Best Condone Poems
You, who are so perfect in my eyes, so beautiful- adorable, and I, so flawed, ugly, damaged and crawling with defects; why do you enjoy my company?
You, who are so sleek and slender, humming with a quiet intellect and a serenity about you, and I, so grossly overweight and pretentiously boastful and nervous; how can you abide my company?
You, who are a paragon of patience, so understanding and self-assured, and I, so insanely impulsive, so myopic and brimming with self-doubt; how do you stand my company?
You, who are so sweet, so considerably kind, so thoughtful and generous, and I, so bitter, so selfish, so self-absorbed; why do you choose my company?
You, who are so self-composed, full of self-control, so sound and stable, and I, so very neurotic, so completely compulsive and verily volatile; how can you tolerate my company?
You, who are so diligent, so driven and ambitious, so achieving, and I, so lackadaisically lazy, so uninspired, so complacent; why do you settle for my company?
You, who are ethical, so moral, so very virtuous, and I, so corrupt, so unprincipled, so wholly wicked; how can you endure my company?
You, who are so normal, so well-adjusted, so conventional, and I, so maniacal, so unbalanced and irrational; why do you condone my company?
You, who are bubbling with charm, who loves unconditionally and is absolutely accepting, and I, boiling with rage, fueled by misanthropy and incredibly intolerant; how can you welcome my company?
That you love and accept me for who and what I am, is a treasure beyond measure. I cherish your company, but why you cherish mine is something I cannot fathom. All I know is that I love you, my dear, beloved friend.
**This was written for two very dear friends: Karen and Tommy :)
***I also love palindromes ;)
*****FREE VERSE OLD AND NEW ENTRY
In the morning storm
he hums like a bird,
but words do not form -
for he can't be heard.
Catatonic eyes,
reflect hypnotised.
As he holds back cries
he feels paralysed.
Anguish from the pain.
Suffering alone.
Wounds begin to stain
hurt he can't condone.
Empty from despair -
character forlorn.
Nothing can prepare
broken hearts that mourn.
He's miserable.
Lost and dejected,
so vulnerable,
feeling neglected.
Melancholic mind -
fragile like flowers.
Dismal days a grind,
he counts the hours.
Insecure with life,
for it makes no sense.
Inflicted with strife,
sorrow makes him tense.
He sits on the ledge.
Breathes one last deep sigh.
Looks down from the edge -
waves the world goodbye.
Silent One
Simple Musings
11 October 2017
If I could live in a perfect world
where nothing would be strange
and nothing would be spoiled,
Could that be easy to arrange?
If my house were built upside down
and I entered from the roof,
I would be a perfectly happy clown
but you would think I'm a goof.
The eye of perfection to me
may not be what you condone,
but I would find happiness
if ice cream came in a larger cone.
I think it would be 'toadly' riveting
if frogs hunted us for our legs
and humans would start ribbitting
when in our coffee we found dregs.
My perfect world would be mellow
if I painted it with my brush
I could make the oceans yellow
and on me all guys would have a crush.
Perfection! It's like beauty to the eye
of anyone who wants to behold.
All you need to do to give it a try
is allow your imagination to be bold.
2/12/16
You have no idea how much you'll be missed
We've seen each other every day for years
Though you've touched my lips, we never once kissed
Picking me up when I was brought to tears
Calming my nerves before something new
Bringing strength to get over my fears
It seems so scary, not sure what I'll do
Good times and bad, exciting or lame
You were always there to help me get through
Life without you just won't be the same
But it had to end, something I've always known
It's finally time to put out that flame
Our love I can no longer condone
This relationship which I now regret
I need to learn to get by on my own
All that you have done I'll never forget
As I butt you out, my last cigarette
Written for TERZA RIMA about anything you like - poetry contest
I would like to spill,
What is harbored in my soul.
I would like to say,
Things that no one really knows.
·
I’d apologize to you,
In a measurement beyond the stars.
For not being there with you,
Has left my soul this scar.
·
I’m reminded of the heartache,
From that dreadful day.
Of an ordinary time,
When God took you away.
·
I would’ve quickly taken,
The fate that you have faced.
Than to see your children suffer,
Savoring sorrows aftertaste.
·
If I had straps on my shoulders,
Attached to an antique plow.
You’d see deep ruts in the earth,
From the weight I carry now.
·
I’m harvesting my burdens,
In my open fields of pain.
In the drought of happiness,
Awaiting a smiling rain.
·
I’ve cultivated memories,
From the 3 years you’ve been gone.
Laying on glistening blades of grass,
That I cried on sorrow’s lawn.
·
I reminisce on the tears,
That only my heart knows.
Waiting for bouquets of smiles,
From the seeds I just now sowed.
·
I’m sorry you faced such madness,
Without me along your side.
And things could have been better,
Perhaps you would have survived.
·
I’m sorry I didn’t call you,
To distract your vivid mind.
But I replay those what if’s,
All the freakin’ time.
·
No one knows my heartache,
Of not biding my goodbye.
These are things I’ve harbored,
Way down, deep inside.
·
It feels like you’d still be here,
If I’d used my earthly power.
