Long Flinch Poems
Long Flinch Poems. Below are the most popular long Flinch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flinch poems by poem length and keyword.
I will name you the beast, she told him, in a loving way.
He was enthralled, no one had ever claimed him this way.
He watched her walk around the room, swishing her whip.
She cracked it loudly, he tried not to flinch. I am your master.
A combination of fear and delight entered his soul.
He could feel it traveling up his loins. He sat back and admired her.
He had never been owned before; he decided he might like it.
Put this on, she said, handing him a lion mask with a full mane.
He stared at the tiny beauty, wondering what she was going to do.
Her lips turned up in an all-knowing style; she was sensual, this one.
You are not to ask questions, she told him, just put on the costume.
When his mother had set him up with a librarian, he never expected this!
Poetic Justice
His rage arrived before he did—
a slammed door, a bottle’s clatter,
anger breathing louder than love
ever dared to.
Alcohol was his armor,
his excuse,
his slow, faithful accomplice.
He ruled the house with weather—
storms without warning,
silences thick as smoke.
We learned to read the tilt of his glass,
the slur of his footsteps,
the way cruelty passed for strength
when fear went unnamed.
Poetic justice is patient.
It doesn’t raise its voice.
It lets habits finish their sentences.
Cancer did not argue with him.
It did not flinch.
It moved in quietly,
cell by cell,
teaching his body the lesson
his soul refused to learn:
nothing survives constant poison.
The rage had nowhere to go then.
No one to corner.
No child to diminish.
Just a body turning inward,
consuming itself
the way he always had.
In the end,
there was no grand reckoning—
only the math of consequences.
The bottle emptied.
The shouting stopped.
The house exhaled for the first time.
Poetic justice isn’t revenge.
It’s the truth completing its arc.
A life shaped by destruction
meeting its mirror—
and finally,
falling silent.
A bell tolls — with a single chime.
Igniting the spell of dawn’s regret.
It halts the breath, suspends all time,
Foreboding with threats you can't forget.
You flinch—one foot on the stepping stone,
The wind's first touch scalds your face.
Just one finger grips your hand alone.
You wait for relief from bell’s disgrace.
The silence palls where echoes die—
The ring bell toll fades with no reply.
There's no sign, no sound, no reason why,
You're left here dangling from the sky.
A bird attempts one fragile note.
Bashful in the spelled applause.
The breeze catches breath in its throat.
Afraid to continue through the pause.
You toll the haunt of some unspoken spell,
A pact with ghosts to stop the feeling.
While winds and seas rise on the swell,
Sending your hopeful plans reeling.
A lone bell tolls—no one answers now.
So old scars and doubts take the blame.
For dismembered memories you can’t avow.
In the flinching cringe that has no name.
Alexander reaching India does plan,
To meet a true wise virtuous holy man;
At these, stewards instantly take him,
To the Indus valley fertile and trim;
Where he finds a man with no clothes,
As though undone of loath and wrath;
Alexander with all his pricey attire,
Finds a spiritual sparkle in him higher;
Swayed by the saint’s spiritual splendor,
He pleads him to go to his nation yonder;
Offers everything whatsoever may please,
If the saint could make his great wish ease;
I am here there everywhere omnipresent,
Says the saint; refuses his wish to consent;
At this, annoyance provoked, the king,
Draws his sword to slay him in a fling;
The saint undaunted sheds a simple smile,
Says, as though confronting certain senile;
As children make houses on sand smart,
And destroy them to make another art;
The house is the body of weak humans,
Innate tendencies in it make nuisance;
Demolishing, one demolishes his home,
Amidst all such acts, sand is the same;
On this, Alexander felt a pricking pinch,
His sword fell and he felt certain flinch;
Power and might is not just in one’s hand,
It’s in heart, this philosophy he learned;
Simplicity is the power one needs to choose,
Spiritually strong, one has nothing to lose.
08 July 2021
On a dark night, when the moon cowers with fear
The night is shadowed in a fog so clear
One could stare at a spot for long
And can see their reflection, weak or strong
I walk onwards on the night of 31
Preparing to sweep away my worries and have fun
As I walk further along the cracked road
I see a Raven, so majestic, and it crows
Its sleek black feathers and strength fill me with wonder
I flinch in fear as I hear the sky’s thunder
The sky lights up like a message was sent from above
I watch as love flies in the form of a dove
I watch as children scream joyfully in delight
I smile as I watch such a happy and sweet sight
I look around me and notice a red fox
It looks right at me, gracefully, with its head cocked
I glance up to see the sky sparkling bright
As if it were released from a prison so tight
It felt restricted in its ability to be
And what I saw sparked curiosity within me
All around me, I realized soon after
As I heard the shrieks of laughter
A memory ingrained, and I know hereafter
I finally found what I long sought after
It begins with the breath, a simple, rising tide,
The only clock that tells the honest truth.
