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Best Apathy Poems | Poetry

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Don't stop! The most popular and best Apathy poems are below this new poems list.

Pride vs Apathy by Krutsinger, Caren
THIS WORLD OF APATHY by Gauthier, Line
Apathy by Behm, Kurt Philip
Apathy of Time by Harper, Sheri Fresonke
Apathy of Time by Jennings, CayCay
Apathy of Time by Haight, Sandra
Apathy of Time by Heart, Dear
Spiritual Apathy by Loo, Lu
Apathy by Crisci, Andrew
Apathy by Soper, Joseph

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The Best Apathy Poems

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The World Needs Poetry

You ask, “Why DOES the world need poetry?”
           And I say...

Its writing is my sanity,
    my armour versus apathy,
        my dealing-with-it strategy,
            my joy, my strange proclivity,
                my vital creativity.

Its reading dulls cacophony
    and mindless mediocrity
        then floods me with philosophy 
            and tenderness and jollity
                 that elevate life’s quality.

Each poem is a legacy
    itself, but then collectively
        they weave a vibrant tapestry
            of glorious humanity...

For though we face mortality,
    our madness, our hilarity,
        our weakness, our capacity
            for sadness or sagacity
                can all be captured perfectly
                     by verses, for eternity.

And that’s why, whether knowingly
        or not, the world needs poetry. 
 


18 September 2018
For “Why Would Your Self-Expression Matter To Others?” Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier



Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018


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It is Quiet Tonight

It is quiet tonight.
The only sound is coming from
the soft murmur of the television set.
I don't know why I don't just put it on mute.
I don't want to hear what they have to say,
but I guess it is better than the sound
           of silence which is deafening. 
It hurts my ears, it hurts my heart.

Yesterday I was happy, but that was before,
before I stepped into the dark abyss.
I think I may have been pulled in 
           by the apathy of death. 
Death has such long arms.
I won't ask why, I know everyone must die.
But you left on a happy day, a day we were
making plans, and I had hope, 
       hope that we still had time,
                    time to share those plans.
You made me laugh until I cried that day,
        and then death swooped in 
                      and took it all away.
It is so quiet tonight.

© Connie Marcum Wong
8-27-16

August 10, 2016 Poem of the Day


Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016


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Listen To Life

Have you heard me?

Borne upon the air at dusk, dancing ... I have whispered you in a million voices
    Still, you descry not my utterance? Listen, yet, for all is precious ...
        In the tremble of the plum blossoms - is the tender truth not there?
            In the aching sigh of spring-tide, longing for the touch of LIFE

Does my intent not appear ... clearly?
    In the hollow goodbye of the passing, placed into cold soil
        Or scattered, spinning, on the breeze ... in the belly laugh of a child,
            Finding untarnished joy for the first time ... in the bloom of creation

Come to realization on the tip of a slender branch .. hearken yet, close! There!
    Feel it ... HEAR it! Within the keen and cold desperation of winter wind ...
        Inside the scratchings of fear, black as coal ...
            Deep, deep within the horror of oblivion, and the knowledge

That the ONLY thing that endears life to itself, is the LOSS of it ...
    Here - here in the breath of silence ... brushed aside, oh so gently,
        Like the strands of hair from a baby's forehead in the midst of fever ...
            Like a lover painted in moonbeams - lost in moments,

Drowning in the hope that intimacy means something more ...
    Like the glint in the eye of a pet, whose owner's caress is everything ...
        Like the rusty tears of a madman, doomed,
            Shed for the sake of life sacrificed in reclamation ...

Like the warm pulse of lifeblood, coursing ...
    Like the wash of phosphorescence on a beach,
        Where countless souls were given - sacrificed needlessly
            For the aims of self-important fools, half a world away ...

Like the frost on a window, left by the breath of a dying promise ...
    Like the shudder of skin, touched by attentive fingertips in passion ...
        Like the cold kiss of a friend, lost, set free by the failing of a respirator
            A final farewell to an existence of pain ...

Like the face of a dear one, cradled in your palms in the wish for forgiveness ...
    I have spoken to you in earnest - across the addled ages,
        You have felt my breath warm on your cheek, yet you walk on, careless
            You buzz about your life in apathy and indifference,

Searching for integral meaning, when that meaning was yours all the time ...
    The preciousness of this existence, is ONLY of such value for two reasons:
        It is BRIEF ... and you are mortal ...
            Life is the only true gift you are EVER given

And death the unshakable assumption of its worth
    Death is ultimate, inescapable ...
        But in all its dark disguises, it is the one TRUE element that we require
            The one true measure of importance,

And the salvation of all that is good and estimable,
    For LIFE is worthless without it ...
        Its precious spark, doused with but a breath of limitless value.
            I have whispered that to you in a million voices ...

Have you heard me?




~ 1st Place ~  in the "How Precious Life Is" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.



Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017


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Teardrop

I ask you to mind our earth, heed our existence upon it, care for our lives and all that will occur if we cannot consider beyond ourselves, if we are guided by uncertainty, when we fear the unknown, when we shun those who differ from us in skin color, in sex, in persuasion, if we turn our eyes away, when we dance upon the hidden strings of politicians or cunning puppetmasters, when we swallow the lust of war, when poets languish in isolation, without ear or encouragement, when we torture, when prejudice blinds us to the humanity of another, when our deluded misconceptions will go public with ready trigger finger, when we mistake violence for the solution, when we fail the worthy person, when we won't bother to look past the wheelchair and to whom he really is, to say his real name, when the most expected thing we will share with him is discrimination, when we forget that here in space we are in this together, when tomorrow is the day that old and young will die in roaring explosions, in quiet corners without notice, when people are driven from their homes, when women must live in fear, when we steal identities, when evil hides in anonymity, when we rest in apathy, indifferent to the pain of others, when our fellow creatures are in chains for our profit and amusement, when hunger and hatred are accepted, when malice shrieks loud, when we cut baby girls due to generational gender inequality, from psychosexual ignorance and hard superstition; when we deny justice to one lonely voice, our world falls, stretching itself into a teardrop.
December 26, 2016 For FJ Thomas's contest - 'Concrete Crush'


Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2016


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Violin Notes Fall From Heaven No More


Her trembling twilight is dimming with streaking purple tears bruised by youthful years of bleeding pain hurting but never hugged -- locked in the arms of atmosphere’s apathy that smeared with fiendish fingers a contusing plum palette across any hope in her godforsaken horizon ~ this sorrowful songbird who sings with the shattered purity of violin strains falling from Heaven finds her bemoaning musical notes adrift - lost on breezy deaf days as she is once again thrown down from the self-serving skyscape by the hateful hands of the wildcat winds. In the deep inkwell of lullaby-less lonely nights where never a tender nursery rhyme has ever set her free are memories scribed of storm-battered days and weighing heavily on Libra’s scales are the injustices of dreams she will never live nor flights of fancy she will never take as her scorching sire of solar flares on withering warpaths sleeps soundly on a bloated bed over-stuffed with betrayal and broken promises while merciless maternal moonbeams do not wander the coal-colored haze with lanterns lit beaming to find her frail fractured form lost in the eclipsed puckered pleats of the blood-red mistress’s skirts. Tonight, the stricken sparrow folds her fledgling wings never to fly again… will the skies miss her? Susan Ashley March 4, 2018 ------------------------------ ~Third Place~ Contest: Favorite Free Verse (not for contest) Sponsor: Laura Loo ------------------------------ ~ Poem of The Day ~ March 5, 2018


Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2018


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Erupting Emotions


            @ @@@
      @@@@@@@@
   @@@@@@@@@@@
  &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
 @@@@@@@@   @@&&&
&&&&&&&&&&           &&&
&&&&&&&&&     ####  &&      
&&&&&&&           ~~~      Encompassed by her esoteric eruptive emotions
&&&&&                            Within her consternation she stood a fragile flower
@@@           (.  .)           Gathering predilection amidst deluging tears of oceans
&&&&&                           A friend to apathy enslaved by love as demons devour
&&&&&        <---->        In reverence of her courageous heart with dragons fire
&&&&&&                     And condemnation of her sacrificial silent screaming dire
@@@@@@                Upon her unearthliness she emancipates to empower.
  &&&&&&&&&&
@@@@@@
@@@@@@@                   @@@@
    ********                   @@@@@@
    @@@@@                 @@@@@@@
        @@@                @@@@@@@@
            @@@           @@@@@@@@
                &&&
                    ***
          *           **
         **           *
           *          *
              * ***





This poem is dedicated to Brenda Chiri...for her enduring emotions...in reference to her post 'My Body Tells A Story'.



Nov.02.2018
7 Lines, 7 Words: Rhyme 
Sponsored by: Lu Loo 




Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2018


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Battling Addiction

               You  told
               me  once  
               about the
               R e l i e f:
               the  f o g,
               that haze
               of apathy
               that  veils
               the  mind,
               b l urri n g
               the  edges
              of your pain. 
             Can  you  feel
          anything  at all? I  
        watch you drink your 
      life  away, far too many 
     moments  lost,  forgotten
    in that  h a z e. I watch as
   you   f e e d   your  disease, 
   suck yourself dry before you
   suck  me  dry,  draining  me 
   like  one of  your bottles, till
   I'm empty inside. But I can't
   wait around for you to  snap,
   to throw me against the wall.
   I won't  shatter  like a bottle. 
   I won't  burst  in a mosaic of 
   glass  and  light.  You cannot 
   b r e a k   someone   who  is
   already b r o k e n. You can't 
   fix someone with  s l u r r ed 
   apologies  or  promises  that 
   smell  like  stale   alcohol.  I
   can't  be  there  to  drown at 
   the  bottom  of  your   bottle. 
   I’m done  with  rock  bottom.