I’m sorry for not distracting you,
From your darkest hour.
·
This is a poem I had to write,
To regain my inner control.
And release my encumbers,
To unburden my soul.
·
You will always be my best friend,
A notion I’ll never condone.
You know I’ll await your answer,
When God calls me home.
_________________________
For Christie and Sharon's
"I'm Sorry" Contest
The wound inflicted, you will never see,
for it lies in the recess of my mind
Internal is the bleeding; let it be!
You try, but peace of mind you can not find
Who is the God you worship? Speak His name!
I want to know; does he condone this pain?
Is He the one who let you maim and shame,
and will he bless you for your proffered bane?
I wonder how you can to slumber yield
Does not your deed weigh heavy on your heart?
The things you've said and done are not concealed
Your conscience surely pleads amends to start
The wound inflicted you will never see
But there is One who sees inside of me
Eileen Manassian
I reckon some folks prefer a hound dog lyin' at their feet,
While others might enjoy a twitterin' parakeet.
But be it a mogul's mansion or a humble flat,
A house just ain't a home without an inscrutable cat!
Thankfully, my cat doesn't bark or scourge my pristine lawn,
Nor does he wake me for outside relief at the crack of dawn!
Furthermore, my dear old pal I seldom have to holler at;
A house just ain't a home without an inscrutable cat!
My cat is content to have me stroke and brush his hair,
And happier yet if he can snooze upon my favorite chair.
A master of his realm, why should he ever want to roam?
Without an inscrutable cat, a house just ain't a home!
While he reposes upon my lap and I stroke his silky fur,
Ain't nothin' more relaxin' than to hear his soothin' purr.
He won't condone a walk, I'll certainly grant you that.
A house just ain't a home without an inscrutable cat!
His independent airs and a few stray hairs I can tolerate;
Even my chair nigh the glowin' fire to him I will abnegate.
I 'spose you could enjoy a snake, pot-bellied pig or hybrid rat,
But a house just ain't a home without an inscrutable cat!
Entry for Tania Kitchin's "Cat Poem Poetry" Contest
A shattered heart; tears spilling like rain
No one would ignite the flames of my desire
To this, I swore an oath to never love again
until the kiss of a friend, kindled in me a fire
His touch was not expected, but felt so right
He quoted poems of Byron and then his own
Poetry 'neath the stars, I fell in love that night
I gave myself eagerly; my heart did condone
We walked along the shore, clasping our hands
He pulled me close, then we began to explore
A time of awakening was not among my plans
I quivered in his arms, wanting so much more
My oath was then rescinded, but I'm not at fault
I'll blame it on the moon, the glimmer of stars,
and passionate kisses that unlocked the vault
to rid my wounded heart of its jagged scars
~ Inspired by Katie Melua's 'I'll Blame it on the Moon,'
written by Mike Batt.
Oklahoma just passed an executive order
About the obvious disorder
Of letting men break through the border
Called a women’s bathroom door
Which has always been there for
Keeping out men and furthermore
Those who are men no more
Oh, some may scream, ‘where are their rights?
They’re out there fighting the fights,
To pee with one’s wearing tights.’
Yes, but would you let your daughter
Much too young, with hardly a care
Into those bathrooms alone
With a ‘whatever’ that shaves its chest hair?
And whatever else the ‘whatever’ may share
Is that what you would condone?
OK, may say no to athletes competing
Even if their male body parts were deleted
With women on equal ground
The women don’t need that type around
To race against for athletic glories
Like AI competing with us for poetry stories
But still why does a government
Need an executive order to present
The obvious difference between gals and guys
Even when one or more’s in disguise?
Well, it’s the same old trick with a new bent
Pushed by the bought and paid fed government
They cloud what it means about gender
And try to stuff family morals in a blender
So that when they offer their crisis solution
We’ll bow down to their wicked resolution
Of their digital money and total control
Over all our bodies, minds, and souls
Partially paved by those with a men’s skull
Who can no longer use a urinal
I've been contemplating the tastelessness of the soup being served on site.
The difference between what's sweet and sour is noticeable in every bite.
It's not just the infusion of artificial intelligence that leaves the soup bitter,
but poetry that's been stolen from others that stinks worse than kitty litter.
Months ago it was perceived by many PS poets, that there had been an influx
of so called 'poets' posting 'poetry,' but quite frankly... most of it just sucks.
And then there is the returnee woman who holds contests entering her own
with names who returned with her in a scam that no one should condone.
There remains the do-goodies, who continue to claim they've been victimized
but that story is so old that it is known as garbage and needs to be sterilized.
A butcher, baker and candlestick maker, who burns his candle on both ends,
still hangs around but nothing he says is believed and cannot make amends.
A quill is meant for writing and not for fencing with neither parry nor thrust.
Take care who you accept to be a friend for it's not always one you can trust.
I've turned off commenting or the trolls will be feeding on my every word
those floating in soup's toilet bowl, who should be flushed like a stinking turd.
I'll also post this as a poem in the usual manner of poetry on this flawed site
for those who wisely don't pay attention to blogs where bullies post smite.
