Best Commiseration Poems
A poet enters a private sanctuary,
A sacred place where the imagination
Dwells with a mélange of emotions
Conceived by aesthetic beauty,
Often divine and esoteric in nature;
That comprehensive longing to
Express through common language
That which is so vitally uncommon.
Words that seek to form a bridge
Between intellectual abstract thought
And the world of the inarticulate.
A way to express the depth of sorrow
While having it become a cathartic
Release, thereby relating to others
In commiseration and heartfelt empathy.
Poetry has the ability to help, to heal.
To reach souls enduring that same pain
May be a blessed gift poetry genuinely
Offers in a nonintrusive manner, helping
Lonely souls know they are not alone.
No-one escapes the loving light poetry sheds.
It dwells inside each of us, realized or not.
It teaches with simplicity, expands the mind,
Ingratiates itself without any effort when
Expressed with forethought and integrity.
It may stir emotions from the most stoic.
Speech itself, lives and breathes, and is poetic.
Acquiesce to that silent voice inside which
prevails upon the heart to be released in verse.
Poetry may elevate our spirit with such intensity
To generate a feeling akin to euphoric bliss.
Poets, honored in past glory with the status of Kings,
Now dwell in a world often misunderstood by the
Masses too busy to take the time to regard its worth.
How fortunate for the insightful who appreciate and
Embrace the ageless, immortal soul poetry provides.
They are blessed and will give birth to future poets.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Squadron leader to his Sergeant.
Another fatality Felicity,
another regimental letter of commiseration,
another space to type in with a name a rank
another space to enter our lives,
on this the darkest of days.
He was my friend Felicity,
an old school chum; we joined up together
for the cause; for dear old Blighty
naively for the thrill.
Here, the earring he wore around his neck
soon to be reunited with the one
his sweetheart holds most dear,
her tatty old airline ticket, also soon to be reunited
with his the one she holds, a memento
of their first meeting on a flight to Paris ‘38’.
Sergeant! Empty your ashtray it’s disgusting.
© Harry J Horsman 2014
You watched it on TV
And you might have wondered why
Colin knelt on that football field
What was he attempting to try?
The narrative of his actions
Were about America's attitude
Towards Black men
How they've been lynched, harassed
And murdered again, again and again
Yes he got the attention of the world
Especially this nation
He started a dialog
Of unparalleled participation
And when the so-called powers that be
Showed their true colors
As their prejudice was aired
The movement then flourished
Took on a life of its own
And fruit it now has bared
To kneel or not to kneel
On what principles do you stand?
To kneel or not to kneel
Racism is alive and doing well in this land
As people of color we will no longer
Compartmentalize our pain
And our degradation
We now stand bold and unapologetic
In righteous indignation
We give our God the glory
Because in our hearts we truly know
That He's the Creator and the one who's
Really running this show
To kneel or to take a knee
Is not a sign of disrespect
But a gesture to show honor, esteem
And merit as one genuflects
For every knee shall bow
and every tongue shall confess
That Jesus the name above all other names
Is sovereign and blessed
And as we take a knee in the church
Or on the football field
We kneel in privilege and in protest
To let the world know how we feel
For when one is knighted
one kneels in supplication
And when a soldier has fallen
All kneel in commiseration
And when we kneel to pray
To Father God our heavenly Lord
We are showing respect and reverence
To Him in all accord
Colin didn't realize that his actions
Were pregnant with infinite possibilities
That by kneeling he opened the eyes
Of this nation and revealed its frailties
To kneel or not to kneel
Jesus Himself did kneel in fact
He took a knee for all of us
To let us know He had our backs
TO KNEEL OR NOT TO KNEEL
Smog’s gray melancholy, whiffs of the dying day,
I brood, a morose musing mood in grim gloaming;
memories are taunting in staccato display,
withdrawn commiseration stirs pathos roaming.
Words weaponized wreaked cold-blooded frosted arrows,
hailed psyche pierced with valiant ‘I hate you!’ war cries;
road to your heart’s ransom forevermore narrows,
my matrimony’s unpredictable demise.
Susan Ashley
August 10, 2017
N/A
For Contest: Eight Word Challenge – 3
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Poem must include each of the eight following words:
Crystal, Gloaming, Frosted, Forevermore, Pathos, Valiant, Melancholy, Unpredictable
All armored in gear of silver, he stands tall
at the battlefield of war.
She carelessly awaits for the hour, watching
him and learning his many flaws.
He tells her that she can forfeit at any time,
regardless of the state that they are in.
She giggles a laugh of mock, as she rolls her eyes.
Reading his face like a book,
she considers her tactics and skills.
The time has come, the bell has rung and the
battle has now commenced.
She sees him coming her way, and as he runs he
questions why she still stands there in such deviance.
As he approaches her he sees her drop to her knees,
she looks up at him with a look of helplessness.
She questions him, asking away a series of
confounding mind controlling questions.