  For Anne's "Battling Addiction" contest
  Placed: 1st


Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013


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Before the Rain is Gone

She kept it all inside her
and never spoke a word,
though her thoughts flew and darted
like a trapped and frantic bird.

Inside her was a garden
that was hung with Spanish moss,
like the massive oaks were weeping
to remind her of her loss..

The spider wove at breakneck speed,
a perfect work of art,
watching it, she had her doubts
that humans were so smart.

The southern air was sultry
and the sea salt cloyed the skin,
 the yard dogs dug depressions
and the alley cats grew thin.

The black top roads got sticky
when the southern sun beat down
and the heat forever rises
forming monstrous thunderclouds.

When the blue sky rolls and blackens
soon the thunder shakes the ground
and the southern landscape flattens
as the blinding rain pours down.

Nostrils flared, she filled her lungs
with the dank and heady scent
of peat-rich soil, decay and loam,
of lavender and mint.

And in her secret garden,
reptiles raised their faces high,
and blessed the cooling water
that came pouring from the sky.

She loved the iridescence
of the blue-green dragonflies
and marveled at their flying skills
as they went whirring by.

The rain soon turned magnolia leaves
into miniature garden ponds,
there the dragonflies must lay their eggs
before the rain is gone.

Wrens and sparrows chirped and chattered,
they enjoyed the cooling rain,
but the squirrels were wet and grumpy
and the jays were raising Cain.

The girl did not seek cover
and the rain ran down her face,
on her lashes rain drops trembled,
much like crystals gently placed.

The thunder never frightened her
nor did the lightning scare,
to nature she was connected,
to living things, aware.

She lived in every moment,
soon the thunderstorm would end
and the dark earth would start steaming,
then the heat would come again.

Suddenly all fell silent
in her garden of delights,
all living things were quiet
as the steam began to rise.

The gray squirrel broke the silence
and if squirrels could really speak,
she knew he would be cursing,
surely swearing a blue streak.

And then she saw the blue jay
madly pumping out his call,
his angry face was comical
Mohawk feathers standing tall.

She swam the Sea of Apathy
and the Ocean of Ennui,
there the waves upheld her gently,
washing over memories.

And the earthworms turned the soil
in the garden of her mind
and the trees again were weeping
from the echoes left behind.


Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2008


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Celebarating The Adventure Of Advent: A collaboration with Kai Michael Neumann

Universal elegy grieves and yet embraces shifts of paradigm
New beginnings consciousness initiates comprehends and thus proceeds from
Illusion’s delusion collusions misconceptions in the irritating
Vortex whirlpool immanent void of false containment

Enlightenment modern postmodern retro visionary futuristic aspirations
Resound in dialectical rebirth rejuvenation germinate constructive 
Sense meaning reflect serenity’s tentative confidence that the
Agony of climate change greed warfare ignorance destructive apathy
Liberates fusion confusion necessitates Aquarian communication of

Antagonism’s polar opposites contradictions complements

Cycles spheres of influence of grave repression gravitate
Revolve resolve with pushing pulling moons in metaphorical
Orbital mental psychological initiation shape incidences
Synchronicities collateral communal reason feeling responsibility

Transformation of the global madness inhumanity conjoins
Idealism and the darker side’s fallacies of fabrication

Conspiracy of muted spirit silence violation fade away transform to novel script

Communication courses discourses concur in co-operation
Obvious obscurity in the blip of human race’s evolution delimits 
Limitations iron cages hopes for new time place of reason beyond
Laissez-faire and hippie psychedelic stream of consciousness afar from
Anarchy self-righteous slavery rebellion mindlessness

Big oppressive bangs big brother’s obliterating over-information with
Onslaught of technology fail and falter when simplicity and esoteric
Rationale comprise enhance encompass the necessary world view shifts

Ascent and ever changing climax revitalizes humanness thus gifts
Truth deriving comprehension from ‘objective’ communal subjectivity with
Intuition insight inclination outside from the rigid boxed conformity

Order may be found again in the chaos of our time of misrepresented bedlam
New Age Aquarius delivers acts upon fresh constellation contemplates the Universe 

Celebrating the adventure of Advent this one is written very uniquely. 
During this transition Oh, the ubiquity of perception, reception most gratefully
Each new day begins with one’s first thought, amazingly
Though, this thought did not require any forethought, excitingly,
I thought, what if I thought in forethought, demandingly
Boldly I choose, a path of understanding.  Then Daringly,

Choosing to forgive myself, then choosing to forgive everyone else.  I gratefully
wished upon distant star and my cry did travel far.  Vega, amazingly
did answer my call, in a dream from My whispering old cemetery scene . Excitingly
 I dashed out of my bed, outside looked to sky, then cried Eternal welcome to Aquarius demandingly.
The Joy of this revelation, thought and manifestation determining one’s destination. So, daringly
I choose to be enlightened by the universal code, which is downloaded to each individual uniquely.