The soup kitchen needs a Gordon Ramsay visit to free it from rats and mice
because it's been infested with toxic waste that some have labeled 'spice.'
Years with you in a throne
My queen, in the rain we flown
We nurtured our love, so it grown
Memories we shared, wont condone
Our heart sealed in a diamond stone
Life with you was all I have known
now I must take this journey all alone
travel to a far land of an unknown
endure this pain all in my own
destiny split us, for that, I groan
I am at loss and in my own
so much tears, my eyes blown
my body aches and melts to its bone
our heart bleeds with pain and torn
one portion for you to own
the rest for me to shown
in lonely nights I must mourn
I say to you lets take a walk...to laugh...to chill...and simply talk.
Let’s start heading across the rocks...and go beneath the streets of Rome.
Let us take a break from our feet...down a path right beneath quaint streets,
This is the place where all roads meet...where I’m meaner than Al Capone,
And I could simply make this easy...but your mind will not be blown.
You’ll never see your children grown.
For I thought you was my best friend, but for now you will face your end,
You’re heading there out of your sin...to no light...no love...or cell-phones.
You’ll dwell in torment forever, birds of feather flock together,
In this hall there is no weather, the only echoes are your own,
You’ll rot in disgust and your shameful heart will always be alone.
My love for you...I will condone.
With such greed life karma prevails...and in darkness your bones’ll dwell.
Doesn’t matter how loud you yell...no one will hear that high pitched tone.
I vent all of my frustrations...without any hesitations,
After my retaliation...of this sweet revenge I will prone.
After kicking you in the face...what’s this...is it bodily foam..?
So un-brick the bricks to the dome!
And I don’t care if your legs hurt...for this is how you made it work,
You built your tomb under a church...right beneath its’ big golden throne.
Now behind the mortar you cry...and no one can bade their goodbyes.
My friend...you used to smile so wise...who smiles now as the other moans..?
You love what you can’t have...life...I’m done...revenge has proudly shone.
You’ll die behind the wall of stone.
All of your hate and jealousy...is buried with greed and envy,
You’ll fade from earth as unworthy...right beneath other dried up bones.
Here’s my remorse...wait a minute...clear my nose...on the wall I spit,
Your ego fits nicely here...I’m starting to like your new home.
I’ll let you be with a marker...that I have engraved out of chrome.
“The center of the catacombs”.
_____________________________________
The form is Trochaic Octameter
Iambic pentameter serves as the substitute.
With Presidents Day coming up this Monday, I submit my tribute to the president born Feb. 12, 1809:
Ode to My Hero: Dear Abe
At many things, Abe Lincoln was the best.
From boyhood to manhood, how he shone.
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
I picture him a farm lad poorly dressed -
kind soul and working so hard all alone.
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
Entertaining, Lincoln liked to jest.
Tall and strong was he when fully grown.
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
Great intellect and talents he possessed.
Many things he learned all on his own!
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
He led a nation facing great unrest,
for slavery dear Abe could not condone.
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
Feb. 15, 2020 for Sheri Fresonke Harper's
Ode To A President Or Politician Or Leader Past Or Present Poetry Contest
There are those who have fallen
in the eyes of this world,
one’s “sins” more damaging than the next.
“Skeletons from closets”
so ruthlessly hurled
and so many people are left vexed.
Now I do not condone
all that comes to light
whether by papers, radio or TV.
But what if it was YOU
whose “sins were in sight,
are there things you’d want others to see ?
The world does these things
and yet they judge,
from the arm of a pointed finger stare they.
But they conveniently hide
their “filthy sludge”,
and yet in His court they’ll have their day.
I wrote this in response to a prodding that wouldn’t leave me alone.
Thinking on some people who walk in the limelight or of a high public profile, I started to be
perplexed about our willingness to BROADCAST the latest Hollywood gossip or the latest
political “fall from grace”. I am in no way condoning unwarranted behaviors and these are
times that call for the appropriate action to be taken no matter who the offenders are. I’m
just saying shame on those who are so willing to point fingers and yet do or would do some of
the very same things if they could. Lightwalker
We were best friends,
and I was so proud.
She was my mother,
and I was her child.
Then fateful words were spoken aloud,
diagnosis with dire consequences.
Changes came day by day,
remembrances lost, with pretend defenses.
Simple tasks became great chores,
challenges were impossibilities.
Alzheimer’s had captured her life,
and I... unprepared for probabilities.
Always searching for home,
caused her to wander and roam.
Fences, gates and locked doors,
for her protection we had to condone.
I was with her every day.
I wish she had been there, too.
We walked in her garden.
The question came, “Now, who are you?"
God needed her in heaven, but in his
great wisdom knew I needed a while.
He graciously conceded and gave compromise.
He took her spirit, and gave me a special child.
I gave her baths.
I combed her hair,
I clothed, fed, and put her to bed;
God and I sitting till morning air.
That fateful day sadly arrived,
filled with such pain and sorrow.
Goodbye my friend, my mother... my special child.
I’ll see you again tomorrow!
Sweet memories I’ve treasured since that day,
thank you for time to sort them in place.
I am now more endeared to those times long ago
when I was a child and she washed my face.
April 2, 2010