"flightless" poems
De-winged and flightless
is the dragonfly
that tried to slip by
in my slipstream,
It found instead the pickup
traversing the alleyways
of my convoluted imagination.
I don’t know why I’m driving,
ever driving someplace
unrealized and unexplored.
I feel so disconnected,
I feel so disrespected by the world
sometimes
But that’s not fair
it has been good to me.
I feel so disconnected
sometimes
and yet it comes in times
when I’m most consumed
most surrounded.
Maybe I’m just tired
and the walls around me quiver only
from the struggles of my waking eyes,
Maybe I’m just bitter
that I can’t have the perfect life
and feel as if nothing could be better,
Maybe I’m affected
by this liquid life I’m draining from my cup
in hopes of finding a different day
at the bottom.
Is it jealousy that lingers in my mind
or mere longing tinged with a heavy
dose of confusion?
I am confused.
And yet I’m still alive
unlike my dragonfly
and so I stumble onward.
-BRD
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 4:03 PM UTC
I wish they clipped
the wings off Icarus's back
before he took flight.
It would have been easier that way.
He could have stayed flightless,
some sort of meatsack
with little wax stumps
growing out of his back,
not unlike those of trees.
The story of Icarus
was not made to scare us
away from flying
too close to the sun.
The story of Icarus
was made to scare us
from flying at all.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
No matter how much you lift me
I would remain to be an ostrich
Even while having wings
I couldn't fly.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC
I am the flightless pelican.
I’ve found myself with my mouth full,
my stomach full, and so much still on my plate.
Possessed by an inhuman hunger,
I will gorge upon pure potential.
I will yowl on and on, without sleep.
-
I have sand between my toes.
My shoes are glued to my feet.
Keep on running ‘til the calluses come.
There has to be a point where I stop to sweat,
and I’ll finally get my sigh of relief.
I have one ride left on my bus pass.
-
I have a tendency to ramble
and languish in my own stench.
People tend to forget this at first;
lured in by the false face of a genetic fluke.
They want to know the impression I left,
not the procrastinator; the cud-chewing goat.
-
I can’t sleep being held,
or if I feel someone’s breath in the still.
I start to feel the urge to burrow
into the quiet quilts; patchwork Promised Land.
I cater to the crowd that caters to themselves,
but I’m no Utilitarian. Fox and Lion.
-
I have cousins like brothers,
and I have brothers like strangers.
Stray cats with names
and a copy of The Mahabharata that I stash my money in.
I’m sitting on a sunny pier with my hook in the water;
avoiding conflict with no bait.
-
Paper cuts from the gold leaf
on the edges of hymn book pages
with burgundy leather covers.
These guilty cuts, bleeding for what seems like hours,
while we steadily forget that anyone was singing.
Alone with our thoughts in the crowd.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
I once saw a Maori woman standing in the rain,
She watched me as i walked by
And smiled a little in her silence.
She has stayed with me since that day,
Follows me still
Smiling and silent
Moko carved on her chin
And greenstone hanging round her neck
Perfectly smooth
as i imagine her skin once was.
She wears a cloak on her back,
Decorated with the feathers
of slow and flightless birds,
It has no hood to protect from weather
The rain freckles her face.
She is worried,
Constantly worried,
Yet she never spoke a word,
Until one day at the beach
I lifted a shell to my ear
And from within her voice spoke to me
Saying
You do not own nature,
the Earth owns you.
She smiled and walked away.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
I write these words from boredom.
Where they lead to I know not.
All I know, is that I write from boredom.
Boredom creeps upon me, like a stealthy foe within the night. My interests can be peaked then can go out like a light. Maybe with a bit of horror my boredom could be solved through some fright. Alas I know that to resolve my boredom I'll have to put up a fight.
To the boredom I say good day and try to be on my merry way. Boredom however has more to say upon this day in such a way that it molds me like wet gooey clay. Shaping and forming my mind for the evening, the boredom kicks in an my spirits start leaving.
Once thriving and passionate, once creative and fair. Now because of my boredom I lack the very will to care. To care about feelings, hopes and dreams. Like most of my cares, they simply fall through the seams.
Seams within my mind that bind me into one whole thing. A thing that has no will to continue with such a boring night. A flightless, hopeless, careless, and boredom filled night.
So sleep tight, because as of now it's all I have to escape my boredom. Once I crawl into bed my mind is at ease, but when I wake up I need something that will please. Anything, anything at all.