This devious tactic was that of the opposite gender,
as she cried and cried he couldn't but to surrender.
As he went to her side to offer his comfort,
she quickly ended his life without commiseration,
and stood over his lifeless body, declaring victory.
As she pridefully gloated,
she leaned in and gave him a kiss tasting
of mere repugnance and scorn, they say
hell hath no fury but this was not the end
he gasped his last breath of air as he
swiftly ended her life with a feel of satisfaction.
Unfortunately his fate was in her hands as well
as hers in his so there they laid, him and her, both dead.
These small instances of unabashed humanity
That grow grand when isolated and transfix the senses
Become loud and brash while still remaining a small, subdued world within the world.
With stories that flicker in an out of my existence as they proceed on within their own
And I will never know except for how I choose to know them.
And myself, alike a stranger, will flicker in and out of my perception
And briefly will engage on its terms alone
To find that the tragedies of life are quelled by unnoticed and quiet reformations
Having shared them, at the core, the passions and pitfalls of people you will never know including yourself drive you to fall in love twenty times a day with the mere ghosts of subway riders,
The lines in the face, the strange depression felt from the broken bottle in the sidewalk crack, overheard conversations
the pure ecstatic joy of light through the curtain of leaves, the man playing a nostalgic melody on a park bench
These small wonders that exist as compositions in real time.
The act of synthesizing that purity into a form that can be accepted as true for one and true for all
-Albeit unique truths
Provoke and challenge to become more than what they are and invite sweet commiseration.
to tell a story confident in the idea that one truth is the truth for all and they will find their own way to theirs.
Succumbing to tradition is no more valuable than obsession.
Why suppress trivial passions?
Push and twist and distort the exoskeleton
Because through the material, the working, the molding, these emotional turmoils, the spirit of humor, the charisma forces its way to the surface and is hopefully unmasked.
Strip the context and copy.
Be gloriously and inexorably redundant.
My eyes were hooked on to the West
Feasting on the riot of colors the sun had cast
I stood dazed at an experience blest
That any poet would treasure with zest
By chance I glanced at the river below
It moved like an overloaded carriage slow
With floating weeds and dirty rubbish
Reminding one of an ugly heap of trash
I saw partially submerged bottles bobbing on the surface
Gradually filling with dirty water perforce
And slowly sinking down to rest in peace
With their sunken brethren at the river base
Spill of oil glistened iridescent
On the face of the river florescent
Its water was far from clean
And had turned into murky green
On the still surface was a layer of scum
Like rancid butter annoying anyone’s calm
Reeking smell of rotten fish and mulch
Entered my nostrils with an obnoxious stench
I closed my eyes and turned my head
And looked away from the river bed
I thought of man’s callous audacity
In assaulting Nature’s pristine vitality
I heard the river’s rising lament
And me it did acutely torment
I felt it was clamoring for repristination
And inviting man’s commiseration
Any sensitive soul would be left grieving
Seeing the river in such agony heaving
In the far horizon, the sky had grown into flames
I wondered if Nature was mad at man’s tall claims
March.13.2023
~ Placed First~
Pick a title, Vol.35. Poetry Contest
Sponsor. Edward Ibeh
Melancholy Train
By: Dylan Steefel
Tribute to Samantha Steefel
I am alone…
There is no one here to stop me,
Know one to guide me to the other side of a never-ending train.
To me,
The destination is nowhere.
To a place with no emotion,
and in a never ending sleep,
I will be at peace... basking in an ocean of serenity.
But this is an unknown train,
With inexplicable reasons of how and why I feel this way.
But to end the pain, all it takes a swift motion.
As my mind races towards ending my desolation,
The conductor speeds up the train.
I pass by memories of a life... a world...that was once my own.
But now I am distant from that world,
Stuck on a train of a never-ending epiphany of sorrow.
But as the train continues to speed up,
We pass by another train,
A train of eternal memory of what could be.
I then ask myself,
“Should I take a leap of faith?”
A leap into a world I can call my own once more,
A bound into the warmth and comfort of my family,
A jump into life.
It is this thought that guides me from my mind to reality.
And with this, I take a chance,
A chance to a normal life.
As I enter my world,
I see my brother crying silently over me.
His gentle tears hovering, dropping down to my face,
Landing so gently, yet with such force, my burden is lifted .
But for me, It was this commiseration that is hardly shown from my brother,
That sealed the gateway to the melancholy train.
Form:
Every time I tune the radio I hear a feller's plaintive song,
About his achin' heart and how his womans "done him wrong!"
How he nurses his plight at the neighborhood saloon,
Wallowin' in commiseration with those he can commune!
Singers with voices quiverin' like Robin Hood's twangy bow,
Tell of bein' forsaken by their man and all its kindred woe!
And how she's gonna lower the boom on a broad name Hildebrun,
Who stole her man while slingin' hash at the local Greasy Spoon!
