Stumbles Poems | Examples

Rise and Go

When morning softly calls your name,
Yet body begs for sleep’s embrace,
Remember, dreams still burn their flame,
And only you can set their pace.

When obstacles block every view,
And others claim, “It’s not for you,”
Stand firm and say, “I’ll see this through,
My steps will break these walls in two.”

When hope feels lost and skies are grey,
Let heart become your guiding star,
For joy is not in wins alone,
But in the fight for who you are.

And if you fall, still rise again,
A warrior stumbles just to climb,
Each step you take builds your own reign,
A tower shaped by inner time.

GAS STATION LIGHTS II

a lone ancient dark night
Your engine stumbles
rumbles, coughs to a stop
so close to E
The gas pump, blocky, digital
smells of gasoline
like a primordial dance 
an intercourse of machines
rape of a Mesozoic age, processed 
Petrol in a tank, deep
Swipe card, digital hum of circuitry 
Choose your poison, your savor 
Buttons—regular, premium, 
Reek of diesel 
Corruption 
So many fingers have touched 
that white square button 
almost flesh-looking
White, pale, cracked, peeling 
The horror of the mundane
You need to touch it
You want to
You have to
You have places to go
And miles before you sleep…

Autumn

Autumn

….. is mortally wounded!
It stumbles, tumbles 
across the silken, rouged sky
quivering over rusted hedges
shivering through shouldered trees,
splattering, smattering 
everything in blood-red.

On it goes, on it flows
gasping and grasping
at clouds of bandages,
hobbling, wobbling 
suffering deep gashes;
haemorrhaging life
in crimson splashes.

While winter;
with the sly smile
of an Arctic fox,
coldheartedly waits for autumn’s
shredded, dreaded last breath!

Ian Souter 2025

Morning

The clouds have opened their eyes wide
And all blackness wiped off the face of
The earth.
Night’s curtain has been drawn.
The rising birds in one single squadron
Halloo the world,
Winging and swinging through the
Broad lanes of the ceruleans.
I wake and tremble with the coldness of
Netted fishes;
My spirit stumbles upon fresh thresholds
Whiter with the dews of a prostrating day.
I return to my first day when I had cried.
I speak of my vagitus.
Morning celebrates itself,
Its return from a wayward night trip,
And the glory of dawn.
Crows from drunken cockerels
Ring out loud and clear on the spine of
The village,
Saluting the birth of a new-born day.

Xi Jinping

You rose to power not by accident,
but through lineage, silence, and strategic brilliance.
A princeling who studied shadows,
You climbed the mountain of the Party with measured breath,
one careful step at a time.

Now, all roads lead to Beijing.
The weight of the world rests on your shoulders.
You are the firstborn of this new age—
and with that birthright comes great responsibility.

Be like the mother’s womb—
inclusive, not exclusive.
Nourishing, not devouring.
The leader who unites, not divides.

Do not imitate America,
whose empire stumbles from arrogance and noise.
The wise do not shout—they build.
The world does not need another empire.
It needs a center.

You are that center now.
Not through fear, but through grace.
Lead with humility,
or history will remind you that power without wisdom
crumbles like sand in a storm.

Lost in Translation

in a strange foreign land 
lone outsider
waiting on the sidelines
stumbles upon friendship
and finds comfort
soul to soul

securing a safety net
experiences the freedom to let loose
to laugh and share the freedom to be free
within confines set by the heart
indelibly forging a lasting memory
to take home and treasure always 



AP: 3rd place 2025

Inspired by the movie 'Lost in Translation'

***

What you are
Is not what you are becoming
There is a gap
Filled with the present
Which is a fog
Of unthinkable uncertainty
Consuming your mind
You walk through time
The road is jammed
With memories
Leading to a past
Blurring the future
You move with caution
Avoiding a wrong step
It’s a forest
You cannot cross
Do you need to?
Is somebody waiting there?
Perhaps he stumbles too
In the bed of autumn leaves
Life can be so distant
Like the moon in the sky 
It’s frightening
To wait for so long
And never arrive
Where your kiss is needed
Your soul burns
Its ashes reach him 
In Heaven 
To which you both belong
That’s what we all become
While waiting

Depression

I miss things sometimes. 
When you take a drink of water.
And it tastes worse than ever and makes you cry for no reason. 
As if water has died. 
Nothing is stagnant. 
But it feels, hurts, smells stagnant. 
I miss eating random things. 
Random tumbles and stumbles. 
Random aches and pains. 
Raining randomness. 
Nothing is stagnant. 
Water died in my throat. 
Every blade of grass feels harsher than ever. 
As if the grass is taunting me. 
I don’t remember when my depression got so bad. 
I just remember being young, I think. 
Now. 
I miss things sometimes. 
I wish I had something in mind. 
I promise, I’ll think of something soon.

The Last Sunset of the West

The sun once set on distant lands,
Where empires carved the world with hands,
Of steel and smoke and hollow pride,
But now those shadows start to hide.

The West, in golden robes once dressed,
Now stumbles toward its final rest,
Its towers tall, its markets vast,
Are echoes of a fading past.

Beneath the heat of rising suns,
The Global South now walks as one,
From deserts dry and jungles deep,
A promise wakes from ancient sleep.

The rivers sing their sacred song,
The mountains rise, the weak grow strong,
From ashes born, the phoenix flies,
With fire burning in their eyes.