Whether it be down or up the stairs, in between some spider hair, along a glowing beam, even along a narrow stream.
A gray dull life is not one I desire, day by day I hope for something to light my fire. Boredom strikes when I least expect, I always wonder when it will hit next. I'm lucky when it leaves and pray that is does not return.
However when it does return I yearn for something to do. I Look for a clue for something to do, just as you likely read this from boredom too. So my dear reader I bid you farewell, from whence I came I shall return to my boring spell.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
So, dope young fellow
With your pretty boy swag.
With your SnapBack on.
Pants so **** low.
Every girl just waiting in line just to give you a blow.
You're royalty around here, but this is still high school.
Taking every girls cherries and jewels.
You think that you're raising the bar but I've seen this before:
Call it VCR.
And then there's me:
Who don't get no ladies.
Because I'm the type of person who actually treats females as actually human beings.
Not toys.
I'll put them before myself.
I care about their joy.
You know what's dead: chivalry.
And it can never be reborn.
Not like Call of Duty: zombies.
Boom, headshot.
But there's another ten coming your way.
Then it gets to the point when you're just blown away.
But I'll be your player 2.
Girl, I'd give up all my perks just for you.
So you guys out there with the pretty boy swag.
Who just zip it all up cuz they think they got it in the bag.
I'm going to fight.
I'm going to step up for the voices not heard.
Cuz you've drowned them in depression, you've choke them with cruelty, and you've slapped them with sadness.
Unable to act.
Like a flightless bird.
I'll let them out of their cages so they can fly once again.
So you can't weight them down:
Call you Anchormen. Ooo, **** em'
So, pretty boy, nothing close to fantastic.
I just wanna say:
That I know I'm swagtastic.
S- saving
W- women
A- against
G- guys
T- that
A- abuse
S- sensitive
T- tender
I- innocent
C- companions.
Shorten that: swag.
S- she
W- wants
A- a
G- gentlemen.
So now boy,
Lets just see which one of us got that "Pretty Boy Swag"
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Welcome to the Suicide Forest
*Where the butterflies flutter low
Weak with dull dark colors
And fall with broken wings*
***Where the trees are dead and dying
And the leaves are dull and falling***
Have you seen the Suicide Forest?
*Where the night is heavy and dark
And the sunlight rarely shines*
***Where blue fairies stumble flightless
With tear-stained cheeks
And bloodstained wrists***
Run, run, run away
Quick, before you're trapped
Cause once the forest has you
You're never going back
Look into my eyes
You'll see they're empty; black
Look close at my wrists
You'll see they're stained blood red
Look into my soul
You'll see it's gone; deserted
The suicide forest caught me
Now I'm forever trapped
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
Peacocks on HP . . .
Are not birds, yet dinosaurs,
Wingless beneath earth.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Christmas.... ugh
Isn't this a perplexing situation?
I have an interesting question...
First, I know this poem is not perfection
But does any one know what it's like
To be utterly alone on what's supposed to be
A most joyous day, surrounded by friends and family?
That annoying cherubic man
Won't be visiting my home
It's just an idiotic holiday
And no one cares I'll be alone
No homemade Christmas dinner
I might make myself a grade A steak
I'll raise a toast to myself
Nothing to boast about
Probably just whiskey, bottom shelf
I immense-ly hate Christmas
Say I'm dense-ly, I don't care
Been that way as long as I can remember
From the makeshift tree, when I was three
To being stuck homeless in a snow drift at sixteen
I can count all the "merry Christmas's" I've received
On one hand
It's never been merry, or happy
Most I got was engorged on stuffing
And a poorly cooked, dried out Turkey
No presents under the tree
With a gift tag saying Melanie
You know what? Sorry Quin,
but this is too **** depressing...
I quit...
Tequila, Velveeta
Distant, instant
Solemn, Gollum
Under-wear, I don't care
Tiny, finely
Flightless, loneliness
Hindrance, appliance
Backward, forward
Orange, purge
Rooftop, please stop
Kringle, Pringles
Ha! Invitations?
No...
Salutations...
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
if you told a baby bird
he couldn't fly
he'd walk around
and wonder why
left foot right foot
left foot right
a flightless bird
envys a kite
to let the world
determine fate
is wearing the nose ring
that bulls seem to hate
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
My hands,
Flightless birds with parchment skin,
marked with scars, glowing white.
