This is my tale of stumble and rise
Which I have say, took me by surprise
I shed a few tears
On hearing the cheers
My heart was simply bursting with pride.
There was I, dancing along the street
Singing and swanking upon my feet
I got in a fix
O'er my feet I tripped
And cartwheeled down hill like an athlete.
Unaware I'd performed to a crowd
Till I’d heard them cheering me on loud
After the stumble
I rose most humble
And grateful, so I stood there and bowed.
Flaunting her flashy dress, went for the show
Careful of every step, she moved quite slow
Sadly, tripping on her skirt,
Fell flat, but feigned a show smart.
With a smile, began spinning on her toe.
Now I’m noticed, but not for that reason,
laughter amidst crowds that I don’t rise in,
leers that promote their faces,
alters when they had notice,
that it should be me in utter laughter,
they joined me laughing, floored, feigned disaster.
Wriggling her way through queue of girls and boys,
Miss Piggy made her entrance with a noise!
She stylishly stumbled,
Neither flinched nor crumbled -
Then waltzed to the buffet table with poise.
Human rights are not luxuries,
they are not favors handed down
from thrones or offices.
They are the bones of our being,
the quiet truth that says:
I am here. I matter.
Yet how often they are traded
like currency,
weighed against profit,
bent under fear.
How often silence becomes cheaper
than justice.
But still—
in streets lit by protest fires,
in whispers carried across borders,
in the steady gaze of those
who refuse to disappear—
they rise.
A right is not a law,
not ink on paper,
but a pulse,
a voice that will not quiet
even when the world
tries to cover its mouth.
And peace—
true peace—
cannot live without them.
It is not the absence of war,
but the presence of dignity,
the recognition of each life
as unshakably equal.
So we keep standing,
hands open,
voices loud,
building a world
where rights are not a dream to chase
but the ground beneath our feet.
When crossing a square as I scurried
My feet crossed instead, for I hurried
But while falling, with faults
It morphed sweet to a waltz …
Midst a chorus of “Yays!” - off I surried.
* For “The Stumble and Rise” Poetry Contest, Jami Patterson, Judge & Sponsor. *
There are days I drag my shadow slow,
heart too heavy, yet I go;
tears become my secret rain,
washing corners full of pain.
I smile though broken cracks appear,
a mask of strength to hide the fear;
but deep inside a fire burns,
a lesson whispered life still turns.
Some nights I cry, my chest is sore,
asking, must I fight once more?
The silence answers with a sting,
yet still my tired hands will cling.
I stumble, curse, and taste the dust,
but rising feels like sacred trust;
each breath declares, though frail, unsure,
this fragile heart will still endure.
I laugh sometimes through bitter skies,
with tears still fresh beneath my eyes;
for even grief can teach us grace,
and carve new light upon the face.
Love reminds me I belong,
that weakness too can still be strong;
and though the weight may bend my knees,
I rise again the choice is me.
So when the world demands I fall,
I stand, I stand, I stand through all;
not flawless, no, but fully human,
aching, breaking, yet still moving.
The road is hard, but I’ll not hide,
for storms will pass, and I’ll survive.
This is my truth, my battle cry:
I live, I love, I fail, I try.
There are days I drag my shadow slow,
heart too heavy, yet I go;
tears become my secret rain,
washing corners full of pain.
I smile though broken cracks appear,
a mask of strength to hide the fear;
but deep inside a fire burns,
a lesson whispered life still turns.
Some nights I cry, my chest is sore,
asking, must I fight once more?
The silence answers with a sting,
yet still my tired hands will cling.
I stumble, curse, and taste the dust,
but rising feels like sacred trust;
each breath declares, though frail, unsure,
this fragile heart will still endure.
I laugh sometimes through bitter skies,
with tears still fresh beneath my eyes;
for even grief can teach us grace,
and carve new light upon the face.
Love reminds me I belong,
that weakness too can still be strong;
and though the weight may bend my knees,
I rise again the choice is me.
So when the world demands I fall,
I stand, I stand, I stand through all;
not flawless, no, but fully human,
aching, breaking, yet still moving.
The road is hard, but I’ll not hide,
for storms will pass, and I’ll survive.
This is my truth, my battle cry:
I live, I love, I fail, I try.
The Stumble and Rise
There once lived a colleague called James,
Lean, strolling in crowd without shame,
He tripped on a crack
Fell flat on his back
Then bounced up and said, "It`s a game!"
Suzy ran to the local swing dance!
Lots of dudes there awaiting to prance!
When she went through the door
Quickly tripped on the floor-
Grabbed a guy's hand and twirled to romance!
I awake at sunrise,
even when night has broken me.
Shadows whisper my failures,
but the sun sings my name
and I listen.
I walk with trembling steps,
but each step is a drumbeat,
a life tempo,
a chorus of hope.
I've carried storms inside my chest,
drowned in oceans of uncertainty,
yet here I stand
a lighthouse,
shining for the lost.
Every scar is a song,
every tear a note,
every breath a verse
in the anthem of becoming.
I am not my mistakes,
I am the second chance melody.
I am not my fears,
I am the fire that engulfs them.
I am not my past:
I am the horizon
wide, waiting, infinite.
Let the world attempt to silence me then.
I will wake at dawn.
I'll sing with the sun.
And I'll never give up until the sky itself claps for me
When I stumbled down and fall,
From the stairs of our school hall;
I cried, “Let’s all swim!
Best stroke is to squirm!”
I showed the style and stood tall.
There was a girl in a night club,
Who tripped in that crowded pub.
She bruised her left arm,
But laughed off the harm,
And danced while a dog ate her grub.
Limerick Syllables : 9,9,7,7,9.
Now there once was a Scotsman named Milt,
And he tripped on a stair with a tilt.
Bounced on each step single file.
He jumped up wearing a smile.
Now we all know what is under his kilt.
There was an old maid
There was an old maid in the square
Who tripped in her pointy footwear
She grabbed a street lamp
And performed a pole dance
Showing off her superb derrière
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