Travel I have far and wide, and gone I have, from high to low. Amazingly
though, I realize know, that I had always been seeking to know.  Excitingly
turning each new page, certain and determined to be my own sage. Daringly
I vied, nothing would make me swallow my pride.  Demandingly
I had thought,  When we get there that all would play fair.  Thought I did, uniquely
as most should do.  Now, A little Alliteration to say we too are gratefully

The stranger within me does no longer be because know I see. Life does have excitingly
creative individual versatility. Change it does for you, whom call upon it consistent and demandingly.
Remaining keenly observant in search for knowledge and do so daringly.
Questioning what dares seem query logic and reason itself. While never failing to truly uniquely 
understand another for having their own uniqueness  and being grateful
for be blessed with this, understanding of knowing each individual creation amazingly.

.
Target destination is fixed after course has been made demandingly.
Each individual soul being has chosen this mission daringly. 
Having arrived in this Third dimensional reality to uniquely 
instruct in the revolution of Love is a four letter word and do so very thankfully and gratefully
to each and every soul of light that exists. Uplifted into the light I call out amazingly.
 Higher Power, The all High and Universal Father of All, whom is the one that is truly exciting.

Inviting all He does whom choosing a star path daringly.
His message has been sent to each and every one of you uniquely 
in its own way. We should all give blessing and thanks, while being gratefully
for each and every new amazingly
fantastic and an Emphasis on an excitingly
creative Acrostic man day. After being both commanding humbly and so, demandingly.
,
Who is excitingly and amazingly, demandingly and 
daringly to be uniquely and gratefully Different? 



Copyright © Steven Henderson | Year Posted 2016


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Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

Blissfully ignorant and supine,
Lost in the economy line,
voters don’t have a clue
that liberty is through.
Apathy dictates all else is fine.
People keep telling me how foolish I am,
but frankly I don’t give a dam.
I’m going to tell you what I see.
You don’t have to agree with me.
In hatred’s name Moslems prayed at the mosque,
boarded planes and three thousand we lost,
Soon we elected a Moslem president,
his books words and actions self evident.
To prove he was islam’s extremist hero,
He allowed a triumphant mosque at ground zero,
Freedom of religion is what they subtly called it,
by a government that continues to overhaul it.
The American people look on as if still numb,
singing his praises as if deaf and dumb,
while a pseudo democratic uncle Sam,
in a forced health care plan,
continues to turn out liberty’s lights
by destroying other religion’s rights.
Thus the American people’s democracy,
is morphed into a dictatorial hypocrisy.
While blindsided by a frantic economy,
we apathetically lose our autonomy.
Allowed by deaf and blind voters in a loud voice,
Fooled by not freedom but license they call choice,
sly appointment of people who fulfill the plan,
A long range one by the “new” Uncle Sam.
a champion of abortion, killing future contenders
him and Herod; another of the great pretenders.
“Enlightened Americans have one point two children per family,
because of abortion, birth control and contraception
Moslems have seven; which is the anomaly?
We Americans treat babies as an infection.
Laugh if you wish; I’m just exposing the path,
You “enlightened” Americans: you do the math.


Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2012


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Pieces of Me

I wonder what becomes of pieces of me 
which I tear out and lay bare,
search through with loving care,
painstakingly gathering the fragments
and forming them into simple gifts;

I know it’s not much, but it’s all I have to give -
so I try to create just the right thing 
that might reflect the essence of who I am
or how I feel about the person receiving. 

What happens to these pieces of me that I share? 
I take them and lovingly arrange them in layers
and wrap them carefully in a fragile shell -
are they appreciated and cherished?

I’d like to think they are placed gently
into the hearts of those for whom they were created 
I want to believe that, once inside, they move and stir
and that, by them, I might make a difference to someone,
and that I might become a tiny part of their world.

What becomes of those pieces of my heart
when they are not seen as a gift imparted;
when they are not kept as treasures to hold?
Are they taken as something to be used?
Or swept aside like they mean nothing,

burned up in the fires of indifference,
blown casually away in an unresponsive breeze?

Maybe they remain, buried and hidden, 
releasing a fragrance - a beautiful energy,
a positive force, of which my recipient is unaware.

Sometimes I wish I could take back everything I’ve given
which were unappreciated and cast aside;
gather them back, and store them all up 
to replenish my limited supply - 
because sometimes I feel I’m running low.

But, I can’t take back what I’ve freely bestowed.
So I hope that for every part of me 
that is received with indifference or apathy,
there are many others that are being treasured 
as the expressions of love they were meant to be. 



This is a re-post... and my last poem here for a while.  I'm leaving pieces of me here, in the friendships I've made, even the ones that have ended. 


Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2016


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When Scorpio Goes Dark


Antares' red glow bears firmly down
upon plush, chartreuse carpet
lying prone against the obsidian expanse,
blanketing sections of a remote 
blue sphere, purling,

spinning helplessly 
through distant time and space;
slave to routine and rotation,
never daring to break free; 
to reach out.