They turn blue when the weather is cold.
The old wives say to look for men
with hard-working scars on their palms.
But what of a woman with marked hands?
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC
You spoke those words to me as you departed from my sight. My sorrow overflowed, nothing meant anything to me but your words. I never got over you, Chelsea. It took me a few years before saying that didn't hurt, a few more to get the courage to see your Facebook page, and yet I still have no courage to say anything to you. I don't want to be pushed away again, the fear of falling has left me flightless.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
I'll fly out from this rollercoaster
Filled with disgust, with dizziness
The operator stands aghast
Amidst the turning machine
Above his heels,
Within his well-fed hands
It spins and turns
Like Big Brother's voice
On a broken loop
Creaking engine recalls
A sordid, mechanical taste
In the mouths of the trapped
They think it's so wondrous
To be on top of a flightless
Soar to the heavens
To see those ant-like buildings
Like a grain of dust in their hands
But they have paid the price
The people of the carnival only feeds them dreams
While they snicker inside the tents
Fairy godmothers on their breaks
Clouds darken beneath us
Rumbling, rumbling, roar the
Blue-violet crack in the sky goes
As we rode along to the earth's tremble
The view matches not what they promised
But everyone must go on till the ride stops
I sniffed the steps of rain in a small stairway to my senses
I knew right then that ride wasn't what we all thought
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 9:04 AM UTC
When an angel gets their wings
A flightless bird is born.
It's when I think of these things
That my belief in god is torn.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
Doc, I've been trying to deal with these issues for quite sometime to no avail;
A good friend of mine (you may know him, Elmer Fudd) recommended you.
I fear I will never be able to eat, let alone catch this turbo inspired example of flightless foul;
Stuck in this celluloid world vividly inspired by an Emmy award winning colorist.
I am a proud animal from generations of fine breeding, born in the pristine coyote valley;
I am not stupid, not a fool or buffoon, and so I thought contractually, not one to be laughed at.
And I, always the bad guy, constantly daunted in pursuit by haphazard ACME products;
Expensive, bulky, time consuming, they characteristically fail right before they almost work.
Rocket powered skates, unfortunately, only allow me to kiss the cliff-side really really hard;
Very heavy anvils serve no other purpose than to be dropped on my head repeatedly.
The incredulous manipulations of the impossible by the so clever writers of this farce;
From trains appearing out of nowhere to run me over, to fierce lightning storms in an instant.
Laying there in the release of my own bowels as the uncontrollable result of
500 Megajoules of energy traveling through my body yet again.
I am the twice electrified mass of dribbling spastic protoplasm
Personified proverbially in that lightning does indeed strike twice in the same place!
As the smoke arises from my chard hairy frame and I sweep up my ashes to reassemble later;
I realize Doc, I'm losing my grasp on the reality of ever succeeding, I need your help!
I'm still hungry;
And still I have not caught that **** Road Runner,
**** you Warner Brothers!
-----ChawzzyScript
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
I dreamed of him again last night,
of how he always made me smile.
Over eight years a family friend,
his daily antics always on display,
morning and afternoon walks and talks,
his joyful baths in his small pond while
he playfully bobbed and dove beneath
the spray of my garden hose.
This was no human being,
a handsome Mallard Duck instead.
The self proclaimed King
of our barnyard clan,
always strolling and patrolling the
grounds, waiting for us, quacking
his greetings, excitingly flapping
his flightless wings at our approach.
His loneliness petticoat showing, he
followed everywhere, seemed to live
merely to be in our company, eat corn
from our hands, living precious minutes
of needed shared congeniality.
Two morning ago he was not there,
we searched and called his name
but he had completely disappeared.
A coyote perhaps, or bird of prey
our King taken and gone away.
Our lives are diminished by his loss,
Though only a bird, he was our
dear companion, a convivial friend.
I dreamed of him again last night,
of how he always made me smile.
