept a real fact -
it's hard to turn this round, from what I see.
Setting science so very far aside,
deft doubters like letting sleeping snakes lie.
Skeptics scurry for a safe space to hide,
afraid to give the truth one honest try.
This then, becomes a crippling contrivance:
ever still stronger, steadfast defiance.
4/24/22 103 Words
Coming
And then again you are alone
The bird is gone, a bird has flown
When you made the fatal slip
Forgot to button up your lip
And other than a fatal flaw
Something that you never saw
Guess you lost your grip
But coming soon another light
Candle burns with her’s alight
Better sharpen up your sight
Pretty as a bird in flight
Another timeless slip
accept her is my right
Don Johnson
The jug spilt water, wetting the table
Now bent, twisted, buckled and warped skew-whiff
By flaw to twist coiled within the fibers
when timber dried, planed, sanded and dressed smooth.
How cruel for the carpenter who toiled
to make the table top lined-up and square
For the owner of the table so proud.
For the child who toppled the jug over.
Fatal flaw hidden within the fibers
coiled, primed and wound, waiting to be unleashed
By an event bound to happen one day.
For nothing here is insusceptible,
in a world ruled by entropy’s decay,
where order is a high energy state
and disorder is equilibrium.
---------------
23 June 2017
Every day is different
no matter what I do.
A multitude of variables
keep me from the true.
A flat tire, a loose wire,
a new friend suddenly appears,
and a favored pen disappears,
an argument over nothing, and
the postman brings you something,
the lawn mower won't start, and,
your child reveals her heart.
Trivial to substantial,
a randomness in all.
What is the deeper
hidden truth that thwarts
the things I do.
To not accept this deeper truth
is my fatal flaw.
The stubborn battle to
impose my truth,
keeps me from the true.