Scorpius sprawls low 
across the Autumn void;
a celestial corpse 
twinkling, twitching; 
inexplicably still breathing, 
expelling the last 
of her precious plexine light 
in a final, desperate act

to awake inspiration, stir passion,
proffer wholeness and healing
to an infirmed, ungrateful planet,
for her end-of-reign recession.

Projecting dreams; visions 
like swirling Akashic holograms 
leaping forth from ancient pages 
of ethereal records,
all but lost to time and apathy.

Twisting snakelike through the cosmos,
her broody gaze steeling
in every direction; 
fierce energy bombarding; 
burning across the universe.

Intense joules bursting forth;
reaching out to nurture
willing universal souls;
scorching those who reject her,
turning them to table fodder 
at a divine banquet 
for dark gods.

Sagittarius flickers jovially behind
as if breathless with laughter;
taunting, frustrating,
staying just out of reach 
of her vengeful tail.

The rule of Scorpio wanes
upon Orion's horizontal breach
extinguishing the sting-ed cluster;
quelling her tumultuous surge
until late-spring pains 
rebirth her fires,

igniting them, emerging again
from the icy chasm 
of black oblivion.


Copyright © Thvia Shetley | Year Posted 2017


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Emotions in Motion


Pleasure threw a party for her friends to come,
she sent invitations out to each and every one.
There were 10 responses and Pleasure did assume
it would be fun to see them interacting in one room.

Unfortunately the 10 who were about to show
had issues with each other ,things she didn’t know.
Joy had left depression just a month before,
couldn’t tolerate his negativity no more.

Paranoia kept Bewildered so confused,
the more mixed up she got the more he was amused.
Affection tried to help Obsession understand,
how her food  addiction was getting out of hand.

Apathy was drinking wine coolers as a crutch,
all emotions were aware that she indulged too much.
Acceptance and Joy showed up late but seemed content,
they were welcome at every emotional event.

Depression was not over Joy, he saw her and felt blue,
Bewildered  was sure that Paranoia hid her shoe.
Anxiety lost Acceptance and nervously confessed
he brought Assertiveness to help him mingle with the rest.

Affection accused Obsession of eating the buffet,
Paranoia tried to leave, Assertiveness stood in his way,
in the kitchen drinking by herself was Apathy,
Joy and Acceptance both enjoyed the hospitality.

Then Joy helped Bewildered put both of her shoes on,
Paranoia fell for Apathy, they both stayed till dawn.
Acceptance told Anxiety she 'd liked him as a friend,
Affection said “I’m sorry” to Obsession in the end.

Pleasure was quite happy only 10 guests were there,
if there had been more it might have been a wild affair,
each one settled, got along and as you can presume
all emotions set in motion made for a busy room.





Copyright © Liz Labadie-Reilly | Year Posted 2011


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Tunnel Vision

Graffiti frames a tunneled tomb, beneath the city's core
where writings stretch upon the wall in dialects profaned
A hallmark and a tell-tale sign, but somehow, no one sees
Unspoken fears have set apart the lives that mingle here 

In every shade the masses grow, and mingle side by side 
Day, by day, the same routine, sardines until they die 
The writing on the tunneled walls is just a sign to come
that walls have grown to come between the hands of humankind

They board as one, but coldness churns through veins beneath the ground
Habits honed have deafened ears to echoes all around
Distance tumbles through the aisles, small words too frail to say
"How are you, what can I do to help you smile today?"

Too occupied for reaching out to be the other's friend 
No glance, no chance to say hello to the stranger by your side
No hands to grasp, no questions asked, just eyes in downward glance,
A phone in hand, whatever land, beyond all human touch

As seasons pass, left in the dust the silence breeds and feeds
more apathy, that beats the heart, as cold and hard as stone.. 
The sound of silence just rumbles on,  until the walls come down

_________________________________________________________
4/27/18


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2018


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Shopping List

"Shopping List"

Sister Kathy's going shopping and she's asked me for my list,
Needing LOTS of help, so I could not her, resist...

I have a Shopping List not too very long,
But the items listed must be sadly wrong.
My list was made awhile ago, still incomplete,
For it seems I'm shopping for things obsolete,
Or at the least rare, very scarce to uncover,
No longer cultivated, to find, to discover.

At the very top is Love, which should be everywhere,
But not so easy is it to find, leaving me in despair.
I can find ego alright, aplenty all around,
But humility? ..So little to be found.
There's apathy and indifference, an abundant supply,
But finding empathy and compassion, the well's gone dry.
Everywhere I turn, there's justification freely spread,
Yet, no accountability found, as others are on, tread.

Truth and honesty are on my list, second from the top,
It seems though, they're out of stock every place I shop.
While lying and deceitfulness are generously promoted,
Handed out like candy, so sweetly, sugar coated.
Honour and respect have become out of season.
Patience and acceptance have lost all their reason.
Gratitude and thankfulness left with news of yesterday;
Now everything is about 'me' the headlines read and say.

