Poem of the Week: Flynn the Miserable

Welcome back, readers!

Here I am once again with yet another “Poem of the Week,” and just like with last week, we’re going to stay light-hearted with a little limerick chain, similar to The Ranting Game: A Limerick Chain from May 20. This time, we’re going to examine the case of a young man named Flynn, who has the habit of taking himself and the world around him a little bit too seriously and—in a manner not much different from Clyde from The Ranting Game—ends up  complaining about everything under God’s hot sun. However, instead of attracting the attention of people who call him out on his nonsense the way Clyde did, Flynn manages to drive people away from him with his incessant bellyaching. Will he ever learn to lighten up and learn to take things more into stride and look at the bright side of life every once in a blue moon, or will he be forever lost within a realm of bitter loneliness and self-deprivation? I’ll leave it to you folks to read on and find out for yourselves. Enjoy!

*****

Flynn the Miserable

June 14, 2012

 

This is the story of Flynn

Who must’ve had a heart made of tin,

For he’d take all he’d see

All too seriously

And treat it like a mortal sin.

 

Naturally, he was a bitter sot,

And the smallest things angered him a lot,

And whenever he spoke

‘Bout how all was a joke,

He made many a sane mind rot.

 

He’d start with certain stories in the news,

From war to the price of shoes—

Nothing all too fantastic,

Least not ‘til his mind went spastic,

And made him turn meaner out of the blue.

 

Once that happened, he’d nearly cry

‘Bout barking dogs and being born a guy

And of the high school dance

And the ants in his pants—

Everything under God’s blue sky.

 

He’d moan and groan every which way,

He’d whine and cry night and day

‘Til all who chanced to hear

His words covered their ears

And one by one, they all went away.

 

Soon, he was left all alone

With no one to talk to at home

Or at school or, worse yet,

On the Internet—

Heck, not even over the phone.

 

As he realized this, he felt screwed,

For he had nothing left to do,

Save for sit and pout

Like an old man with gout,

And while in his self-pity, he stewed.

 

He wailed to himself, “Woe is me!

Look at what my life’s turned out to be.

No one left to balk to

Means no one left to talk to.

I’m finished!” So was his decree.

 

He then sat still and buried his head,

Wishing secretly he was dead

‘Til he got the wild hair

To stand up from his chair

And walk over to the radio by his bed.

 

With a shrug, he then turned the thing on

And found himself listening to a song—

A song so sweet

With both a catchy beat

And smart lyrics with which to sing along.

 

‘Twas a song about hope and moving on

And wishing one’s drama “So long!”—

About turmoil being dead

And brighter days ahead,

The wait for which no longer being prolonged.

 

Naturally, then, Flynn lent an ear

And began to catch the message clear

And soon on his face,

His frown was displaced

With a smile at that which he did hear.

 

So much did he dig this song

That he did more than just sing along,

For soon enough, his feet

Started shuffling to the beat,

Wishing Flynn’s troubles, “So long!”

 

Granted, Flynn was no king of dance

And looked awkward in his corduroy pants,

Shaking his hips

With a few sways and dips

And the occasional ballerina prance.

 

Guess what, though: He didn’t care.

For once in so long, we was there,

Having the time of his life

Boogying ‘way his strife,

At once both awakened and unaware—

 

Awakened because he found happiness

And at long last was grooving ‘way his stress,

But at the same time unaware,

For who should be standing there

But his parents in their evening dress.

 

As they stood silently watching their son

And observing him having so much fun,

They couldn’t help but stand dazed

And no doubt amazed

At the transformation that had but begun.

 

In fact, after a short while,

They joined in on his fun with a smile,

Busting out moves of their own

And enjoying the tone

Of this new turn of events with style.

 

Soon enough, though, the song came to a stop,

And as it did, Flynn’s jaw did drop

Once he caught sight of his folks,

Whom he’d unknowlingly coaxed

Into joining in on his little sock hop.

 

Flynn asked, “What exactly’s going on?”

His parent answered, “What else, dear son?

We’re both happy to see

You actually showing glee,

And we’re proud of how you’re now moving on.

 

“You’re not complaining like you used to,

Something we’ve long heard you do.

You’ve finally learned there’s more to life

Than misery and strife

And for that alone, we’re both proud of you.”

 

Flynn smiled at his parents’ approbation

And hugged them in relieved elation,

So happy to discover

They’ve come back to recover

Their son after such a separation.

 

Flynn’s family was happy from then on,

And pretty soon, Flynn himself moved on

To patch things up with

As many of his kith,

And once again, his connections grew strong.

 

After that, Flynn never ranted again,

Never again drove anyone insane

With constant negativity,

For instead, his proclivity

Was to focus on delight more than pain.

 

Even when things turned for worse,

Flynn avoided his curse

From his past life

As an obsessor over strife

And tried to look to the positive side first.

 

Now, friends, please learn Flynn’s lesson well,

For life isn’t always a living hell,

As there’s heaven to be had—

Good as well as bad—

And if you acknowledge both, you’ll fare swell.

*****

And there you have it—another lesson in limerick chain form. So…let’s start up a little conversation here regarding this poem. Do any of you out there know a “Flynn” in real life? Are there any particular gripes and complaints he or she makes that specifically get on your nerves? Is there any chance that he or she will ever come to the same type of realization that Flynn did here in this poem, and if so, how? Feel free to leave your responses below.

That’s pretty much it for this week. Hopefully in the next week or two, I’ll be able to provide you all with an update on my latest novel, UWWX: The Underground Women’s Wrestling Xperiment. As matters stand now, I’m currently in the middle of the second-to-last chapter and plan on finishing writing the entire book sometime this coming month, after which I’ll be editing it shortly before publishing it on Smashwords.com, so please keep your eyes open on my author page so that you can be among the first to purchase it once it comes out. Also, seeing as I published a blog entry on June 12 regarding my thoughts on David McLane’s Women of Wrestling that has been garnering plenty of hits from visitors, I am wondering as to whether or not any of you would be interested in any additional posts on women’s wrestling—a discussion of Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling and its supposed revival that I’ve heard about on a number of occasions, for example—to further get you interested in this new novel of mine. As before with any and all discussion regarding this week’s poem, please leave a response. Otherwise, I’ll be seeing you all next time. Happy reading!

Regards,

Dustin M. Weber

 

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