Best Flailing Poems
This Medusa had no power to turn us into stone
but when she ran aground over Poseidon's throne
his anger stirred, and into the sea the crew was flung.
On a raft urgently built of salvaged timbers we clung.
A hundred and more escaped before the frigate sunk
and after four days adrift, our number had shrunk.
With naught but salted sea to sate our massive thirst
I vowed not to give in. I swore I'd not be the first
to yield to temptation and drink myself to death
though feverish from the intensity of the sun's breath.
On the eighth day, hunger turned men into savages,
feasting on flesh in a moment of rapacious ravages.
Bloated bodies bobbled like apples off Africa's coast.
I contemplated my fate to become what I dreaded most-
being tossed off the raft, into a shark's clamping jaws.
To survive, no one had agreed to abide by man's laws.
I'll not forget the look of fear in the eyes of others,
sailors who once proudly called themselves 'brothers.'
Each of us clutched and clawed for an inch of the raft.
The feeble ones cackled as though they'd gone daft.
Arms and legs entangled among the living and dead,
as an alabaster corpse pillowed a sun-blistered head.
The demented swam away, flailing arms in roiling waves
until they perished in the depths of their turbid graves.
Alas the day, two weeks in, a ship sighted on the horizon.
Fifteen survivors with charred skin, lean and wizened
rescued from death's grip in a morbid human experience.
Men who'd given up on hoping for a timely deliverance,
their bodies emaciated, and their clothing, threadbare,
destined to relive the catastrophe in gruesome nightmare.
August 4th 2022
2022 Marathon mile 11 Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
NOTE: In June 1816, the French frigate Medusa, ran aground off the coast of Senegal. Because of a shortage of lifeboats, some 150 survivors embarked on a raft and were decimated by starvation during a 13-day ordeal, which descended into murder and cannibalism. Only a handful remained when they were rescued at sea.
Narrow Margin 2-12-24 This or That Vol. 23 Poetry Contest - Edward Ibeh
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Narrow Margin
Between finite and eternity
A thin sharp wire divides,
Footsteps that often stumble,
Arms flailing,
Grasp for balance in pockets of sparse air
Staggering in storms, battered by choice,
Between the lines of saint and sinner,
Wild things or all the power of forgiveness,
Time challenged and eternal.
Between dances lightly on the razor’s maxims
In teetering seconds born in “or”
The narrow space between mayhem and peace
Superstition and shoulders of faith
Waking in the whisper between ebony shadows
And resplendent shouts of advent -
Margins between ambivalence’ bruised flesh
Or wide balms of equilibrium
Between fragile borders of mortality and spirit.
High tide
sadness billows
swells over me in waves
massive, silent, overwhelming
melancholy ocean engulfing me
flailing, drowning in emotion
or maybe I'm being
too dramatic
only-
It feels
that dramatic-
my universe slightly
out of orbit or alignment
something strangely out-of-kilter causing
all things to be thrown off their course
too much wind and pressure
in atmosphere
storms surge
Drifting
on swift currents
rudderless, out to sea
swept toward an isolated
island, far removed from humanity
pulling me farther and farther
from the reality
of what could be
wind-tossed
Landing
on shore, lonesome
building small raft of hope
shoving off at nightfall, to sleep
buoyantly, trusting by morning I'll be
somewhere else- maybe better or
not, but different than
here- can't be worse
I think...
This battle brews inside me
The pain I feel in my heart ripping it apart
And my soul who wants to be redeemed
The movement of my pen beats in my chest
In my veins my words flow like the rage of rivers in storm
I’m caught in these lyrics that Awaken my soul
That cry out for eternity
Yet my heart is trodden
at times I swear it is not beating
Our hearts rose up like kindred knights ready to defend our land
but the soul was fulfilling its destiny
it would not be beaten, no matter…
it had awakened to truth
but our hearts knew only torment
and could not understand
all that was happening,
that God had a plan
so my pain exposes itself
in my thoughts manifesting to script
as it beats in my chest with a rhythmic pulse
that brings me to my knees
We had no time to prepare
Only to fight
Flailing around Hope
With all of our might
as if it were the weapon that would save us from our enemy
for that’s all we had was our sword of Hope
This battle we were not prepared for.
Like a sneak attack, it caught us in slumber
when the army of death ascended upon our world
my heart said I love you
you are my universe and life has no meaning without you
I will fight till my shallow breath abates
Till your soul takes the last blow...
And I did!
We Did!
