Flinging Poems | Examples

your schooling is complete

You came across as lovely and sweet
messy, not neat, but wildly complete
I was smitten and eager to have you around
you put me up on a pedestal before flinging me on the ground

I was completely thrilled with you and I as a couple
the ways you twisted and turned me were endearing and subtle
At first you acted like I was a slice of German chocolate cake
But the relationship changed, and you became an earthquake

You gave things away that I thought you truly loved; I was fooled.
I was one of them, now completely re-schooled.
You acted delighted with my quirks when we first met.
Called me lovely names, I felt like a cherished pet.

But the shrew you became twisted me in my gut.
I will never be the same, for your words certainly cut.
I do know one thing, I will look for someone who is real.
falling for a liar and a trickster has a horrible feel.

thank you for that. Your schooling is absolutely complete.
You have taught me to not fall immediately for lovely and sweet.

The days pass, the weeks pass

Could we not at least exchange some crummy
anecdotes about our recent pasts
some poorly recalled bus stop or shop incidents
semi memories of there was this time when

I'll take any half digested subvocal passing thoughts
and an inappropriate and unvoiced yet sincerely held
opinion which you know is safe with me

Throw me a crumb here and I'll toss you
the whole hog utilising my award-winning
(and vigorous) masculine muscles

Instead of flinging it angry apelike
into the webvoid in the form of
incoherent cackhanded freeposts
begging for any minor engagement

Aliens on the Park

With skateboard tight in hand, his hair cut to the skull, 
he takes long drags on cigarettes, flinging each butt 
with an easy flick of fingers.

At five feet, slim, in sockless sneakers large for a boy 
his size and age, lost in oversized cloths new to his 
adolescence, his trousers barely hang on his half 

exposed rear, (the latest fad), he moves impatiently 
back and forth, spuming cigarette smoke like whale spews
mist from its blow hole, waiting for an older boy, his clone.

Darkness soon smoothers the park and the boy’s clone
appears and they vanish into the night puffing away on 
a stronger sweet-scented smoke, laughing, leaving a trail 

of quickly fading obscenities. About to leave, my nostrils 
catch a whiff of a sweet but unknown drug mixed with 
the scent of newly blossomed lilacs, and I quickly snort

and cough it out, recalling something from my boy days
not unlike an odor of premature fruit gone rotten.

Melting Slush

This morning’s slush is melting
From last night’s dust of snow
Which, since it wasn’t pelting,
Left little trace, although…

Some little mounds keep clinging
To surfaces of grass,
Enough for snowball flinging
Before the urge might pass.

This weather’s awfully fickle – 
It almost feels like spring,
But it’s more like a tickle,
Awaiting winter’s zing.

Still, I’m out by the river,
Just soaking up the sun
Which the heavens did deliver
To get all the melting done.

thoughts are flinging themselves at me

Sometimes I go on a weird out-of-my-head writing spree
Devouring crazy insane ideas
Spitting them up onto a page
This morning is one of those maniacal times
Thoughts are flinging themselves at me
Demanding to be not only heard, but shared
I feel it would be dangerous to ignore them

little lois

Lois looked super dainty and delicate
With lace collars and tiny white linen gloves
Shiny patent leather shoes and pink ruffles
she sat as if on a throne, a little princess

Her three brothers knew better.
They called her the lava flinging volcano
When they riled her, she gave better than she got
She was a terror, cloaked in a little girl costume

words stream out of me

words stream out of me
unbidden, unheeded, uninvited
as if they are spewing out of a defective faucet
flinging themselves into the ether,
some lost, others dancing and singing

they have no trouble flicking onto a computer page
or a notebook.
They need nothing from me
except my fingers.
As their puppet, I watch amazed
wondering how they use my hands without permission.

Do these words come from my mind
or someone else’s?
This is unknown to me at this time.

Nature Dialogue

The moon?
A king that needn’t tout his might,
just lounges up there, cool as a cucumber,
as stars tumble like glitter from some cosmic party,
just enough shimmer to keep us wondering:
who’s really in charge - us or them?

The sun elbows its way in, 
boisterous and brilliantly loud,
flinging gold across the sky like confetti,
yelling, “Let’s go! Daylight’s wasting!”
It doesn’t ask for permission to set your soul on fire,
and if you’re not burning by now, that’s on you.

