Best Grasping At Straws Poems
Look at me now on a downer
sinking in swamps of confusion,
nothing adds up or seems to make sense
life looks unreal, a nightmare illusion.
Grasping at straws, I am drowning,
reaching for saviours I cannot distinguish,
people use voices I don't understand,
meaningless language, bastardised English.
Shadows come down like black curtains,
suffocate energy, drain motivation;
bury me deep in dysfunction,
swathe me in blankets of sheer desperation.
Yet I must hang on with the insight,
no matter how hopeless it seems,
the shadows will rise with the dawning
when I come to dream better dreams.
Life is so precious and sacred,
though it often is hard to commend,
where there's life there is hope and vice versa,
it is all that we have in the end.
In cold winter air, I tread to the beach
Looking for things that I think I need
A shell of some kind, washed up jellyfish
To the creaky shack, looking for things I missed
I crack open the door and the warmth hits my cheeks
Look back to the ocean, hoping it might speak
And tell me to stop, to not go underneath
But I never listen, I rinse and repeat
Whatever you’re cooking, it smells like a home
I reach out to call, and you pick up the phone
We fall back in bed to the sound of the tone
I open up, you let out a sweet moan
Write me your sweet words, sing me your songs
Tell me where to go and where to belong
I let the tide take me while I’m grasping at straws
I let the shark eat me, I swim right to its jaws
Bite marks and scratches, on what I depend
A cold dish that doesn’t taste sweet like revenge
Washed up to the shore with nothing to defend
I beg for you, darling, to hurt me again
amidst the resistance
we chose to go the distance
heavy hearts out on the playing field of life
one day at a time and you will climb
at times sublime
for that of the blind
put your running shoes on
the race is on...
the pain is real deep inside are heart
don't give the devil a chance
as you take part in the dance
with one glance a stop of pure romance
grasping at straws we sound the alarm
can't we all just get along
its a figure of speech
we have people to reach
many getting caught up in there past
having so much fun with a hope that it will last
you can't do something over and over
expecting different results
it doesn't work that way
bow the knee to pray
the stakes are higher
all dounters are the liars
receive each new day as a blessing
stop all second guessing
learn to practice more of what you are professing
I'm confessing the truth is real & the lie is a lie
this is my one last reply
save your drama for your momma
don't let your mind wander
going the distance & i'll pass every test
The Haggis is an elusive wee beastie
with sweet tasting meat and two hearts
to defeat. To catch one and feast upon is
a well deserved treat.
Even the most skilled
huntsmen are lucky to catch a glimpse, as it
scurries so fast with its two hearts beating
fast.
Oh the Haggis indeed has a quick witted
heed. It evades all known traps leaving the
huntsman grasping at straws and enraged
through his flaws.
Up the mountain side north
peak the wee beastie retreats, to a den in the
clover once more its all over.
It really is a sweet device,
for we invoke it often as ally
or enemy--grasping at straws
to place it in its proper pigeon-hole
and thus to clarify intent.
And history is on its side!
The noble statesman, saint
and businessman have so exalted
one epitome of truth as such
to gently lay it down
among their trophied words,
though sometimes with regrets--
for it is not alone,
though brightly does it shine
upon the shelf.
Tributes are brought; poetic morsels
of another cast may gleam,
but loyalty and all its oaths
are fair advanced and time
has canonized with vaunted due prestige,
traditions of both faith and law.
No.
It doesn't work just how we thought it did.
The status vacillates.
There are too many any more,
who do not think like us.
We thought that they appeared with some surprise
and brought with them a whirlwind.
We tried to catch them for a time, but soon
it was too much. The status quo
was too complex, and slogans didn't cut it.
Now that is something to thank God for--
although it's possible (can you conceive of it)
that He doesn't live there anymore.
~
I'm swept away
Carried in a stream of consciousness
Pulled along connected and opposing thoughts
Concussed by revelations
Pulled beneath the current
To the depths of understanding
Rising to the surface
Churned in heartache
Wrapped in passion
Bouncing off rocks of indecision
Grasping at straws along the shore
Letting go
Overpowered
Getting that sinking feeling
Being lifted
Oh what a ride
Heading to open water
Mixing
All thoughts become one
Stillness
Tranquility
Thankful
Returned to the source
The music played so loud
drowning her thoughts
her tainted face the only
testament of her battle
grasping at straws
just to have something to
hold onto
as the blissful feeling
starts to disappear -
I remember you used to smile
she thought,
what happened to your happiness?
