Best Flinging Poems
He told me to be quiet each time I tried to speak
knowing I'd obey for he believed I was meek
Months went by and I acquiesced to his wishes
until I had enough and started flinging dishes
"Shhh," he said and placed a vile finger to his lips
I had enough of him and put my hands on my hips
"You can't tell me who to talk to. I'll not be quiet
If you think I'll stand for this, go ahead and try it."
He thought I was joking. Well wasn't he the fool?
I won't be used by any man. I'm not any man's tool
He's buried in the backyard in an unmarked grave
I bet now he knows I wasn't going to be his slave
Each night I dress in widow's black and take a walk
Mascara running from tears of joy, I give him a talk
I lay a finger against my lips, then I smile and say,
"Shhh, you know it's your fault you had to go away."
Shifting haze, so slowly trailing
Through wood and field, now veiling
Melancholy skies, holding back the tears
With wild geese flying to meet other years.
Flames of crimson torches come flinging
Leaves on knarled branch swinging;
Desolate winds rush leaping
Taking flowers to their final sleeping.
In the groaning of the atmosphere
Unfolding sorrows weep with the fading year;
Fields of cluttered stubble are tangled
With rampant weeds, dew drop spangled.
Flocks of birds leave like flying missiles
Over fields of corn and drying thistles;
Then my dream of autumn fades, paling
Through a grandeur all prevailing
When sunset fires light sky and sea
And sink in the breath of serenity.
Mongrels gyrating on the edge of town
This it now- its going down
The chant electric, the doomsday count
It matters not that no one speaks a word
We knew it was coming, but you havent heard
Just know how I loved you , go fly little bird
A mass of hungry hatred flash of glimmering blades
Blood of the martyrs, murder and Hades
Dance of the hyena, foul flinging dung
Clinging our candles only looking up
Feeble little fingers summoning the Light
A promise in our prayers armless in a fight
This is my cry, tell it to the world
From the podiums and parliaments
Dont believe a word
I love your heathered highlands,
steep cliffs and rugged islands,
hedges and gardens under
rainclouds of grey.
Old steeples rise above
those small rural towns I love;
your hillsides of sunny yellow,
rolled bales of hay.
Pipers will play their part
stirring each Scottish heart
binding together a nation
drenched with pride.
"Scotland the Brave" is ringing,
dancers are highland flinging -
proud Scottish hearts are singing,
joy wells inside.
O, highland games of yore
with racers and tug-of-war,
the cabers are tossed asunder
by mighty men.
I love your farmlands rustic,
mountains and lochs majestic,
as kilts of many tartans
hike through the glen.
Pipers will play their part
stirring each Scottish heart
binding together a nation
drenched with pride.
"Scotland the Brave" is ringing,
dancers are highland flinging -
proud Scottish hearts are singing,
joy wells inside.
Castles with ancient hist'ry,
Celt runes of ancient myst'ry,
we sing an "Auld Lang Syne"
and toast Robbie Burns.
Clans clad in plaid will whistle
fondly of Lion and Thistle,
dressing with tartan kilts
their wee bonnie bairns.
Hands high, your dancers dance -
crossed swords, I'm in a trance,
pipes heard for miles
with that old familiar blare.
St. Andrews' cross - the flag is
don't ask what's in the haggis!
Just eat your shortbread
and be glad you were there.
//These reflect some of my favorite memories from the 6 months I lived in Scotland, in 1990. I miss her dearly and hope I may be able to return some day. These words may be sung to "Scotland the Brave", a beloved anthem of Scottish national pride. You can hear it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KzK2PWVQYX0
The tempo of this recording is much faster than I prefer, but I include it here in case you have never had a chance to hear this wonderful patriotic song. //
Written 24 Mar 2021
Two teddy bears, named
Ted and Fred,
Packed a picnic basket with buns,
And home-made bread,
Keep to the path their mummy said,
So off they went, along the way,
Happy teddy bears were Ted and Fred,
We’re going to the woods’ hurray,
What a lovely, happy first of May,
Was this exciting warm Spring Day.
They swung their basket as they skipped,
They sung and saw fresh berries’
Which they picked,
Poor little Fred his finger pricked,
It’s just a scratch,
Big brother said,
But we must be careful, said Ted,
It’s going to rain, must find
A safe, dry place,
Fred began to cry, tears streaked
Down his face.
The clouds were building up in the sky,
Lightning and thunder way up high,
Each one pulled up their hood.
Brrr………… its getting cold,
Don’t walk so fast Ted, said little Fred,
I’m scared, are we so very lost,
No, Ted replied, but we must find
The path back home at any cost.
Big brother looked helplessly around,
Felt hopeless, for young brother Fred
Who wanted mummy, what if they could not
Find their way back home, what a dread,
That would break their parent's heart,
Shhh ……. Fred, said Ted, lets' find
the path, where did we start'.
Mama and papa bears began to worry,
They put their raincoats on,
And went into the woods, where are my
Baby bears mama cried,
Freddy and Ted.
