Flailing Poems | Examples

wrecks

the wrecks
of motor crashes,
limbs flailing
and red hailing
Its art red here,
we are in fear
of the chaotic
of we'll be dying
without injury,
I hope its your
simple heart
and not the
pumping
of adrenaline....
I always
as this child
held my breathe
and it scared me...
I hate to think
I understood
scorpions
and the
new
beginning
of their sting,
it torments me
in such fear
every night-mare,
since I had seen it......
A bug let loose
against its cool,
and it was never
a pretty sight......
there's one point,
we'll be back as one,
we can't escape em,.
and I torment & hate,
their hat tricks
ruining rest of me
in a pile of sludge
It goes back to
high school wedges
and popular laughter.....
Evil  always the names
and yet popular on twitter......
singing cursed on here
I am your opportunity
and your disease.
You don't remember me....

Helpless

      a ladybug flailing away on her back
        a lad gets a whipping in a shack

     each helpless in his own way…
        to whom and for what do they pray

Always Forgive Your Enemies

To arms! Many arms were waving, wildly flailing in the air
Incensed as if there'd been bowling pins missed for a spare
Screaming and ranting about things that didn't seem fair
Oh puhlease! As if it matters or as if anyone gives a care

If the truth were to be told, then everyone should confess
and state unequivocally that they couldn't give a fig less
Nothing written or done should be the cause of distress
when so many things in La La Land are already such a mess

"Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much,"
words of Oscar Wilde, is he suggesting using a gentle touch?
No, just an offering to those who require the use of a crutch
the feathered friends who flock together, flying in their clutch

The high tides of bitterness continue to crash upon the shore
With a forgiving nature and long ago, I stopped keeping score
That should've stifled the animosity, but there's always more
Their wrongs aren't worth a fight to make them right...candor

Rage

The seething waters took them.
I rage,
rage against the deluge,
an unmoored,
unrestrained rage.

I rage for the innocents,
a rage that drowns all else
except more broiling,
more roiling waves of rage,
an anger that unstrings
the harps of angels.

Rage I now, at the blind horror
of godforsaken moments
that snatch all away
as suddenly as a surging,
untethered,
Texas tsunami.

I rage against
the ever-deceitful aspirations
of peace and calm,
rage utterly
against all heaven-sent calamities,

rage most,
upon
this violent earthbound dream
we have plunged into,
it is a raging river
that will sweep us all away,

even little girls,
all those struggling to still swim
above such raging torrents
only to slip through flailing hands
as hope sinks below
yet more tumultuous waters,

waters which
it has been written,
that Jesus himself
once walked upon.

A day at the Zoo

I called to the monkey who wore a pinstriped suit,
Found out the giraffe and hippo are mute.
Saw a man stare at a lemur 'til dark,
Like he was waiting for some kind of spark.

The leaves fell from trees, an impressive display,
So I waved my arms like I made it that way.
A woman made comment to me, "Don’t be silly,"
As a flamingo tapped by, all dressed up and frilly.

Sun-bear, lions, and kangaroo too,
A gorilla looked like he had nothing to do.
Sunning themselves, no care in the world,
While a shoebill gave my head quite the whirl.

A man with some popcorn meant for a snack,
Tossed some to pigeons—who launched an attack!
He zigzagged away, arms flailing in dread,
Yelling, “They pooped on my head!” as he fled.

A grandma danced by the penguin parade,
Imitating the shuffle those little ones made.
They watched for a moment, then gave her a glance,
And waddled behind her to join in the dance.

I stretched with a yawn, gave one last glance,
At flamingos mid-strut and a penguin dance.
With a heart full of wonder and shoes full of dirt,
I left the zoo grinning, my cheeks kinda hurt

Grace Knurls Decrepit Gnarls

Grace can't grind away the wrinkled gnarls time obeyed,
Nor hide the snarls, ploughed as furrows in the brow.
It carves the knurls for grip that age has disobeyed,
To a shape what decrepit, flailing lovers can still avow.

Grace respects the knurled design that time has hewn,
That's not a flaw, nor fault, but a form that time engraves.
With old branches twisted, scarred, gone too far to prune,
Grace hugs the bumps and twists that life well-spent saves.

It's the gnarls of age that knurls the grip to rage
Against the blight of the coming of the night,
Despite the cranky snarls that ring on anvil swage,
As loved ones bare the brunt of frail days plight.

So let the gnarls knurl the grooves to grip tight.
To fight and rage against the fading of the light.

FIRE

River makes its final clunk
Between
Hills
Rolling boulders like turtle shells
Empty of their mouths and hearts

River bent
Flailing legs and neck
No longer reflects
The sun and moon
From water’s absence down its back.

Turns her terrible brittle head
From me
Teeth gnashing on the spools of willow

To her memory
When mud was forest
Footsteps
Croaking with frogs and dazzled with dragonflies
Ringed in a halo of cold fog.

We are dying
Together
Not angels nor even demons

But conquering visitors from a desert
Who brought nothing but the leech of desert
With us
Covering the entire Earth with insatiable thirst
And hunger

Kings and Queens for a day
Destroyers
Of those ceremony drums
Of gods and plants animals and language

When we lived as One
Gift
Strummed through the harp of gratitude.