Where did the echo of your laughter run to?
You never used to ponder,
just enveloped every moment
What made you change?
I never saw this coming
that face,
that look,
so distraught
would a hug do the trick?
Or the simple message
that no matter what,
you are loved?
It may not be uttered every day
but remember you are loved
even with a tainted face -
Suddenly the music stopped
and the refrain of
I love you was heard...
she turned around
and smiled
realizing that through all her mistakes
God still loved her…
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A displaced soul drifts lackadaisically on a lukewarm tide
Of drugged confusion
Eyes blind and ears plugged with her own bewildered ramblings
She does not know where she floats
Nor how she came to be there
Her mind is a murky haze
A miasma of amnesia born of overwhelming strife
She comprehends only the primal urgings of
Self preservation
The inebriated machinations of her heart & lungs
As they keep her obediently alive
Keep her coasting
Everything else is a fog
A shifting quicksilver illusion, swirling like clouds
Obscuring love & passion & rage
The islands of emotion she needs to reach
The bedrock of comprehension & crucial human instinct
Cruelly they elude her
And still she drifts
Limp spaghetti fingers grasping at straws
At bottles of cheap wine & the soothing firefly
Glow of cigarettes
Caustic chemicals that inject her with false animation
That spur her through the mists towards some kind of
Clarity
Until the cold dawn-spangled hands of sobriety drag
Her back again
A slap of reality right in the face
And yet again there she is
Drifting
A puny twig, swirling on the goliath currents
Of displacement and despair
Swallowed up by cold grey infinity
What kind of people are we?
Veterans sleeping and begging on the street
Children without enough food to eat
Elders unable to pay for the heat
What kind of people are we?
We build stadiums where heroes play games
Casting big shadows to cover forgotten names
But nothing is done to address the anger and shame
What kind of people are we?
We just disregard all the damage we cause
We worship the grim reaper, denying his flaws
We’re starring in Mouseland, grasping at straws
What kind of people are we?
Someday we will answer, or maybe our children will
For turning away from our friends and relations in need
But rest assured an answer will be demanded
What kind of people are we?
For a brief moment
I felt like you were mine
Everything I had ever dreamt of
Was finally within reach
The sensual feel of your lips
Enveloped in that warm, tender kiss
Wrapped tightly in your arms
Believing that just for one moment
This sensual
passionate
euphoria would last forever
Carefully caressing your face
Holding back an inevitable tear drop
Because I knew it was almost over
This wasn't my life to live
Grasping at straws, wondering if it was worth the leap
But nevertheless, having to say goodbye to you
Broke my fragile heart into a million pieces
Yet I live on with the slightest glimmer of hope
Maybe one day I'll indulge in this ignorant bliss once more
But for now, I carry on with a dream and a memory
For you will always be my endless fantasy
If only I could vote for you, crazy Donald of my youth, after watching tonight’s horror show of possibilities with no truth. Here comes Zero-gun control, no tolerance, no respect for all, for in the future is insanity, sanity put on the run, no reason, no rhyme, more crime. race riots in full swing, is the future Donald brings. Donald to the left of you Donald to the right, spewing crazy is as crazy does, stupid right Forrest Gump? I do not watch much news, bad news day after day it can affect your brain, but I had to see tonight the momentous spectacle that Donald may bring our way. Donald did deliver on his future of crazy, but It sure did not amaze me, an audience full of beautiful Stetson’s and ball caps no disrespect its symbolic of Donald’s mainstream demographic. Donald’s future tag line will be “I love the smell of napalm in the morning” he is clear in his campaign rhetoric he has given America it’s warning, unheeded it will be the world’s darkest morning. I wish America to vote for the other Donald as I would vote for the Donald of my youth, he delivered on comedy, he delivered the truth, that innocence in the face of crazy is part of growing up, I am not sure we expected this real life Donald, crazy Donald Trump. I vote for the other Donald, for he never let me down, he was not real, just a giggle on the cultural American deal. A story foretelling of that day, that Donald of the future will become a real Daffy and will come our way. Truth be damned rhetoric reign supreme, grasping at straws of up holding the American dream, a dream that will drown in the wake of Donald’s dribble, his drool, forever staining the world’s pillow. No sleepless nights while Daffy is in power, pray to god we do not meet our final hour…Poetry by Dean
They’ve gone silent
These voices in my head,
For the first time
I don’t remember what they said
Did their words dry up?
