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Best Grasping At Straws Poems | Poetry

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The Best Grasping At Straws Poems

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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.

Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005

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A Hospital Stay - Part VI


                                                   Miracles and Miseries

The world resolved itself back into focus
As I lay amid the swarm of monitors
Still gulping the sword that brought me breath.

The worst now past
Many small miseries remained,
Chief among them the continuing mystery
Of my flooded, struggling lungs.

Finally I breathe well enough for the sword to be removed,
But the tests go on and on
The birth of each day bearing forth
Its own fresh indignity.

They give up guessing and haul me down again
To be opened anew and read for signs.

On the day this is done
The invisible agents of death outside
Decide to mock their pursuers
By leaving a tarot card at that day's shooting site.

They chose the Death card, of course
Revealing how little those 
Who choose to play God games really know
About the mystical.

Dreaming of omnipotence through dealing death
The unseen assassins miss their own meaning;
For this card signals change, the ending of present things.
They have unwittingly declared their game will soon be over,
Predicting their own demise.

Meanwhile the doctors make their own spread of me
And come up blank again.

     Once more I return to I.C.U.,
     Held together with staples.

     Once more the little agonies ensue:
     The sitting, the turning, the testing.

By night they come for my blood.
By day they come for  tests.
Always, in the background, the quiet moanings
Of we, the damned, condemned to medical Limbo
Roll on with the blind passage of hours and days.

     The English nurse comes, all brightness and bubble
     To heave my fragile self about;
     She's a welcome break in the monotony
     As my sustainers come and go.

Again the busy bedside conferences
And again the final admission
That all their probings have led down blind alleys.

A last-ditch effort is finally proposed:
Direct drainage of the drowning lungs.
To them this seems as a grasping at straws,
But to me it seems the one sensible solution,
And I look forward to it eagerly.
My inner mantra of "This too shall pass"
Is wearing thin.

Like a Christian martyr of old,
They pierce my back with their lance,
And the sea within that is drowning me
Finds its way out.

As the noxious waters within rush out,
Air surges into my grateful lungs.
From this moment, recovery becomes the new reality.

As I recover,
Indiscretion leads to capture 
Of the unseen terrormakers.

To the astonishment of all, 
They prove to be a dignified looking black man
And his enthralled protege' -
No prior convictions, no history of trouble 
Attached to them at all.

This is how our modern Destroyers come calling.
Well dressed, well spoken models of propriety.

Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2013

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Going The Distance

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

Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2017

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The Stream

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
Getting that sinking feeling
Being lifted 
Oh what a ride
Heading to open water
All thoughts become one
Returned to the source

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013

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'Regardless - you are loved'

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…


Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2011

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The Status Quo

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.

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.

Copyright © Robert Ludden | Year Posted 2014

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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
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
A puny twig, swirling on the goliath currents
Of displacement and despair
Swallowed up by cold grey infinity

Copyright © Amy Van de Casteele | Year Posted 2009

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Fantasy Alive

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
			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

Copyright © Avery Won | Year Posted 2016

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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…

Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2011

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The Haggis and the Huntsman

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

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.



Copyright © Andy Craig | Year Posted 2013

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The Art Has Left the Building


At the edge of the world you’ll lose hope
At the edge of a needle you’ll regain consciousness
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

Copyright © Martin Graham | Year Posted 2010

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The Other Donald

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

Copyright © Dino Clarke | Year Posted 2017

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I Wonder

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?

Copyright © Stacy Stiles | Year Posted 2008

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The Reign Must Fall

The tyrants psyche is broken.
He sits in his gilded palace
Surrounded by his trusty band
Of armed thuggish cutthroats, waiting
For the inevitable end.
Outside the palace walls a crowd
Of angry, loathing citizens
Whose long suppressed voices bellow
An immediate regime change;
But like most tyrants of the past
Ego and self-aggrandizement
Deludes clear, rational thinking;
As a result, grasping at straws
Hoping for the impossible.

