Fledge Poems | Examples

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

Dawn's Darkness

And thus it seems
That all my dreams
Were not but foiled
Twisted schemes
Betrayed by daybreaks
Lying light
Disguised
As memories
Less bright

And yet the darkness
Does pervade
My troubled dreams
When on parade
And truth it seems
Has lost its edge
As its wingless
offspring fledge

For there are moments
That I dread
Moments rewritten
In my head
Troubled attempts
To now erase
The truths I know
Yet cannot face

Anywhere but here

I am empty of empathy
come sympathise with me
Cue the violins,
or just fiddle
like a bad-tempered Roman

Offer me hope:
bring flamboyant symbols,
cheap gold pendants with wings
Maybe a big gaudy 
unflappable albatross
nothing too flash,
mind you!

Take my hand,
lead me towards the edge
it’s time to fledge
Sidle me onward,
watch as I waver

Try not be over-critical
of the albatross
He’s become a hanger-on,
too far gone
and addicted to flattery

If I drag you down
or appear inhumane,
it’s all secondary
I’m merely feeling depressed
by a pouch in my brain

A séance sensed
it was next of kin,
X-rays revealed tiny pleats,
masses of tissue within folds of skin
An exorcist said it’s 
my vestigial twin
Google diagnosed
(Visual agnosia)
taking shape from within

Oh! And the indifferent 
chatbot I confided in, 
has begun self-harming!

New Zealand Pastoral

In the tea trees to the whistling song thrush
  I alone hear the first September dawn,
and outside beyond ryegrass, fern and rush 
  glisten woolly coats of sheep early shorn. 
Smell the petrichor and jade scented hedge,
  the lambs, the honey bees in pollen’s net -
that botany of sights and sounds, that fledge
  of young and new from moonrise to moonset.
See in the mists swamphens and waterfowl
  and behold the prismatic dawn of spring -
the morepork on nocturnal moonlit prowl
  that casts its eye and spreads its speckled wing.
Oh to feel again its warm gentle breeze
on greensward and dryads in the gnarled trees.


            Written: September 1996

Song of The American Bald Eagle No 12: ABBA

Christ the Redeemer, Bless His Holy Name,
Amen, to the place called Big Bear Valley,
where hails our nation's bird, fair Cali,
the American Bald Eagle ... proclaim.
Naught bald or hairy, females are bigger
than their forever mate. Soars ten thousand
feet: eyesight eight times stronger than human
and they are indeed, the largest ... raptor.
Courting, sky dancing show, Cirque du Soleil,
can't beat their score. Biggest nest, atop tall
trees, their babies are called eaglets and crawl
and fledge but not too far. Grandeur display, 
winged feathers of prominence. Humankind
edge what remains their last hope, be enshrined.

May: Model Airplanes

Now it's May...as in 'Month Merry'
We look outside and see it's very
Bright and warm and dry and can
With confidence those flights we'll plan!

We'll dust off winders, and wind rubber
Or fire up engines too long dormant
Props then will throw air in torrents
So our builds go up and forward!

Young birdlings will soon fledge and fly
Our builds will join them in the sky!

The Edge of Poetry

As the Hedgehog is known for its hedge
It seems he is known for his edge
As he drives in the tip of the wedge
Whether swinging a ball peen or sledge

He will maul you with words aptly lurid
Setting traps that are complexly florid
Hit the gas, double clutch, and then floor it
Leave you lusting for metaphors torrid

Then on a whim he will dip his pen
And commit the poetic original sin
Of writing so tight it almost sounds trite
Shakespearian screamers awake in the night

And yes, he will dare, to twice poke the bear
Baring his heart though no one will care
Are his words stealthy demons bred of his fear
That might let you in, but won’t let you near

Thus, does he stand on the edge of the edge
His view a blank page on which he must fledge

John G. Lawless
©5/19/2023

M Genre of Gender

We are at the world's edge
Playing non-stop on reed
Along the lyrics of natural nerds
Singing solemnly aloud to no end

With courage, strength and gut, we fledge
Upon all it throws cum concurrent need
We put the flag of fitness on substantial words 
Giving all to the moment per chance cum luck to contend

In the hopeful grace that endangers mind's den
Either our says are blue or our minds, red
Our DOS will glee come what may to adhere
To our souls' operating systems regarding gene

Shout out to men on pen
Boys are not stone yet not dread
But are readily fit to contend without fear
Be it in Apomu, London, or even Eugene

It is either we win or battles rend
But no surrender not even for greed
Of pasture which mortal wants green
Of which everyone has become an aorta

That accompany the mysteries pens trend 
In this peaceful tease is my awesome breed
A figure of troubled bliss pecking fate's serene 
Gracefully, I belong to this wonderful "M" genre.