Others sing of forlorn love and lack of decent shoes,
While he blows his meager pay on soiled doves and rancid booze.
How he spends his nights in a honky-tonk at the edge of town,
Consortin' with other guys' wives and tossin' whiskey down!
Others warble about him blowin' grocery money at the casino,
And if he don't toe the line she's headin' for a split in Reno!
He swears on bended knee he'll straighten up and fly right,
But he blows his paycheck again the very next Friday night!
I cannot fathom such tales of misery, mush and woe,
(Tho' I reckon it keeps canny song writers rollin' in the dough!)
Maybe I should try my hand at composin' such a song,
About hapless lovers who claim "they done me wrong!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
the steady light of a white votive candle
reflected and amplified in highly polished brass
symbolises devotion
talents never to be hidden under a bushel
but the secular world isn’t privy to magnitude
of the delinquency some are at great lengths to hide
very tendentious opinions defended
though harsh magnifying glass of consequence
held up to each and every regrettable past act
beware of the dogs
countenance in commiseration with the terror
that was struck in the quaking hearts by Black Shuck
sequenced scorch marks from its claws in evidence
when the church door was struck open by thunder
in fear we repent our moral lapses and expiate our folly in tears
I found all I was looking for
ain't nothing to do with you
or the songs you sang for me
when the moon was blue
yes, cutting all the losses
fed to the pigs like slop
a little commiseration
and vexation's all it brought
I couldn't make you understand
the things that I looked for
thought it'd be the last time
each time you hit the door
always reappearing
like a tarnished penny
nothing to do with longing
or wishes that were many
you knew where you were headed
I was along for a ride
thought there was time for moments
to last me my whole life
once again you proved it
the let down feeling returned
you struck a match in anger
when that short bridge you burned
In the dark allies they hide with the muzzles of their guns and fly bullets with people screaming for safety out of dazzle.
Reading long speeches in suits they wove out of patriotism and deception
Greed, vanity become values they cherish as they suppress guilt and shame with valiant valediction.
In these times when bread dearth, they match in their stripes without pity for their kind
The cologne of commiseration they refuse to wear.
Days when we strive to survive rather than live
When the echoes from the cries of children tremble hearts and wails from pain send down rain
They leave nothing but hide their eyes from their feelings so as not to look behind
With the minute wash of red stains off the streets and the digging of holes carved for the continuum of evolution.
All is well in their minds as everything that is after is what they painted it be
If only there were spaces left in their hearts for themselves they then will acknowledge there is no hiding place from mortality.
But the inevitable escapes them and they exchange calm with smoke from the barrels of muskets engaging men we trust who replace it with endless noise from the fire of fire
While mosaics are made of tears they sit content with their souls silhouetted against the very place they once knew as home.
Laughing heartily at deeds they presume as chivalrous and their superiors patting them like dogs.
With no remorse these ones are programmed to pester tranquil
As they are assigned their next and prove their loyalty by wagging their tails in submission
But men who dream of pouring hot coal on ice just for the fun of it will verily see the turnout for the prayers of the oppressor will never submerge that of the suppressed.
None can share in full the loss You have known;
from innocence to experience, You,
fair child, were never meant to be alone;
to be betrayed by saints who were untrue;
to know the sting of isolation's power,
or feel the bitterness of love denied:
how heaven could have known (that on the hour
of your birth) Fortune lost her happy stride?
But be not dismayed! For Pieria
is your commiseration, and relief,
your solace, and your true Arcadia;
in it let your heart become glad as lief.
Tho' fortune, fame, love, friends, and bliss decline,
Parnassus is your finer eglantine.
My arm extends around her shoulder,
for she is lost in lonely memories.
Carrying a burden like a prodigious boulder,
I give her my absolute paramount sympathies.
I only wish for her exorbitant anguish to cease.
Encompassed in my love she shall prevail
in this battle she calls her perpetual foe.
She’s been drowning and feels to no avail
will she find liberty from suffering’s woe.
Oh, my warming arms wish to never let go.
I squeeze so tight, for we fit just right
like a puzzle with perfect pieces glued.
My touch may help her never lose joy's sight,
and help her find victory in pain’s feud.
My kind and amiable hands pray she’s renewed.
This loving act of sympathy will give her peace,
and show her my understanding commiseration.
Her joy contingent upon her sorrow’s decrease,
may I envelope her in a benevolent sensation-
and bestow comfort onto her intense devastation.
Write Me an Emotion-act
Brenda Chiri
September 7, 2018
Without your touch the world is bleak.
The sun is lightless
Compared against your radiance,
So bright I’m sightless.
Coincidence will not explain
How right this all seems.
The comfort felt in our embrace.
The sensuous dreams.
Perfection can’t, in truth, exist.
Allow destruction.
A fracture can be mended whole
With apt instruction.
A golden joining strengthened by
Commiseration.
Your hand in mine, we start again
On new foundations.