It asks you, for a moment, to reside
Beyond the reaching hunger of your youth.
To sit within the center of the storm,
And watch the lightning strike without a flinch,
To let the tangled thoughts begin to form,
But never let them gain a single inch.
It takes a hunter’s patience, still and deep,
To track the way the light falls on the wall,
To wake the senses from their heavy sleep
And hear the silence underneath it all.
It is the scattering of your burdens on the floor,
Not casting them away, but letting go,
To stand before a wide and windowed door,
Content to simply watch the river flow.
You must be gentle with the wandering mind,
As one would guide a lamb back to the fold;
To leave the bitter stresses far behind,
And trade your iron chains for threads of gold.
For mindfulness is not a mountain peak,
Nor some elusive prize you have to find—
It is the very stillness that you seek,
The quiet home you carry in your mind.
Big eyed dragon Marvelous Magical Mitzy Mon-taine
Was hanging for life on a Christmas tree candy cane
When children came by, she held still.
“Is that a dragon?” asked Little Bill.
Little Miss Kay came by and gave Mitzy a poke.
Mitzy did not flinch, flutter or choke.
She held herself in a statuesque way.
“She is kind of pretty,” said Little Miss Kay.
“Leave those ornaments alone,” Grandma said.
“If you want Santa to come by.” Her face was red.
She gave Mitzy an apologetic eye.
But Mitzy was silent, did not respond or sigh.
You see Mitzy is afraid of most humans and their striped feet.
She’s had misadventures, many of them not so sweet.
After the children left she went to Grandma’s lap.
For a good story, a snack, and to take a nap.
In the beginning,
there was no evidence he existed
except my breath still stutters
at the phrase weight check.
Dr. Wilson wore red socks,
offered sample packs in a manila envelope,
told me I was pretty and shrinking
in exactly the right way.
Said we’d do a quick exam—
just routine.
Hands under the gown,
thumbs on the outer edges like he was
measuring range or resistance.
He never said breast.
He never said anything.
Just held each one
like it was a question
and waited for me
not to answer.
I didn’t flinch.
I didn’t leave.
I said thank you.
Took the pills and the compliment
in the same swallow.
At home I bragged
that my jeans fit like an apology.
There’s no evidence he existed
besides my body asking
how many parts it must offer
to earn approval.
Except every man in red socks
makes me want to run—
throw up about something
I’ll pathologize about later,
by myself.
Even though it began
with his own being
irresponsible with power.
There's a day coming
when it won't be like this.
Vigorous, vivid, bewildering, bright songsters,
That could calmly enchant the cruelest of monsters;
Belonging to the flinch family of Red Birds,
Each of their utterances is sweet poetic words...!
Cardinal, with a unique crest and red plumage,
His maid, a great singer, makes in woods her roomage;
No cathedral. yet, he's a cardinal, in red,
On red rose and white rose he finds his cozy bed...!
Part and parcel of all Christmas decorations,
Nourishing on sunflower seeds and creations;
Roses tell tales many; cardinals enjoy,
Each, in their presence, feels pleasant; completely coy...!
I find my very self in the cardinal birds,
As he sings my heart's unarticulated words;
In my good times and bad cardinals are around,
With rose roses to make me integrally sound...!!!
28 December 2022
The Cardinal and the Rose Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
no halos on these heads
just their undesirable traits.
cold charm —
the smile that sells you peace
while moving the knife
with their eyes closed.
born without fear —
they don’t flinch,
they don’t wake up sweating,
success is never looking back.
instrumental empathy —
they understand feelings
the way a locksmith understands doors.
surgeons their impulsivity —
where risk tastes like oxygen,
consequences are somebody else’s bill.
you meet them at the counter.
corporate executives
talking “efficiency”
to faces they won’t remember.
politicians
shaking hands,
forgetting names,
promising favors like coins.
lawyers
translating pain into strategy,
winning clean,
sleeping fine even after seeing
the most horrific
photographs during the course of
a trial.
police officers
calling it procedure
when innocence people are routinely
shot and self preservation
is the seed of dark lies.
emergency-room surgeons
steady hands, quiet hearts—
you want them that way
until you don’t
consequences are somebody else’s bill.
media hosts and influencers
preying on the endless white trash
manufacturing outrage,
selling certainty,
never bleeding, cherry picking.
the test doesn’t call them evil.
it calls them obtuse and effective.
and the public keeps showing up,
child like trust in hand,
learning to late
what their trust has cost them.
why are they not tested in advance,
saving lives and millions of dollars in advance?