Copyright © Albert Ahearn | Year Posted 2011

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The Last Movie

There’s no need to talk anymore
I am talked out
There is a silence of tongues
And the drinks hang heavy in the air
Old men on benches
Watch the town die
From the boarded up windows
To the grocery shutdown
The tip jar is lite
And the strippers all left town

I wander down the street
In my medical gown
Fanny blowing in the wind
Grasping at straws
And metal band saws
Till my fingers bleed crazy
They wouldn’t let me out
So I broke free the chains
That made me insane

Headed up downtown 
For a nightcap
But the town was closed up
The gutters full of glass
And needle’s aplenty
I laughed and lunged
Like a fool in the street
But whole damn town was empty

Now it’s been two years
Since I broke out
And nobody seems to miss me
My brother has died
And my Ma took in cleaning
Just to make ends meet
I’m still sitting around in my gown
Waiting for the last movie.

Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2013

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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.

Copyright © Mark Spencer | Year Posted 2011

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Caught In the Headlight

So silly of you to think you had me trapped    
into a corner with your endless arguments,   
an innocent fawn caught in the headlight.       

Hey, don’t tell me things that I already know         
for there’s nothing you say that is really new,      
your posturing can’t hide what little you knew.     

      Caught in your own headlight, oh no!    
      caught in the headlight, yes, you are;   
      admitting defeat just ain’t your style         
      though you are grasping at straws.  

Your insecurity astounds me, you wicked man, 
going nuts that I own what you have not got,       
you are primed for the nearest garbage lot.   
You stick like a leech when you want something   
then switch gear when you feel you have it going, 
I’m through with your music, fair-weather friend.   

You’re crazy to think I can’t make it without you, 
truth to tell, you need me more than I need you,
you don’t really know me that well, or do you?
Get the hell out of my life now, do you hear?        
getting rid of  you now is the least I can do,   
the thought of you makes me boil all over.

Copyright © Wilfredo Derequito | Year Posted 2007

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Santa to Santa

Why did I take this job - playing Santa Claus?
I am so uptight from kids’ thunderous jaws.
"I want this - I want that."  They call me a fraud.
They have yanked at my hat; my beard they have clawed.

As one Santa to another, hear me out
Let me sit on your lap awhile and just spout.
Greed has tricked us all with the goal to defraud.
I’ve thanks for a gift that we all can applaud.

I have lists of my own, my grasping at straws.
But this weekend’s sad news makes me stop to pause
and thank God for the gift of life He supplies.
I wish for patience to see kids with His eyes.

written 12/15/2012

Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2012

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Enlighten Me

Where is wisdom that I may call;
Is it hidden in ignorance, is it there at all?
Is it tangible to fools, or only to scribes?
Who claims wisdom, to point out the wise?
Is it only pseudo; this knowledge of ours?
Are we grasping at straws, reaching for the stars?
Is there an absolute to measure it by,
or is wisdom the ultimate arrogant lie?
Is there someone to enlighten me,
about who we are in the scheme of things?
I need someone to enlighten me;
Is thought confined to human beings?
or is thought a gift of wisdom?
Enlighten me

© L. James Tanner

Copyright © L.James Tanner | Year Posted 2014

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I Stand As Splendid Witness

Wading through all
the long lost years
there's no time left
on my clock for tears.

As I climb this ladder
of my very life
I've come full circle
from love through strife.

Grasping at straws 
I can no longer reach
beyond comprehension 
this life I did breach.

Though I'll admit my
brightest dreams did take root
as life slows to a crawl 
I offer this salute.

My inventory's complete
this conscience is clear
I've made all amend's 
there is nothing to fear.

I've loved and been loved
and cashed in all I owe,
when my time comes
it will be in peace I shall go.