We did not surrender
We had no chance
Our hearts fought a losing battle
My awakened soul shouts out with acceptance…
“you will one day know the reason, but not now”
For this is your time to experience
what was lovingly bestowed upon you from our God,
who knows what we need
So now I write from my pain… It helps me to cope…
It is the sword I carry…
My only Hope
You say you love me but you’re not
You say you’re going to fight and give it all you got
You say you find it hard to breathe
You say you’re mad at me but I’m the one who seethes
You say you love me but you’re not (in love with me)
~ Tears falling, relationship flailing, love failing… ~
You say you need a place to stay
You say you’re asking me to find another way
You say you thought about the debt
You say you’re leaving but it hasn’t happened yet
You say you need a place to stay
~ The time, the hurt, the pain, the drain… ~
You say you overcame the jones
You say you’ve analyzed it to the bare bones
You say you finally found the cure
You say you’re righteous, clean, happy and secure
You say you overcame the jones
~ Familiar lies, thin disguise, love’s demise … ~
You say you love me but you’re not
You say you’re going to fight and give it all you got
You say you find it hard to breathe
You say you’re mad at me but I’m the one who seethes
You say you love me but you’re not (in love with me)
~ Tears fall, relationship flails, love fails…
Familiar lies, thin disguise, love’s demise …
This time, this hurt, this pain, this drain…
Time runs out… no more to gain. ~
***
October 29, 2019
F T I series 12 heartbreak
Brian Strand, sponsor
(after the painting by Vincent Van Gogh)
Does she even exist? Doubting her own reality,
seeing herself vanishing in undulating undergrowth,
fading and merging into summer-scorched scenery.
But cold lurks there beneath shafts of sunlight, the phallic trees...
He wears the night underneath, a fabric of dark and unease,
his hand heavy upon her arm, silver-tongued charm
smooth as the silver-limbed leafless trees,
disappearing, now, on a twisting breeze...
Sinuous stems suffocate, writhing and thrashing;
convulsions of shuddering green and yellow.
Enticed ever deeper into flailing flowers,
evanescing into foam of frothing flora...
Did she ever truly exist? It's doubtful.
The flower-frail faceless and nameless
will always be lured and laid, invisible,
dissolving, under bare, phallic trees.
Oh, the stress-free, carefree world of children
O' take me back to the lil kids' playpen
When we tried on mom's cosmetics and lipsticks
and built playhouses with plastic blocks and bricks
And had fun with cooking set picnics
Anything could be a toy
and our racket could annoy
We turned everything into play things
We played pretend queens and kings
We then played 'mom and dad'
Oh the squealing fun we had!
Teasing, chasing hens and kittens
climbing the grumpy neighbour's fence.
There was paper airplanes
and frisking in the rains
Paper boats too were made
and hide'n'seek was played
And when that wasn't enough
we played blind man's bluff.
We nimbly climbed the trees
hair flailing in the breeze
But our child's play naturally mimicked the grownups
Lil plastic ones instead of real porcelain cups.
Life was all play and games
in our growing mental frames.
Sand castles and kites
childish fights and frights!
And kind parents just let them frisk and play
for all work and no play makes one a dull boy
This is a woman
Heartbroken, torn up from all sides
Yet willing to conquer
This is a girl
Trapped in a web, gasping
Spun fierce by her very two hands
This is a lady
Afraid to blossom, to bloom
Ravished by that which she lived
This is a vixen
Driven by fervid passion
Albeit moving in the wrong direction
She is the girl
Intrigued by that which she can not fathom
Mesmerized even as she's ever flailing
She is the woman
Fighting a battle already won
Pleading the truce full of impotence
There goes the vixen
A voyeur to her own existence
Craving the fulfillment of its glittering facade
Here comes the lady
In her world of coyness
Reaching into the depth of its greatness
Here she comes; in you, in me
Entwined in an ever growing circle
Connected by that which makes us who we are
Seeking out that niche, striving to unravel
And in the midst of the chaos, forever observing
I am the girl, the woman, the lady and the vixen
And I for one would like to sleep
but I cannot, because I weep
for lives and dreams and nations lost
We never thought to count the cost
So many are the pirouettes
of running, flailing silhouettes
as flames behind them flicker high
to set aglow the night time sky
Becoming so habitual
this savage urban ritual
of settling some phantom score
by pillaging a local store
is just a New World Order nod
like summoning some pagan god
These worshipers show ignorance
while sacrificing common sense
And mass hysteria abounds
while cultish television clowns
erroneous, declarative,
perpetuate their narrative
That theirs is right and yours is wrong
so you had better come along
and join the other little sheep
Oh how I wish that I could sleep!