The ocean doesn’t bother with formalities.
It rolls in, pushes its weight around,
tosses your worries out to sea with a lazy, 
“Nah, you’re done with those.”
There’s no negotiation, just the quiet peace
of letting go when you didn’t even know you needed to.

And the forest?
Old as the first breath,
it doesn’t rush, doesn’t care for clocks.
It whispers, “Stay still long enough, and maybe 
you’ll remember how to grow.”
Roots so deep they don’t care if you notice—
because they know life is in the waiting,
and you’re a part of it whether you realise or not.

A Butterfly at Church

Early in the morning, he woke up
Up flinging his wings to God’s House 
God’s House perhaps with some reason
Some reason for mingling

Mingling with some congregants 
Congregants singing to praise their God
God did not create butterflies to sing
To sing like human beings

Human beings go to church to socialize
Socialize because they are not butterflies
But butterflies follow the wind all over
All over up until at a church

At church, they see no flowers to suck
No pollen to lick and cannot sing
Cannot sing a song they do not know
Not know but can expose their beautiful bodies

Bodies uncovered with colorful wings
Wings they fling intentionally
Intentionally for exciting humans at church
At church, they are still butterflies
Butterflies who come to irritate God in his House.

Poem by Mugisho N.

Elephants and the Splendorous Moon

Bringing branches with their trunks, they start their festival with glee
Swinging silent bells at the pearl sailing in the night sky
Flinging away darkness and dirt, for light to finally see
Singing pearls in the branches, pray to the divine up high

Praying to the ship of fourteen gates filled with splendorous light
Begging the pearl-gathering angels to help them ascend
Entreating the Maiden of Light to continue the long fight
Worshipping Jesus the Splendour, the lord and gleeful friend


Inspired by Pliny the Elder's account of elephants worshipinng the moon with branches, while incorporating Manichaean beliefs about the moon.

Hallways

    My books are all over the floor,
    Even one went out the door!
    The kids don't see me when they run down the hall.
    People say I'm really quite small!
    Flinging,
    Back and forth,
    Didn't see me at all!
    Sent my books flying,
    I wouldn't be lying,
    This has happened before!
    Usually, I end up on the floor.
    What to do?
    I'm tired of going home,
    With a bruise or two!
    Stuck a tall bike flag on my pack!
    Let's see if the kids miss that!

Vagabond

“In chaotic times the madness of the drifter mind 
follows the footprints of the vagabond dreams”- 
Quote by poet  


The blue hills cascaded down the verdant slopes 
in the  rhythmic ripples of the tinted topography,  
cradled the charisma of the humming hamlet 
that once harbored my home and my dreams. 

With the sliding shadow of the cotton cloud, 
scaling the halcyon heights of the cerulean sky, 
my gallivanting dreams soared up high afloat 
with the colorful kites I loved to fly in the blue. 

The sparkling stream flinging up the fluid pearls, 
flowed with flamboyance  with my roving reverie,
girdled my teenage landscape in embracing loops, 
set in vagrant meanders of gliding garland of fancy. 

The paper boats I made with the motif of my dreams,  
drifted away in the current of the stream’s silver trail 
to the distant dreamland destination unknown, 
and on these I perceived my drifter fantasy sail. 

The surging storm swept across my turbulent time,
the capsized boats sank, the snapped kites flew away.
I turned into wandering driftwood dislodged from root,
searching the itinerant mind for the vagabond dreams.

A F

A female flinging foolish frowns away, affably allaying a fray.

WTFWT

WTFWT@&#@*  I shouted at
Thunderous banging from above
Flinging my blanket off I looked outside, to
Watch roofers climbing up my apartment building
The cat leaping, running and seeking a place to hide

You Ordered Legs

Chef Frog was askance
Someone had asked for legs!
He was a chef who usually did what the customer wanted
But this was outrageous, even in Winipegs!

He demanded to know who the culprit was.
Waiter took him to a table where a duck sat, flinging off fuzz.
You ordered legs? Chef frog asked, using a chiding voice.
I ordered eggs, said the duck, whose name was Joyce.

Now the waiter got taken to task for his bad handwriting.
The chef went back to the kitchen where the sous chefs were fighting.

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