Papa bear bravely took the lead,
Mama don’t fret said he,
We will find them soon you’ll see.
Both plump and slow,
Papa started to sing, I know,
Singing calms you down, join me.
The little bears heard their parents singing,
Excited, they began flinging
Up their scarves and hats, screaming,
We are over here, we are over here,
They ran into each other’s arms, so glad,
All were so happy, this picnic,
Could have ended sad,
For eventually no picnic was even had.
They all joined hands and sung,
As their voices merrily rung
Through-out the woods.
They got back home papa, Fred and Ted
Watched TV,
Whilst mama bear prepared supper happily,
She read them nursery rhymes in bed,
They fell asleep, she tucked them in,
Sleep well my babies, mama said.
Round and round the rumors go
As rumors often do
And each one adds a juicy bit
Of gossip about you
Reputations crumble down
And evil ones rejoice,
but I am lead to stop and think:
Is there a better choice?
When innuendos fly around
Do you take time to say?
“No need to add to pettiness
Let’s drive these words away?”
For I have learned this simple truth
The ones who must malign
Are sometimes those who suffer most
They’re sullied in the grime
In flinging dirt, you will get hurt
You will get dirty, too
So stop the rumors that go round
Let kindness shine on trough.
Eileen Manassian
Homes so recently abandoned
for Sunday swims and picnics
have become indoor respites
from the restless chill of change.
Secure, still days have vanished,
with hazy meadows humming.
Fireflies have met their end,
replaced with jack-o'-lanterns.
Now forewarning breezes,
stealthy, crisp, and vibrant,
pierce preoccupations,
uncovering reckless impulses.
Now uncanny images,
voices of chance and charm,
bide their ghostly time
to tease mortals hitherto content.
Darts and dashes of circumstance,
figures of flitting moments,
are creatures mysteriously born,
skipping towards certain death.
So what, if the end is approaching;
the witches' brew is bubbling--
the whispers of all moans and laughs,
the collage of dreams and desires.
Now is the ecstasy of flinging
one's fate to the unrefined choir--
the discordant sounds and initiatives
of many spirits and springs.
Grinning gourds and goblins
bless the annual surprise--
this primal burst of forces
that refuse once more to be quenched.
Bold, bright...unmistakable
she dresses in vivid pinks or purples
sometimes splashes of oranges or golds.
Her lavish flashes of flowers shine
and yet...
…brilliant bougainvillea has
her dark secrets.
Devoid of fragrance
this fanfare, flowery mistress
hides her hidden thorns...
…to touch her is
to become entangled
cut to the quick
scraped and bloodied
without warning
though careful one may be.
Beauty prevails over pain
as paper petals flirt and entice
all dressed up in pageantry
a multitude of sins are covered.
Bougainvillea lights up
the heated climate
flinging caution to the wind.
Written on 4/10/2019
Some things I thought would never change -
it would always be "us three",
I try so hard to understand
why that wasn't meant to be.
The smiles, fun, and laughter;
the jokes we'd throw around,
Are now but distant memories
planted in the ground.
Only unlike seeds they do not wait
come spring to sprout anew,
They're trying to hide in the depths of my mind;
this year no flowers grew.
I had thought it would be like a rubber ball
and bounce right back to my grasp,
Yet I never had known that this friendship of ours
was made of fragile glass.
So when it came crashing down that day last month,
I almost didn't care,
For my perfect life had that perfect ball
that wouldn't need repair.
But the glass it cracked so harshly,
flinging pieces once so strong,
Could these sharp and hurtful shards
have been here all along?
I'm trying not to blame you,
but blame you I just might,
My pride is stubbornly in the way;
if I'm wrong I still am right.
For fairness we'll say we were both at fault,
clearly misunderstood,
And it could've ended there with a sorry that said
"I tried the best I could".
But the hurt took residence within you
until it overcame your heart
As the best friends since first grade
began to drift apart
I tried! I visited!
I texted! I called!
Only to receive unfriendly coldness
in the face of it all.
Not once did I text back a rude response
though I, too, ached with hurt
I forced on fake friendliness
while your remained curt.
Why didn't you inquire
about things on my end?
One who takes, but not gives,
do you call that a true friend?
Now instead of "us three",
I'm left with "us two"
But what's sadder than that
Is that you're left with...you.
You got lost there, in the place that whispered
"all is being lost",
But avoiding me just didn't work-
our paths were bound to cross.
So as we try our best to reconnect;
change craziness to sane,
I just want to say I'm sorry
for all the hurt and pain.
So the smile now, it's real today-
I'm not angry or upset,
But no glue in the world can fix up this crack
for I simply cannot forget.
We seine them up
like dust
in pollen-stained hands,
briefly weight them,
balancing them in minds,
determining worth,
profundity.
And like those before,
we toss them absently
into wind—
winnowing maple seeds—
whirling them from us—
as we shape lives,
change destinies.
Now,
they seem to flit
to nothingness,
like us—
pale night insects
pestering
opal moons,
infestations of night
thickly settling
on the liquid glass
of our tongues.