Alas my mind shall never rest
My soul, this world does daily test
Let my last option be my first
In God's sure hand I'll be not cursed
My money doesn't mean a thing
Possessions make not my heart sing
But steadiness in spirit form
shall guide me safely through the storm
And though the world be set ablaze
as we come to the end of days
I pray that you and I shall be
together in eternity
© Mike Wise
5-30-20
Black Powder Dreams
Vast o’ the seas carry forth desperations
Lives cast aside in the faces of war
Rotted wood planks, salted skin aspirations
Wind tattered sails bound of endless explore
Black powder dreams aft the end quarter season
Cannons at wait, closer still to the bow
Manned by the weak, none in need of a reason
Chilled to the bone, never wondering how
Darkened the depths beckon angry waves crashing
Bound to the rail by a pitch and a shove
Visions of loves and the homeland a’ flashing
Prayers slowly drowned before floating above
Scar rippled flesh, leathered treachery flailing
Shrieks in the night causing laughter below
Tethered by fear o’er the desolate wailing
Shadows await harbors safe to bestow
Compass point dangers adrift in the distance
Forced to push on to the end of the fall
Death shrouds belief in a fractured resistance
Down on their knees longing nothing at all
Endless the journey for pittance bled wages
Deaf to the thoughts found alone in the screams
Forever lost in the unopened pages
At the expense of their black powder dreams
11/7/18
Written for the: Black Powder Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
~~~
My old homeplace was left to deteriorate
A shambles of disarray showing it’s elderly state
Porch and door gray and weary from the years
Of wind and storm flailing their bitter beams
Ferns grow haphazardly along the garden edge
Whispers of disrepair shadowing the staircase
Making everything appear dismal and worn
Humbled house that was once my lovely home
Vines cling to the roof and I see a rosette smiling
Softly forming the illusion of charm along the gray
Dingy boards that were once painted with a joy
That filled up the site with pretty pictures of hope
Melancholy broods as I peep through a window
Losing my composure amid the apathy of chaos
That was once my dream come true, my heart
Singing songs of inspiration that has changed to
Verses of disorder and dismay due to the decay
Of this once happy place where I was raised
~~~
Decaying House Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
July 14, 2020
Wedding Night in Raqqa
Cyclonic violet vision
Etheral and immortal
She swirls her sand baked torso.
Evoking the initial collision of primordial seed,
Swathed in gossamer purple veils,
Writhing to the stomping and clapping
Of jeweled ankles
And henna stained hands.
The tribes have united for my wedding to their son.
I ,foreign and naive, swoon to the power
Of ancient rhythm and verse,
Ripe, fertile gestures,
Pregnant with throbbing pulses
And scattered beats of flailing arms,
Bleating tongues, spinning robes.
A cacophony of incessant chant rose from the dancing women,
Growing louder, feverish in their pleasure
And the nearness of release.
I join in the dancing.
They swath me in voiles and lead me to the center
I dance, and I succumb to my wedding night in Raqqa.
Solitary on my raft
Drifting peacefully away from the anguish towards sanctuary
The land becomes distant and harder to see.
Hurt subsides gradually and security softens my body
as the expanse of the ocean beckons me towards freedom
Languidly floating. Barely noticing.
Daydreaming of a burdenless future.
Harbingers unnoticed
Winds pick up
A swell begins
Almost imperceptible at first
Rocking, sickening
Intensity builds
More ominous, threatening
Thrashing, disorienting
Caught in the curl
Lungs constrict
I cannot breathe or call for help
There is no help anyway
Flailing wildly, finally grasping a piece of my shattered vessel
Bobbing to the surface, I can gasp for air
But start to drown in my own soul instead as the pain returns
My limp form is tossed by the final crash of the wave
It draws away
I land on the beach where I started
Abandoned and spent on the sand
I pick myself up and search for wood to build another raft.
you ...
redeemed me
from the belly of a star
ripped me ragged from a
hydrogen-helium core
spinning, divergent, toward sentience
from solitude ... howling
I did not ask for that existence
the blasted, bloody boon of banality
but it was mine, nonetheless
(now ... madness)
we merged -
a flailing vortex of cosmic clusters in entropy
prolific and sensually insane
indelibly charged in
our dynamism
transformed in a maelstrom
of wild wonder and molten mania
a cacophony of
carnal chaos and hunger
fused, like the heavy elements
we are radiated gravitons ...
the light-devouring
attraction of black oblivion
the imbalance of ions at constant -
a non-baryonic notionality
vagrant, erratic neutrinos unbound
we are ...
dark matter …
us.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Best Free Verse From November 2018" Poetry Contest, Lu Loo, Judge & Sponsor.
A cloudless day, should have been warm but the frigid southern roaring 40’s cut like flailing daggers into the skin, leaving bones and joints to succumb to the maddening icy grip of winter’s callous fists. Even the Curlew, who, usually undaunted by such torrid tempest, seek shelter among the rocks and crevices that dot the sea, battered coastal fringe.
The boy was lost….
Melaleuca trees stand century, like gnarled soldiers gathered around the fallen, giving full acquiescence to the polar blasts that bend and twist them further still. Their wispy fingers reaching down to engulf the child with grasping hands, beckoning further into their forest lair. The only sounds that can be heard is the deafening roar of tree and wind as they battle in the canopies above.
Panic fueled anxiety long ago gave way to terror, since replaced by resignation as night enclosed the restless child, who battles the lure of sleep against fear. For in his mind he believes that in this foreboding place, creatures beyond the realm of humanity will visit unspeakable harm upon his being. Their prying eyes ever present awaiting the moment he slips into unconscious sleep to exact their egregious deeds.
When dawn arrives the child awakes to the gentle touch of sunshine’s warmth. Like God himself has stroked his face and chased the demons from his thoughts. His weary eyelids flick open like snow pea slits as he adjusts his sunken, fretful eyes. A smiling face before him bends and before realisation takes hold in his mind the words escape his cracked and tortured lips. “Daddy”.