Now, I seek a forgiving signal
From perhaps a divine wave
Coming from the dying Mother

This way
You poor skinless fool

The fire shall burn behind you
The entire Earth and its people
Which is all the things that flutter

Crawl walk and sing

"An empty bowl
With a spoon beside you."

Tangled

There’s something horrible about the tangles. 
Like- everyone can eat the curly strands. 
But no one knows what it costs. 
When I had more than two eyes. 
And the laundry got put away every day. 
I could still laugh like that. 
The face tangles up when you squint. 
A burning, quick idea. 
When you eat more than one burger in a day. 
And the deadly mustard takes you. 
Face tangles. 
Eyes, and ears, and who else is here?
He looked at me as if there was nothing. 
Curly, destructive, wailing facial features. 
And the ocean. 
Pulled me away again. 
There’s something horrible about the tangles. 
Flailing arms and waiting on the coast line. 
There’s nothing like having eyes. 
Which get scribbled on every time.

Daddy

My best friend saw me born.
Coronation of blood,
Tearing through his long beloved.
Floppy neck and flailing limbs,
Protesting my own birth.
Constricting cord,
A life noose, murderous 
Cut from me free, my airways clean. 
Chest to dead-weight chest,
He forgave my assault,
That which he had sown.

Plasma glow to glass-blind eyes,
Milk not frothed, elixir to survive,
Feed the baby lump with plastic breast,
Far from she who bore her,
Her mother seeking rest. 

Years ago, from floppy she came 
To floppy she now goes,
Noose of life returned,
Retreat back into black.
Daddy, you were my best friend.
Suspend me—
Rising to Your Presence,
Falling to air,
Like when you carried me,
When the ground was miles away.
Here I am in air again,
Daddy my friend, 
From floppy I came, to floppy I go.

Surf Usurped

Hitchhiking by blurred station generic
Gypsy Flora slips anonymous, gravel
Grinds her heart of garbage, barbaric
Buried skeleton stirred, further travel 
Ticket to Keep It Secret

Scarred in fish guts grubby, harbour 
Heaves its putrid out to sea, amnesia 
Avails an arbour over bleak macabre 
Mutineer hurled ragdoll dumb, seizure
Saline dreams Dali delirium 


Draped clock face, Flora's flailing coma
Collides with shore, format felicitous
Ferocious ocean spews sweet soma
Segued fortunate Flora duplicitous 
Digs over fingers scratching 


Sea sparks zesty spirit, crystal clairvoyant 
Clavicle thrummed during tumble turquoise 
Touched pitching ceiling, delight buoyant 
Blackened flotsam, frivolous foam destroys
Destined to nest content




29th March 

Redefined

All in a flap

A step too far, brings right of passage to a ledge
Fluttering at cliff walls, pushing life’s brittle edge
A sheer instinctive thrust, with no trust to pledge
Now or never moment, undermines fear’s wedge
A chick leaps off, flailing frail wings fail to fledge
Featherweight of hope meets a ten-pound sledge
Crashing straight down, no safety net to dredge
Next guy flaps like mad, landing softly in a hedge

good versus evil

good versus evil
two swords flailing in the night
fiery cosmic dance


AP: Honorable Mention 2025

Undergrowth with Two Figures

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, 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.

Perfect Beauty

Her skin softer than the softest pillow 
Whiter than the snow in full light
The best thing you can see during the day
As well as night


Dreamy eyes she has got
The biggest and brightest of them all
As perfect as they can be
Getting lost in them is the best place you can be


Oh the nose
Accurate and precise,
A physicist’s fantasy
The perfect slope you can see


Her cheeks softer than softest cashmere
Red from all the blushing for me
Smooth and flawless
paradigm of serenity


Her eyebrows darker than the darkest trail of them all
With the curves big and small
And a hint of interest for me
I am the happiest of them all


Soft as a feather
Thin as pencil
Red as a rose
Her lips shake me to the core


Her hair trails of graphite
Darker than an abyss
Softer than sunlight
Flailing here and there and giving me fright


Her feminity in the prime
For her lover to embrace
The best one there can be
By God’s grace

PUPPY SNOW ANGELS

Leaping with joy into a tall pile of soft, fluffy snow,
He snorted and panted, and flashed a broad smile,
Surprised and delighted with the bone chilling cold,
That couldn’t penetrate his thick, curly coat.

He lay for a moment, catching his breath,
As if trying to decide what to do next.
Rolling onto his back, long legs flailing the air,
He twisted happily, enjoying the chilly freedom there.

Then backwards he fell, rolling in gravity defying angles.
Leaving the white ground covered with glistening snow angels.

Finally exhausted from his frolicking antics,
He came to me happily with his body in wiggles.
Lifting his snow encrusted paws into my warm hands,
His beautiful brown eyes asked,
“What is this wonderful stuff?  What is its name?”

I said, “Darling, this is snow, the treat of the season.
Enjoy it now, as much as you can.
In just a few hours it will soon fade away,
Melting your snow angels and returning grass again.”

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