Zany and free spirited, Mr. Bungo is a one man show
Yodeling any song you like, doing the "old soft shoe"
Xenial to one and all, he can always charm the crowd
Wild and crazy is he, in a world of his own fantasy
Verily, a man of many talents, with his skits and tricks
Under a bright red canopy, he performs amazing feats
Tickling our fancy with imaginative tales of wonder
Somersaulting through hoops, landing on heaps of feathers
Rides around the ring on a wild, high strung ostrich
Quickly, Mr. Bungo jumps up onto tall stilts and
Parades through the crowd, while playing a kazoo
Odd and quirky, his clothes are colorful, bright and loud
No telling what Mr. Bungo might say or do next, he can
Mimic voices, impersonating a host of sounds and noises
Laughing, he loves to hear the audience roar and cheer
Kind, he tries to hide it, but has a soft spot for little kids
Just watch his face beam as he gives them animal balloons
I can spot tears forming behind his sad, blue eyes
He has a soft heart, but doesn't want to show it, so he
Grabs his tall, silly hat, and springs back into action
Flinging himself into a rocket contraption, we watch
Eager to see what Mr. Bungo will do next, now sparks blast
Daring and brave, he rockets up into the air so high
Careful, Mr. Bungo, we don't want you to crash and die!
Barely, he escapes a tragic collision, he finally lands
And then Mr. Bungo bows, leaps up and does a hand stand.
A newborn’s toes wiggle like candy pink
Curled by rose petals, more fresh than morn’s scent
Flinging those buds, I trace her blossoms.
Pastel from the wink of sunlight’s blossoms
She chuckles as tiny feet gush in pink,
While the hammock billows a fruity scent.
In quick of naps,ten toes waft talcum scent
Till chuckles burst forth from jiggling blossoms,
My grandchild, my rose; graced by daytime's pink.
Lovely pink charmer wakes scent of blossoms!
For Kelly Deschler's Simply Beautiful #2
Beneath a shroud in mystery
was built a monument sublime,
where flowed a river endlessly,
her flow kissed the periphery,
ignored the grasp of time.
So great the span of her intent
she circled mound and battlement,
where roses sprang in every glorious hue,
and other vibrant flowers showed their worth,
as ancient trees spired mightily in view,
and full proclaimed the grandeur of the earth.
Behold the caves where lovers kept their tryst,
close hidden where the mountain swooped and shaded,
well guarded by the shadows and the mist,
a devil's place where dissidents and traitors kissed
in heated passion, and their love degraded.
Within the gloom a roiling and a bursting,
a waterspout came thrusting, thunder blasting,
and spat huge molten rocks like tiny pebbles,
the torrent coursing down, not merely dribbles,
the raging maelstrom flinging high and over,
revealed beneath the streaming sacred river.
She ran through dale and covert full continuous,
a journey never ending, until she reached the sea.
And then was heard a cry, a call to arms,
that neither bliss nor solitude becalms.
Yet music from the edifice and caves
o'ercame the sound of warring and of strife,
reverberations and the crashing of the waves
a mighty symphony in tune with all of life.
the sun-bleached monument regaled in gold,
the savage caves, calamitous and cold.
A dream of perfect grace I once beheld,
a lady with a voice as clear as spring,
a vision of my destiny
she sang of sweet eternity,
such joyful notes didst bring!
Would that I might recover
the beauty of her song,
the passion of a secret lover,
I might labor hard and long
to recreate this sacrament,
its sunny climes, its frozen spa,
a two-edged sword its testament,
a blessing and a curse both spent,
to dwell within that twin entombment,
a two-tongued threat beneath Abora.
For whosoever breaks these grounds,
and recreates conflicting sounds,
has tasted direst dark and Shangri-la!
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing
Warm weather portends the returning of spring
The bees have set about their pollen bringing.
Hopeful, bright spring days with excitement tingling
Cause our voices to shout out and lustily sing,
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing
While with glee my life’s breath is mingling
So happy I feel like life is gaudy glitter and bling
The bees have set about their pollen bringing.
Spring to me reminds of Barnum and Ringling
The colorful memories of childhood bring
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing.
I can reminisce about the high school flinging
The loss of my first love that brought a sting,
The bees have set about their pollen bringing.
The season of spring brings to me self-healing
More than anything else, a welcoming thing,
The bees have set about their pollen bringing
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
edited April 7, 2022
written January 21, 2022
for "Springtime Villanelle" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Sotto Poet
It's spring. Cares we're flinging,
and the birds are winging;
their birdlings are singing
growing fatter!
Love doves now are cooing.
So what could be brewing?
Romance is ensuing.
That's the matter!
All the world is playing.
Some for rain are praying.
Rainfall answers, saying
Pitter-patter.
With my worries fleeing,
it is all so freeing.
Crazy I'll be being -
a mad hatter!
Yes, the world is brighter.
Burdens now seem lighter.
Things could not be righter.
I am gladder.
April 14, 2018 for Mick Talbot's Violette Contest