Copyright © Christine Wessels | Year Posted 2007

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Questions Without Answer

Leaves me breathless, back against a wall
Mind grasping at straws, paper in hand
Slide to the floor, time seems to stall
Heart crying I don't understand
Room puddles and spins, I fall
Final heartbeat on demand

Chest heaving as I fight
Crumpled on the cold floor
Ink scratches on white
What this pain is for
Tears blurring sight
I can't take more

Silent cry
Cannot give
Why die

Copyright © Glory Winzer | Year Posted 2015

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The Strawshank Redemption

last time that I went food shopping
I saw something I'd not seen in many years
Flavor- straws for milk....
nostalgia flooded my eyes with tears

I bought the strawberry flavor,
cause that was all they had
I would'a preferred chocolate,
but nevertheless I was quite glad

when I got down to my last one,
(see I love to drink my milk)
I found somehow I'd chucked
the last one in the sink

well no 2 cent straw will I waste
not when it's strawberry I could taste
so I grabbed it for redemption,
guess I grabbed too hard
all I had in my hand,
was the mid shank somewhat marred

goes to show you impulsive acts,
can sometimes go astray
so listen to me children,
hear what I have to say

patience, patience is a virtue
this you know is true
so don't go grasping at straws!
they'll just disappoint you!!!

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

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paradise lost

you piece together
the broken shards
but cut yourself
on the secured heart

quickly it all slips
grasping at straws
not enough time
forgotten fatal flaws

smoke clears away
circus mirror refracts
the image not clear
when you look back

sleight of hand failed
magician bag of tricks
illusion that forsakes
mortality too quick

your destiny fools
thought it was tied down
paradise lost
free falling to the ground

Copyright © Jo Bien | Year Posted 2009

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What am I, what is my role or purpose
does it even exist a connecting between us. 
My stampede of memories to your whimsical thought
the many lessons a life of disappointment taught. 

A bond made nothing holding the seams
but broken spirits and tormented dreams. 
Actions spoken, deceits served full course
I swallow every breath you utter by force. 

Devotion used, abused, neglected that's it
the truth's been clear, ignored, I missed that bit. 
Hopes that lingered, encouraged were coddled
to be dropped, dismissed and bottled. 

Worn out and tired, my soul it cries
grasping at straws my heart it dies. 
Miles at a time my mind it races
confused and driven into clustered spaces. 

I consider the pain the hurt I endure
so why do I still care even more. 
I recognize, I remember the disinterest in me
but it baffles me I still can't see. 

What am I, what is my role or purpose
does it even exist a connecting between us. 
My stampede of memories to your whimsical thought
the many lessons a life of disappointment taught. 

Every time a day a week may pass
the thought of me is a but a glimpse in the past. 
Your friendly greetings continue the persisting lie
it leaves me to wonder WHY.

Copyright © French Simmonds | Year Posted 2018

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grasping at straws

sitting across from each other
at what was once a comfortable table
in what was once a serene atmosphere
two individuals who were once so close
have now been drawn so far apart &
despite the amount of years they’ve been together &
despite all the experiences, the ups & downs,
the rollercoaster ride that was their relationship,
they now have nothing more to say to each other.

worse yet,
the time spent working & toiling away at keeping
each other afloat 
has slowed them down, isolated them &
the friends that they had just a few years ago
have moved on, lost touch, or seemingly vanished---
neither of the parties at the table can remember the last time
that they went out & actually “had fun.”

tensions seem to stir from everywhere now &
backed up frustrations from years ago eat at the both of them,
so much so that they do their best not to be in the dwelling at
the same time anymore---
but without work to keep them busy or the children to occupy them
they pass the time the best that they can
trying to avoid arguments
trying to find some kind of happiness on their own.

this dinner “together” forces the tears &
the getting up from the table to get a tissue 
does nothing to relieve the overall problem---
having grown older, s/he believes that there are no longer 
any options available in this world &
that no matter how long you spend grasping at straws
you always come up empty---
best to just stay quiet.

Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2012