Other things I've listed like kindness, hope, and caring,
Compassion and forgiveness, not many up for sharing.
Understanding's not in style, a fad of yesterday,
Passing judgement onto others now on display.
Modesty and privacy, their contracts have run out,
With ostentatious behaviour flaunted all about.
Consideration for others, indefinitely placed on ice,
Manners and politeness gone, along with friendly, nice.

All the many values to build character needed, 
Integrity and virtue, all practically depleted.
Principles and convictions, rocks on which to stand,
Have all but washed away, leaving only shifting sand.

I made my list awhile ago but without much success,
For all the shopping done has caused me great distress.
Even words I'm shopping for can't be found with ease,
Like, "I'm sorry" or "Thank you" or the one, "Please".
I never thought my list to be so arduous a task,
Until I went shopping and then I had to ask,
For items I thought to be to all near and dearly,
Their scarcity alarms me, saddens me severely.

Up and down I've searched, aisle after aisle,
A rarity indeed should I see a happy smile.
I enter every store, every shopping mart, 
Hoping just to fill my empty shopping cart.
I am lucky if I can find just one or two or three
Of the items I've been searching for in every shopping spree.
But the saddest thing of all on my list, at the very top,
Is that genuine Love is hard to find no matter where I shop.

What's so really sad you ask about Love in short supply?
Because Love is within all of us, but still we shun it. Why?
It does seem my Shopping List is much longer than I thought,
But surely ‘twould be nice to find everything I’ve sought.
It is my wish one day to find abundantly all of the above,
And shining in everyone’s hearts the item we know as Love.

Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2014-05-04
All rights reserved.


Copyright © Artsieladie Sharon Donnelly | Year Posted 2018


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You Wear Away at Me

you wear away at me with your silence
not with whetted words
or physical altercations
there are no recriminations
No...
it's much more corrosive than all of that
this is the sad fact
apathy barbed in neglect
is the tool that you use
not aware it's abuse

how it scrapes and it grinds
determined not to leave anything behind
day after day
night after night
year after year
till the memory
of who I was dissapears

a little bit more every day
you wear me away
voiceless, I fade
silent in your silent tirade

only pebbles remain
of a once templed soul
and with a little more time
pulverized, 
they blow away...
by the constant silent howling
of your loveless heart

Eileen Manassian



Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2018


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HONESTY









Honesty-an orphan lost in the streets of apathy-desperately seeking a foster home to find!








© Demetrios Trifiatis
       19 August 2018


Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2018


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Mind Pollution

Mind pollution
The manipulation and control of the masses 
Is a world government agenda and constitution
Throughout time.

Newer technology and the information computer revolution
Are powerful weapons to spread evil deeds and even more pollution
The slave masters crack the whip the rich get richer
The poor poorer powerless aboard a sinking ship.

Out of manufactured chaos
Comes apathy and fear
Making nations easier to control
And sell their souls sometimes unwaveringly
Blind to the powers that be commands.


Propaganda to gain support for wars
Bank crashes like never before
To take our money
And make rhe rich richer
Than before
Government leaks and lies spread to cause hate
And justify what the powers that be create.

Puppets on strings controlled by the powerful who lurk in the shadows
The real rulers of the world never seen
Ruthless greedy evil and mean.

For those not blind with open mind
The jigsaw puzzle slowly fits together
Piece by piece and the bigger picture is released
The truth they'll never be peace
The snares are their so take care
Open your eyes free your mind so you can see
World manipulation and subliminal brainwashing in your own home
Through the media and TV.

So many good people in the spotlight have tried to warn us before
And tried to revile the truth and the secrets
But were silenced and found dead on the floor.

Peter Dome.copyright.2015. June.


Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2015


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Do the Math


Fifty stars
and
thirteen stripes
Wavy patriotic mathematician
do the math ... 
Subtraction or addition,
what will the numbers be,
37 or 63?
Slavery took away my parents’ human rights,
and their children’s dignity
I got 59 stripes to show 
	what was done to me ...
every year on this earth,
	I’ve seen my people mistreated wickedly
Promises, promises
was the number 40
plus 1
Forty acres and a mule
Reparation was a cheap trade-off
	for my ancestors’s suffering and misery
But, that promissory note
still ain’t never been given to me
Subtraction ends with a negative number obviously
Minus zero
is deeper than a 6 feet hole
It’s so cold inside the modern slave quarters,
the project pipes are froze
Go bury the bones, now there’s less to feed — 
politicians playing oppression dominoes
Moving over to the addition side 
of the patriotic math equation
I got a lot of woe heaped on my poor poverty:
more income inequality,
	more housing discrimination illegality
More police brutality,
and much, much more drugs pouring into
every ghetto community
Add it all up, this is what I see:
red, white and blue platitudes is suffocating me
Red is our labor paid with blood
White is our cotton weary purity
Blue is our ocean of perpetual grief
But there’s more to the patriotic math problem,
	come take a look-see
We got multiplication and division
to intellectually wrestle with morally
Stripping away health care and welfare
has multiplied the cries of the poor
Mob rule, and his thug buddy, crime does too ... 
gun violence got bodies piling up at the morgue
Multiply the pain of parents
whose kids go milk carton missing
Spreading fear cancer in the affected area,
		killing hope
The disease of apathy is multiplying faster 
than campaign corruption smoke
Do the math you dope ...
Depression numbers are climbing astronomically,
		higher than you can see
in a Hubble space telescope
Yet, it’s division that takes away
most of the social gains garnered over the years
Factor in the algorithms of hate,
separating forces of social valency
Divide the bond of racial harmony,
cancel out certain colors in the voting crayon box
Do the math ... and understand,
	       division is a common denominator pox
And last on the patriotic math problem list
is fractions and percentages
That’s how the Revolutionary colonies’ tax returns
were itemized in the beginning
Three fifths ...
Sixty percent human
Slaves were never counted to be worth much,
tax write-off humans who were sub
Back to the future with another tax cut
And after all this time, they still be 
doing the same math with a king George touch,
	using Orwellian integers
Strange, arcane math symbols and figures
Do the math ...
Some stars are more equal than others,
some stripes are brighter than another
Math numbers don’t lie,
only Cain people who hate their brother


Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017


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trust the system

footsteps aimlessly
walking on their trails
beaten down and broken
shiny as the rails
the rails of the train
over used and rusted
crumbling ignored
the system that you trusted
the silence of conformity
the quiet crying song
of people lost in apathy
monotony so long
the old man remembered
the booming days of old
and tried to warn the youngster
with stories he had told
the young man in the t shirt
can hear no warning cries
television cataracts
covering his eyes
commoners injected
with complacent misdemeanors
fed intravenously
from mass media feeders
the heretics will scream
with no one to hear their call
the working slaves will perish
society will fall
in the pulpit yelling
mystifying lies
sweating like a demon
with fire in his eyes
passing round a dish
to collect the workers' wage
saving souls ain't easy
so he sets a stage
profiting from fear
preparing them for death
comfort is a business
says his liquor breath
on the front row fanning
the woman says amen
waiting for the bell
so she can live in sin
forgiveness is a blessing
that god will give to few
surely she'll be one
when her life is through
the child in the classroom
with the curious mind
will be beaten and conditioned
until she too is blind 
"trust in the system"
is the motto that they teach
"question nothing,
so higher you can reach"
the land of the free
the home of the brave
only for those of us
content with being slaves
some will stand on street corners
holding big white signs
telling of injustice
held beneath our sights
but those who throw the bombs
which burn society down
those will be the shakers
for true freedom to be found
but the sheep still continue
to justify their life
ignoring others torment
blind to their strife
perpetuating failure
selling bankers souls
to keep on consuming
to get the best remote control
to build themselves a shield
what kind of life is this
numbness is a virtue
and ignorance is bliss


Copyright © JoAnna Mitchell | Year Posted 2013


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Shimmering Darkness-Collab

She woke up everyday to the beckoning of death's toll. But decided to embrace life, pulling herself from the darkened hole. With a new brightness in her eyes, she lived life as partially buried gold. Never afraid of the darkness, or what the future may hold. Shimmering beneath the dirt, her beauty shall now unfold. True legacy lies hidden to reign, for a prodigy has risen from bitter cold. One example of grace goes far, farther then any story ever told. With strength that comes from deep within, that's been held from days of old. Among the majority she lived, witnessing atrocities flare. From her soul she would always give, though no one seemed to care. As the bells of sadness began to ring, she would rise above the gloom. Out of darkness and despair she would sing, with a melody that filled the room. The tears that had fallen proved as strength, to her ever-impending light. Onward traveling to any length, for what she believed was right. When darkened paths shimmer, despite the pangs of apathy, through life she will always glimmer, no matter what the tragedy.
8-30-13 -Collab with Laura Breidenthal! No, you're the best, Laura!


Copyright © Dan Kearley | Year Posted 2013


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Chasm

An empty echo bellows from within the depths of a chasm. Endless and cold, it moans an apathy that desecrates the sanctity of love and alters the signal of all feeling and emotion. It reaches and bites the heart, concealing from vision its true mission of destruction. Tightly wrapping itself around the soul, it plunges its deadly sting through its victim, cutting off the gentle flowing mixture of happiness, sincerity, laughter and devotion. Mindless faces speak a meaningless language. The lips seem to move in an endless array of contours as a lone silhouette vanishes with the last beam of light. Alone it stands as it silently waits for time to pass. Alone in these vast depths of indifference, there is no hope, no salvation from the inward conflict that evaporates the soul. Bow your head little sparrow. Weep the tears that none else can. Reveal the pain that none else will. Lift your eyes to a destiny. Take the future up in your tiny wings and bring it back to me. Together we can cry over the past and fly away. Darkness is the absence of light, yet you and I see. Within the chasm flickers a small candle. To you and I little sparrow, no freedom is too distant, no change too great. We persist with love where blind hatred dwells. Lingering within us is a hope, a dream and purpose that lifts the wind beneath our wings. We've tasted the bottom of the chasm. Together we can cry over the past and fly away..........