Or did my ears decide to not acknowledge them?
They’ve gone silent
I can hear myself think
Dissimilarity for the first time in years
Nothing is being said…
Drifting along,
Looking at everything around me
Searching for the one thing
That will make sense in
Everything that is senseless
Grasping at straws,
Because they looked promising
Only to find out they were
Empty vessels, noiseless drums
No resonance when you hit on them
Like the voices in my head,
They too have gone silent…
Do you think a person’s past,
defines who they are today?
Or merely small chapters in life,
with choices to portray?
Can irrational behavior be excused,
by a mental diagnosis?
Or should one be accountable.
for a psychological neurosis?
Do people really forgive,
even if the person’s a child abuser?
Or is it one step closer to insanity,
of the manipulative user?
Do we deem ourselves as martyrs,
when we enforce the law?
Can we say beyond a doubt,
our judicial system is without flaw?
Is true love only “true”,
during first stages of the romance?
And after twenty-five years,
will it still be love at first glance?
Can people really change,
or is that something the foolish hope?
Are they sadly grasping at straws,
while at the end of their rope?
Would you still love me,
if my outer appearance was not as so?
Could you hide disgust in your eyes,
and would you let me go?
Is your love “unconditional”;
when I’ve seen you walk away?
How come when I needed you most,
you fled and did not stay?
Did you give enough and realize,
the importance of your life?
Did you praise the Lord and thank Him,
for making me your wife?
If you leave this world tomorrow,
can you say you have no regrets?
Or will your soul be troubled,
casting a cold shadowed silhouette?
Binge
fringe
benefits
At the edge of the world you’ll lose hope
At the edge of a needle you’ll regain consciousness
Supposedly
it’s a gash
a wider know it all grasping at straws that stick to his skin like follicles of dead hair
The art is lost
the lost becomes transient before it even knew it was gone
There he is again
pumping veins and proud
said aloud
We are the most beautifully mistaken creatures allowed to hold pens
Not everyone believes
that anyone achieves
happiness through sadness
vice versa and this and that
Sadness through experience
and life through damages
No one gets happy any other way
until they jump another day
If everything is infinite,
And space goes on and on,
Then why will our reality,
One day, simply be gone?
In an infinite paradigm,
Should finite things exist?
They’re mutually exclusive,
Opposites on that list.
And yet, the laws that we perceive,
Are finite at their core.
For universes come and go,
Like those that came before.
But if eternal laws apply,
How would they manifest?
Would such domains be linear,
As this realm might suggest?
The truth about infinity,
Is simple and succinct.
What has eternal properties,
Is perfectly distinct.
Infinity would have no flaw,
No beginning or end,
Perfection is its building block,
And that truth doesn’t bend.
But our realm is far from perfect,
Within it, all things die.
This does not fit the paradigm,
And we must wonder why.
Our universe will end one day,
All flesh will die as well.
Which means they are not infinite,
A truth that time will tell.
Yet logic says infinity,
Is how it has to be.
For something can’t come from nothing,
A fact I guarantee.
So anything that comes and goes,
Within that endless place,
Is not part of eternity,
And has none of its grace.
Infinity is limitless,
Completely without flaws.
Those who believe that isn’t true,
Have been grasping at straws.
The finite or the infinite,
Which do you think is so?
Are you prepared to bet the farm,
On what you think you know?
The facts lead us to only one
Logical conclusion,
The finite world that we observe,
Is just an illusion.
So why is it that we perceive
Something that isn’t true?
Do we not end the day we die?
That’s what I hear from you.
You are convinced this dream is real,
You trust the things you see.
You think that finite things exist
Within infinity.
But when you trust your senses five,
You cling to delusions.
If you can’t see the infinite,
You only see illusions.