Weakling Poems | Examples

Tiny Tim Becomes Musclebound Jim

      We all knew a fellow named ‘Tiny Tim’
      Fit as a fiddle, though extremely slim

         Poor Tim had weakling muscles
         And needed a side hustle

      So he spent all his spare time in the gym

Looking to the Harvest

A lunar luster spills a silvershine
cascade of nebulating moonshine lilt
onto a night-time field, drawing a quilt
of pale radiance over the still vine. 

A myriad of glowing serpentine
twines sleep.—but, slithering round its stout stilt,
a wakeless plant is working out its tilt.—
It’s fruit will not be ripe enough for wine.

So see I, amidst the flourishing grape,
the withering blossoms of one string;
And gazing on this midnight unlandscape,
—too, upon this weakling growth, this failing
sproutling,—I sense the shiver whispering
through the light leaves,—all but those yet ailing.—

A 98-Pound Weakling

A burger with fries that are fit for a king
 That's not gonna lose weight you big ding a-ling
For a slimmer bod
Give a negative nod
No junk food, you'll be a 98 pound weakling

Descent And Ascent

My hilly paths are full of pits, and my trails turn and twist.
My life and destiny have contracted clandestine tryst.
As there are dams blocking rivers that flow flawlessly
Unknown hurdles put pauses to life rather lawlessly.

Brick by brick how cautiously I construct my dream castle!
How a storm pulls it down as though it's a hut on the hill!
Exploring, inventing, and enlightening, I move on.
Towards absurd spells of death, my mortal being is drawn

Inner aches, like yokes, weigh me when I let go of my worries.
Pains and grieves, like traumas, bring in tumultuous flurries.
Soul passes through deserts of spiritual emptiness.
Pilgrimages of perfection become pride-filled pettiness.

With my descents and falls, I, a weakling, come to my Lord
He lifts me from dust and takes me to his heavenly abode.
As a vulture that gains its youthfulness, I take new birth.
Dark nights of my soul end and bright days lead to endless mirth.

Pathetic Husks

I detest cowards who cower at night's darkness, 
afraid of shadows and their own demons. 
Fear is a thief that steals courage 
and leaves only cowardice in its wake. 
Be a warrior, not a weakling. 
Face your fears, 
and let the darkness fuel your lights fire. 
Weakness is not an option.

Now it is shameful!

To show that you care
When on your chin is fur,
Because..."All men are the same."

For, those who care will have their hearts damaged and eyes,
                                                  filled with bloodlike tears.
And once you're seen crying,
Or "whimpering", then you're a weakling.
Yet, men are supposed to be Strong.
Because, "All men are the same", right?

So, play along and tell tales 
Of how strong you are 
And how long in the dark you can dwell,
Fear, being the last thing you can even smell.

Now it is shameful,

To appear soft and loving
When others are rough and tough
If the blanket goes off, no need for tugging,
For you will give us another reason to laugh
Because, "All men are strong!"

For, soft and loving are qualities not suitable 
For a player who knows how the ball rolls.
You can't be a man, yet not a player
That's just a wish, you're a terrible liar.
And besides, "All men are the same", right?

Powerful Five

Those five Soldier of Christ
Is more powerful than those
Five thousand weakling.

Weakling

 Written for the contest "Poe in the style of Plath" sponsored by Tom Woody 

 I am a weakling against supremely star-studded skies
Where stolen streams of light are not enough for it to uprise
My warrior soul is on knees, as sour scars cut very deep
The vinegary wounds in my veins can cause stones to weep

To cross this apocalyptic abyss, I only have frightened might
Avalanche of agony has hit volcanic edge of my perilous plight
No savior comes to the rescue, as I lay with my frozen fears
Fighting, fighting eversince, I found no way past trail of tears

Am I a cowardly creature just to ask for a breath of peace?
Too many of rainbows before my eyes, I can't tell apart malice
Too numb to flap wings of hope only, so I lied in my poems oftentimes
Not a melody of glazed strings, life sounds a lot like rusty rhymes 


I hope I met the requirements of the challenge. I have read a few of Poe's and Plath's poems only, I just hope I was able to do justice to keep the macabre vibes of both of these poets' writing style. Thank you for this wonderful contest Tom!