Copyright © Walter Williams | Year Posted 2012


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SEED OF CONCERN



My Lord,

Give us the will
To overcome our heartless indifference for
Those who suffer 

So as 

Able us to be,
In the ever-stretching desert of apathy, your  
Seed of concern to sow! 



© Demetrios Trifiatis
   02 NOVEMBER 2014


Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2014


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From Darkness To Stardom

Every child is born into this world crying,
Little did this poor child know, tears would fall for the rest of her life.
Born into a world of abuse, heartache and pain,
With a drug addict, alcoholic abusive father and a heartless mother.
Every day was the same, left alone with only silence and darkness,
Dirty clothes, little to eat with every cry for help resulting in violence.
How could her eyes see any happiness when they had run dry?
How could she smile with cut lips and a bruised body?
At 7, her mother died from a lethal overdose of alcohol and drugs,
However, the abuse got worse as she became her father’s new toy.
Poor little girl, an object of carnal gratification and her innocence stolen,
By a man who was responsible for her protection and well being.
The effects of a dark and destructive childhood destroyed her confidence,
With low self esteem and no social skills, they mocked her in school.
Little did they know about the struggles in her life and the pain she was going through,
Bruised and abused, having to make her own lunch with no help from a pathetic father,
This was her daily routine- even hell would have been a more peaceful place for her.
But, little did the world know the girl had a hidden talent,
The voice of an angel and the mind of a creative poet.
At night when she sang, the stars glowed to her beautiful lullaby,
The ink of her pen was like blood rushing from her veins to create magical lyrics.
Music and poetry was her escape from a life of cruelty and rejection,
Her talent was hidden, so no one could help her reach her potential.
As the girl grew, her abuse never stopped, there seemed no end,
With constant memories of painful yesterdays and a childhood lost.

She used her incessant pains and struggles to enhance her music,
Writing hours upon hours of poetry and songs, self-teaching brilliance…
Deep inside she yearned for someone to understand her, to see her…
If not, but one, she would she be wholly satisfied

Many nights she would find herself crying uncontrollably, 
The darkness of the room enveloping her every being
She could see the past in her mind’s eye and be reminded of the sick present
She began to hate her father, and every brat at her school
She cursed death and life alike, and envied her mother’s eternal sleep
Everyone who spit their insult, everyone who remained silent and apathetic,
She hated them with a passion so self-destructive, it burned her raw scars...
Teaching herself to hold it in, so that on paper she could create masterpieces
And prove all of the monsters around her wrong…
In silence, she recalled the worst memories to shame further her reality.
A part of her knew that she was incredibly talented,
Though the darkness often blinded her with guilt
She felt that she did not deserve even a voice,
Her writings were but a sick reminder of demons she could never conquer
Shivering in the cold, her skin dirty and dry,
Ugly…ugly…was the only word she could live by

One night, she contemplated taking her life…
She vowed all of her suffering would meet a greater purpose,
Beyond the grave…beyond fear of hell beneath
She was dirt after all, like the kids always told her
How much worse could it be, facing the flames she was born in?
She threw the kitchen knife down and looked up at the stars above
Even Death would reject her, she knew…
In acceptance, she acknowledged her ugliness and became a stunning underdog
Rebellion sifted through her veins and her strength brought fear to her father
Bullies looked at her as if she was the devil himself
No one could tell her what to do anymore,
And nobody would ever understand her
Though that was okay…
Because that is all she ever knew

Ten years later, the rotten roller coaster continued
Though a fateful night of circumstance had led her right on the stage
Men were mesmerized by her fierceness and apathy
Not being able to grasp each significant line layered in truth
She showed none mercy as she slayed ruthless chords of wonder
Her voice rang angelically, mixed with the fires and tears of her life
Echoing beyond the grave of cold Death… beyond what was wrong or right
It was her silence that stunned the audience the most
Those eyes, having seen so much…felt so much…hid so much…
That cut mouth, with the eternal dry trickle of a bitter tear
The world was not prepared for her intolerable genius,
Just as she was not prepared for their astonished applaud…

-A collaboration by The Silent One and I : )


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015


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Asphalt Jungles

Today fades into yesterday
upon tomorrow's arrival.
And apathy claims denial
as endangered animals die.

Wherever concrete cities rise
collateral damage occurs.
For as jets traverse the skies
wild birds are annihilated.

We dedicate our existence 
to a utopia of steel.
And survive in asphalt jungles
shadowed by our own achievements.

Reality is a mirage
projected upon collapsing hopes.
Yet safe within our cubicles
we love our plastic paradise.

Our planet’s irrevocably
changing into a barren sphere.
For greed’s the legacy of fools
touted by prophets of progress. 


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015