But heed this tale of sorrow’s breath:
The dying West will taste of death—
Not swift or silent, but a cry,
A wail beneath the blood-red sky.

The sorrow of a world undone,
Where once the eagle kissed the sun,
Will echo in the wind’s lament,
A bitter, bruising testament.

Fear not the night, for dawn is near,
Though shadows fall and fall severe,
From pain will rise a world anew,
Where justice breathes and life is true.

O sons and daughters of the earth,
Prepare to witness death and birth,
The old will crumble, bow, and cease,
To birth a world of hope and peace.

THE PAINTED GRIEF

The laughter rings, a hollow sound,
Across the painted, cheerful ground.
A mask he wears, a painted smile,
Hiding the tears for a little while.

Beneath the greasepaint, shadows creep,
Where buried sorrows lie so deep.
A heart that aches, a spirit torn,
A silent grief, since early morn.
The spotlight shines, a cruel display,
For joy he feigns, though hope's astray.

He stumbles through the practiced dance,
A fragile soul, caught in a trance.
The crowd below, they cheer and clap,
Oblivious to the silent trap.

They see the jester, light and free,
But not the pain he hides from thee.
Each hurried bow, each clumsy fall,
Conceals a memory that enthralls
His weary mind, a haunting scene,
Of what has been, and might have been.

The music swells, a vibrant beat,
Contrasting with his inner defeat.
He juggles tears he cannot shed,
A living ghost among the dead.

So watch him close, as colors blend,
And see the story without end.
The tears of a clown, a bitter rain,
Washing away the joy and gain.

Gass Chamber

the bones are the first to know,
they hum a low dirge,
like a bass line in a dying bar,
deep under the skin’s slow retreat.

blood stumbles in the corridors,
loses its way in the veins,
tries to remember where it used to go.
the heart?
it forgets the beat,
like a drunk forgetting the name
of the woman he once begged for.

lungs collapse like cheap umbrellas,
breath rattles in
like pennies in a tin cup—
a wheeze, a whisper,
then nothing but
a waiting room silence.

and the soul,
if there is one,
it slips out the back
like it owes them all back rent.

Only Human

As it becomes dawn, the sun brings rays of gold,  
We wander through moments, both timid and bold.  
Mistakes, like leaves, fall softly from trees,  
A whisper of lessons carried on the breeze.  

No shame in stumbles, no guilt in the fall,  
Each misstep a heartbeat, a lesson for all.  
With every miscalculation, a story unfolds,  
The beauty of growth, more precious than gold.  

Perfection, a mirage, a fleeting sweet lie,  
While fulfillment awaits in the truths we untie.  
We wander through shadows, embrace the unknown,  
In the messiness of life, our spirits have grown.  

Let us dance freely, with joy as our guide,  
In the arms of our failures, just keep your pride.  
For the essence of living lies not in the score,  
But in heartfelt connections that open each door.  

To live is to stumble, to rise and to learn,  
In the flicker of life, let the passion still burn.  
With each twist and turn, we may falter and sway,  
But it's the journey that matters— this is the way.

Hide and Seek

This is different

Eerie

The winds have changed.
The colors fade into
a lifeless, chalky form,
and all life disappears
in a uniform fashion,
as I stand at its edge,
too scared to move.

Even the sun plays 
hide and seek.
And I've volunteered to play seeker.
Who would have thought the sun
was so gifted at playing,
after all these years of
willingly showing his face.

And now I face off
between the darkness
and what's left of me.
There's no rest
for the rest of me.
I lay resting in pieces.

Rest In Peace

One piece left -
it stumbles in the dark.
One piece,
one part to play.
It knows it's still
in the game.

It knows -

To live in darkness
among darkness
requires little of us.
But to seek the light,
to create light
among the darkness
demands effort.

So
 much
  effort

These winds are changing,
and the darkness encloses me
as I watch the flowers,
disposing of each petal,
fade from my view.

The sun wants to play hide and seek

I can tell this one's going to hurt
as I listen to the drum of my
heart beat grow louder.

I call out

Ready or not, here I come!

Truman

Let me tell you a story:
I met a man at the corner store, he told me “that’s how the cookie crumbles”
As he stumbles out the fkin door, with a whore, shoes untied
So, I gave him a thumbs up like; “say no more”
This life, I swear it’s a joke
don’t make sense,
Now dude is right next door beggin’ for cents, 
instead of my two sense
So I preach to save peach from my castle, 
my sanity, and my vanity
And I stay quiet to avoid riot
And I search for a solution
I close my eyes, I kneel down, and I pray;
“Oh God, give my stories the power to start a revolution”

Where Did I Go Wrong?

I was young, bright full of promise, full of light.
High school passed in a blur,
a victory too soon, too fast.
They cheered, they clapped,
Mom wept with pride,
but I barely had time to feel it.

Then the world changed.
Tertiary welcomed me,
but fate had other plans.
A silent storm stole my path,
cutting dreams before they could bloom.
I searched, I fought, I worked,
but each day felt the same.
The hours passed, yet I remained stuck.

Now, I drift through life,
a ghost in my own skin.
The child who once raced ahead,
now stumbles through the past.
And all I have are words not answers, not peace,
just echoes of a question that whispers through the silence:
Where did I go wrong?

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