We Are Not Enough

I don't think I can do this.
I will never be prepared enough
to avoid being swept away
by this crazy death dance
the world has become.

I do not have enough bandages,
medications, knives or guns.
What I have, the world has made useless.

War will not kill the weak,
weakness kills the weak
and I am a weakling
with no power
to save what I have gathered together
while turning a blind eye.

The hatred is tipping over.
Can you feel the insanity
toppling over the pit it has dug?

I don't think we can survive ourselves
I don't think anymore,
I just hide my eyes from the blood,
but there is always more blood
and never enough bandages.

Mosquito

You little monstrous beast
Sucking the life out of me
Leaving me with a disease
No matter how hard I clap for your death
You always sing your rebellious lullaby
Dancing round my ears
Showing off how hard it is to be killed
You wait for my weakling body to heal
And then you strike again
With your venomous sting
Why not strike in the morning?
When I can clearly see your tiny little body
For you will taste death that day

Drums and Crowd

It's as Early as the first drop of a water
Water from no ocean, just purification and sweat 
All are illusion. 
In a square garden full of grown habitant full of beard, squirk face,beautifying set of rags and a weakling nature of ideology 
Stretching and footing like a king in a Palace, living luxury in the sphere of dirt, fears and tears 

Comes a sound and word like a blowing breeze of Eden 
Shaking the ears with tunes of rhythm 
Dancing, moving,, laughing in an happy tree manners 
A sound move intrigue of Bullets, Aggression and Oppression 
Thereafter, a shining chariot with flames of fire and lightening shows a fang of and smile throwing stones with a whip leather asking 

"Lord'd we start the Dance? 
Lord'd we start the merry?" 

Shabbily! Shabbily!! Shabbily!!! 
We sing the joyous of our heart into iniquities 
We Dance our moves into shell. 
The Gathering went off and woefully.

Strange Acting

One can a secret leak
While one didn't dare speak
All over seeming weak
But could fight for a week;
At a weakling not spit
But against A Camp fit
Live as needy prophet;
Starved eyes not on profit...

One can drop Bad Habits,
Yet much linked with their bits;
Record a lot of hits
But of Bob's Scattered wits;

Complete assignments fast
But later take The Last;
Meet a friend and walk past,
Friend dead, flag at half mask.

Sudden Summer Storm

Gentle mists from a smattering of clouds
Struggling to make their way to the ground
The sun is having its way far, far above
Sending rays of shimmering searing down,
Turning the droplets into a rising steam.
Darker clouds gathering on the far horizon
Chant unbridled threats at the summer sky
Invite the weakling mists to make another try
Challenging the partly cloudy summery day,
But clearly western weather is coming our way.
Quickly the thunderheads make their move
Again empowering the tiny droplets of mist
A gusty cool wind gushes in from the north,
Chasing me inside with a sudden downpour.
The power is flickering, the lights gone off
Strong bursts of thunder are accompanied 
With frightening streaks of lightning bolts,
And, just as quickly, the rain clouds move on
To dump their anger on another destination.
The lights come back on and the noises stop
As the sun comes out, and the humidity drops. 

Written June 2, 2022

Give In Not

© Francis Maugo
Never surrender
Never surrender.
Move on the up and up with 
strength from the inside.

Continuously accept,
Continuously look forward.
Never be the person
 Who is viewed as a weakling.
Recall the past,

Search for what's to come.
Continuously recall it's not 
unexpected great to be dark.
You are unique,
You are interesting.

To go far in life is the thing that 
you should look for.
You are splendid,
You demonstrate to astound each day,
Also there is somebody who will 
cherish you all around

O' Life and Death

O’ Life and Death

“O’ Death you are such a weakling, 
He takes but I give,
I am so noble,
Yet so humble,
His presence makes men tremble,
Mine is not felt but is thanked,
For I am the great Life,
The giver of joy,
The giver of a chance,
A chance to live,
A chance to be,
A chance to be free….”

“O’ Life you are such proud man,
You may give but I maintain the balance,
You may be noble but I am humble,
My presence prepares a man,
For eternal peace
Yours is never felt,
You may be the giver,
But I don’t simply take, 
For I know what is at stake,
I maintain the balance,
By ending those to whom,
You gave a chance to commit crime,
O’ Life you are but worth just a dime,
And I am but a humble man truly noble…..”

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