Today I mourn his loss.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 12:17 PM UTC
she was a fiery soul
emotions spilled out of her cup
like a bittersweet wine
an aftertaste of tears
salty as the sea rushing beneath me
heartfelt as the lonely moonrise
burning like the hearth of home remembered vivid but far
inviting you back from your cold journeys
the faceless sea's of humanity's wanderlust
from the dark romances of uncaring hearts
feel your heartbeat thunder in the stillness
hearing your tear ravaged breathing
as you struggle to find solace in sleep
her words carried on the thick air remembered vivid but far
like swans floating on the still waters of childhood
like images my heart paints when
her electric touch torches my soul
she leaves a wake of silence and
appreciative eyes behind her drifting the worlds ways
she comes to my bed now
slips into my cold sheets
and with lips forsworn to her fiery tongue's wicked ways
and crafts a bird from blood and bone
a flightless swan that will forever be companion to
to my seasong
moonrise comes with a silence
that my heart can never greet with joy
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 5:19 PM UTC
The last of my kind
There’ll be no more after me
I’m a flightless bird
With useless wings
Dumb and wild and free
Take a good hard look
At what you’ve done to me
On display
In my solitary incarceration
I pace in circles
So the camera will see
Look at my stripes fade
Take a good hard look
At what you’ve done to me
I had no fear of anyone
‘til you got ahold of me
The moon shone through the trees
A spotlight in my final serenade
No brothers left
And there’ll be no more after me
This poem has been a product of the combined efforts of myself and the lovely prrtybrd
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
We watch it ache and screech,
Tortured for some mercy in its misery,
We’re not allowed to wring its neck
All because the law can love a crow
Every time I mention its pain,
I get scolded. Chastised. Reminded.
This is farming country: and no one loves a crow
They eat the eyes of helpless, newborn lambs
All because farming country loves a lamb
Especially one they can eat themselves
The call on the phone goes nowhere,
Just like that now flightless, punished bird,
Concerns dismissed by automated machines,
No one bothers to come after the tone,
All because no one loves a crow.
Oct 30, 2022
Oct 30, 2022 at 2:17 AM UTC
His heart was kept in a babooshka-doll
that released memory smells
with every layer that eroded.
The wooden fences faded
to damp brick in the corner
of his head reserved for the harmonica
that played through the microphone
in his neck till the sound got lodged
in his maudlin march
that had him running like he
was angry at the road.
His Echostep
vibrating in
the kremlin skin
and marrionette heart strings
that kept him.... him.
Despite broken wings
he made the air around him dance
with the resonance of each
broken crystal ball shard used
to predict the past.
Each chime raised a mountain,
folding back on itself
hoping the hallucination would end,
till tired hands
batted away golden hawks.
With rocks for claws.
It was all the fights with the wind
that had the clouds leaving the moon's
Picaso skies,
and sailing towards him on warships of
rain and frozen effigies.
They arrived, astronauts
from outer space
burning from the lips
outwards revealing grey
intent and red mists.
He fought back with false start
epiphanies and the falsetto
prophecies that stung the air
with pitch raining down.
Leaving bare branches where once
green hands applauded
everything but empty air,
like listless typewriters furiously
trying to find their voices.
Feirce winds and fake faces
left blinking with closed eyes
in the vastness of battlefield.
Turning stomaches and
blank canvas whirlpools,
storms of anti-peace
scarring the last conquests
of the flightless ape lizard,
and all his gorilla warfare.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
I am
A street without a name
A pictureless frame
A dull knife
A still life
I am
A question mark
A smothered spark
An unread book
A stolen look
I am
A blank page
An empty stage
A heavy sigh
A passer-by
I am
A ship with paper sails
A train on rusted rails
A flightless bird
A Dream Deferred
I am
An overcrowded mind
A word that hasn't been defined
A lighthouse that no longer stands
Two feet sinking in the sand.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC
She comes,
and she goes.
She comes,
and she goes.
And I just seem to stay,
in the same exact place everyday.
While she goes off to see the carnival show.
A life full of joy.
Cotton candy, stunt performers, and trippy tents.
Won't you please soften the blow?
She comes,
and she goes.
She comes,
and she goes.
Spin the ghost of time around,
like a revolving door.
What has this all been for?
All the days bought and spent,
wonder just where those kisses went.
Hope they leave home before the Sun will glow.
And the stars hide behind it's rays.
And fall into false days.
Won't you please soften the blow?
She comes,
before she goes.
And before she comes,
she dances beautifully on her toes.
She's alone and she's cool.
She's enough to make you feel a fool!
Words being said.
Flightless birds sitting in bed.
Wonder if she will go,
or if she will stay.
Guess I won't know until a day oh so far away.
Wont't you please soften the blow?
Aug 18, 2010
Aug 18, 2010 at 5:52 AM UTC