Split Wide Open

As I gaze upon my shadow, 
it appears to grow a hole 
Just where my heart belongs, 
morphs a void into my soul 
Open to all the elements, 
sunlight shines right through 
split second after a cannonball 
ripped my chest in two 

Give back my innards 
Return this heart to me
Fill this visceral hole 
And leave my body be 

Still I look upon my shadow, 
now appears to sprout wings
emanating from my loins, 
fledge red abstract things 
Open to all the elements, 
thermal winds raise me high
One moment after shrapnel, 
blew my atoms into the sky 

Give back my sinews
Return pink mist to me
Feed off your own evil
Go away leave mine be

Now searching for my shadow, 
it’s gone can’t be seen 
I haven’t got any eyes, 
only contours in between 
No need for rare elements, 
when sublimating the earth 
oh come closer afterlife, 
from my quanta seed rebirth 

Give back my conscious 
Return those eyes to me
Let meaning have a purpose 
And leave my shadow be

This or That, Vol 12 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh 
Split wide open 
06/07/22

Where Young Eagles Fledge

Defining the rim of the steep canyon ledge
Tall snow-covered pines piercing azure sky
And forming the slope’s right-sided edge,
Defining the rim of the steep canyon ledge
Where many a regal bald eagle will fledge
On the slope as snow no longer meets the eye,
Defining the rim of the steep canyon ledge
Tall snow-covered pines piercing azure sky. 

written December 26, 2021

Sand Dune Lagoon

Lake Wollumboola is intermittent.
A coastal dune lagoon, enclosed by berm of sand.
Its basin a drowned creek-scoured depression.
This tiny lake is perched above high tide, vulnerable.
Its survival lies at the whim 
of wind-blown and sea-thrown sand.
It's long term fate short-lived as its filling up 
with sediment, weed, detritus and muck.

This little lagoon among the dunes
is mecca for migratory birds.
The curlew and buff-breasted sandpiper,
The long-toed stint, pied oyster catcher and little tern.
These vulnerable birds depend on the vulnerable lake.
They arrive on-cue from long-hall flights.
Alight and feeds in the shallows.
Mate, breed and lay eggs in vulnerable places
on the open beach and shore.
They squat on eggs and fledge their young,
and when the time comes, migrate back
with young yearling in tow, 
to whence they came.
They book return migratory flights to 
Lake Wollumboola each year, 
hoping it survives vulnerable
for another year,
and hoping its time is not yet up.

Knife's Edge

Her pulse rises as she feels the cold steel
of the blade's touch warming within her mind.
And tries to imagine how it will feel;
as she draws scarlet pathways undefined.

She found feeling tethered to the knife's edge 
and became numb to all but its sharp sting.
For stripped of her wings before she could fledge;
surrounded by hurt, she can't feel a thing.

Cutting, watching that scarlet trickle flow,
relieves anxieties and stress somehow.
And she walks that tightrope ever so slow,
experiencing the moment of now.

Her psyche demands a blood sacrifice;
and her body is forced to pay the price.

Cornwall Explored

Coastline, rocky, rugged, proud,
Crumbling cliffs in ozone shroud,
Sun-kissed drifts of desert sand,
Golden frame of a sea cradled land.

Fishing village, atmospheric hub,
Brass band playing, outside quaint old pub,
Boats, all sizes, rest near harbour wall,
Wading birds sift through tide-filled pool.

Foliage explosion of a Cornish hedge,
Country lanes snake, and young birds fledge,
Ruminants, punctuating, quilted hill,
Buzzards soar and wise hares are still.

Tin mine engine house, towering stack,
Roof caved in, gorse and bracken’s back,
White clay peak, geometrical and sleek,
Earth’s riches gouged, canyon deep.

Moor-land, open, untamed, granite strewn,
Wild ponies dance to a skylark’s tune,
Tor and beacon, barrow and mound,
You’re in God’s own country,
When you walk this ground.

Bluebird In the Tree

I open my eyes and what do I see 
But a bluebird staring back at me.
He lights on a branch of the tree outside
Reminding me of joy in the trappings of life.
Happiness and peace should be mine all day long
His presence is powerful as I hear his song.
His sweet simple chirpings, so gay and so clear
I am glad to have him nest ever so near.
His simple beauty and colorful glory
His rusty red chest swelled up tells a story.
The eggs will soon hatch, the nestlings will fledge
The chirps and the sounds coming all from the hedge.
Another day dawns and a bluebird I see
Lighting up in the tree staring back at me.

Iowa -- Caucus and Croak

Mr. Pete Buttigieg
   lost his edge

His early bird victory
   turned to fledge

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