Best Destitute Poems
Contrary to the forlorn attitude,
Thrive for the bliss of solitude,
The vulnerable gets incapacitated,
Keep spark of optimism inside alive !
Helpless gets sturdy, will not mentally die,
Heaps of benevolence, keeps living a lie,
Struggles till the woes get precipitated,
Spark of hope always burns alive !
Languishing tribulations seem incumbent,
A muscular man declared impotent,
Munificent heart asthenic and debilitated,
Spark of hope still stays alive !
Miseries are vaporous, only if comprehend,
Toreador if be, will turn vilipend,
Embrace potvaliancy, rather remain paralysed,
Must keep spark of hope alive !
Written on 1/5/14
Sponsor- Cyndi and Tim
Theme- helpless
Now for contest- ur fav poem u hv ever written
Sponsor- Carol Eastman
My fav coz it's reality based, true feelings of helplessness of the one concerned
and mine .
Now for contest- Vibrant verse 2
Sponsor- Charlotte Puddifoot
*Holly (Vault Dweller)*
Hey bartender,
Who's that girl over there,
The one nursing the whiskey in the corner,
She has that press hat one that makes her look...strangely debonair.
*Bartender*
That'll be our little Ms. Piper Wright,
She runs the local paper,
Spends all day looking for a story then types the rest of the night,
Bit standoffish at first but quite the looker.
*Holly*
Hahah I'll say,
Just look at that red trench-coat and suit,
And that piercing stare,
Comes off tart as a mutfruit,
But it just bounces right off her wavy hair,
And goooosssh those lips,
Their silky sheen betrays the steel of her gun,
Dangling from her buxom hips,
Armed with an unabashed tongue,
Clearly her deadliest weapon,
Complimenting her feisty spirit perfectly preserved in an hourglass figure both fair and young,
Fully stocked with an arsenal of wisecracks, worthy armaments for free speech's most sensuous bastion,
Avid journalistic endeavors personify her inquisitive nature,
Reporting the most controversial conspiracy or the latest Publick Occurrences,
With jaw-dropping headlines fueled by her insatiable determination not even the mayor can escape her snooping typewriter,
How this vixen has eluded both the aging of time and voraciousness of lovers is beyond me,
And I think I'm allllmost drunk enough to go over and talk to her,
Should only take me another couple of rounds before I'll have the guts to...ah who am I kidding,
I'm over 200 years old there's no way she'd ever go for a pre-war relic regardless of who well preserved.
*Bartender*
News flash buddy, she's single,
Read today's headlines and you might find the subtle hints,
Listen to her playful comments of life and lust weaved in-between the innocuous babble,
The words may take their place in the articles but her true message is hidden underneath the paper's yellow tint,
She's young and lookin for love just the rest of us here in the Wasteland,
So what've you got to loose hotshot go get her,
Or do you need another round on the house give you the upper hand?
*Holly*
Well damnit bartender one more round it is,
If you don't from her till morning it'll be one of two things,
Either I've been utterly rejected and lying in a ditch,
Or I'll be too busy ignoring the world trying to make her mine.
Everywhere she goes the grass is greener
And all the time I doze in my misdemeanor
Her eyes can make the sun come out
And I have fun just wandering about
When the sky is dark and the ground all mucky
She lays on the ground as if she's lucky
In spite of all my meaningless fear
She can make it all but adhere
There in the unknown am I
And she steps in without the bat of an eye
In the midst of the end
She can make all the bad disappear
Loneliness is nothing when I am with her
For she is absolute and sure
But dependency can only get one so far
And it is toxic to what we are
When she is gone
I am nothing
For united we stand
Divided I fall
Clad in a white cloth and jacket
Spotless clean, wonder what magic she does
To keep so clean,
In a cluttered Pavement.
Wrinkled face elegantly attired with a smile
Eyes rise up to every passer by
Pleading but no cry uttered
Need not waste her words, as
Her stare is loud and clear
For many ears to stop by
Who can disregard her eyes that talk?
Mother, haven’t you had any one to call you “Love”?
Or you haven’t called any one “My love”?
Mom, why did you bear me?
And dad, why did you seed?
Is this all to display,
Your violent relationship,
Quarrel together for silly things;
Why you pulverize own frutex,
Under steps of your egotistic feet;
Is this all to teach me,
Life I need to live;
When I came from womb,
World was amiable winsome;
You cohered me to your chest,
Could see,
Tears of love in your eyes;
Dad's lips too,
Glowed in exhilaration;
Could feel his impatience,
To take me in his arms;
Why have you changed?
Both swelled head,
Ignore me in your strife;
Your relation pains my heart,
Gives feeling am losing you both;
© Sadashivan Nair
Once middle class
Shredding away the 401K
Destitution looms
In the darkest final hours,
I began to write
And my words now spoken new
from scattered ashes light the sky
To begin and end each day
caught up in beauty’s distant wake
All loneliness filled by pages lined
with happiness and joy
My fate betrothed, once mistress
scorned
—a lover more than wife
Whose vision so much sharper,
her dissection cuts through bone
To slay the muted dragon’s fire
in present elocution
Beyond all past and future clouds
above the darkening storm
To live each breath and gifted word
that heaven sends pristine
Never destitute in blessings shown
—or in things I wish I’d said
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
There was a cheap bar in New York's skid row
Almost, you were shining there like a rain bow.
People were dancing and sleeping together
Although they know it can't be lasted for ever.
It was you who sought solace in whisky bottle
Smoke a pipe to make a dream in your bubble.
Dance floor called you to set the fire
Where you met a girl you like to hire.
She begged a penny, you told that's alright
It was not a big deal out of your thought.
This was close the mid night
I was alone and waiting for you "my dark night".
Kids slept soon before they saw you father
I couldn't do so coz I use to be their mother.
Still dinner table was set for you
I had nothing since I was with you.
In my heart, I kept your love so tight
I knew it before, our future was bright.
It was your birthday which was a surprise
But you were not home till the sunrise.
You came to family as late comer
Kids cried "happy birthday father".
Tear fell down from your drowsy eyes
Your tongue seemed to have a few lies.
Years passed since that bitter noon
Still you drink, once in blue moon.
Being back to bar, standing a night is no more your dispute
That's how you see those prostitutes may leave you destitute.
Though A Destitute Alteh Kocker...
(albeit boyish), I tell myself with pride
always look on the bright toothless side
of life, this nonconformist tried
his darnedest with
threadbare trappings to abide
despite bristling, harumphing,
and lamenting luckless life,
while woe didst ride
shotgun squeezing snotty
schnozzle, nuzzling nose, wide
dilating nostrils coquettishly cozying cold
conical snout splayed alongside
steering column as if silently to chide
yours truly for impoverished states
of body, mind, and spirit hermetically hide
ding, asper necessary manna,
hence, (no eggs add chore ration) I yolked
reining clamps down hard, ultimately dried
existential wellspring, especially averse to risk
rejection, when as supremely
scared boy stifling bittorrent tide
natural animal propensities squelched elide
ding healthy mental, physical
and spiritual development
desperation found future bride
less because stricken with love bug,
versus when pent up vasocongestion vied
hardened male member, which relied
on instinct to seal biological pact
sporting two (now grown) daughters bonafide
birthright genetically patented
each taking their respective stride
toward housing vibrant young women
expanding their comfort zones,
unwittingly forcing this papa to admit he denied
himself obligation to foster maturation
implicit with every species within world wide
web, no chance to rectify the bitterness inside
hence pervasive reference, sans annulment
portraying "FAKE" motif life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness only
experienced, when Alpine for Swiss side!
SOUL OF THE DESTITUTE
The soul bawls with the time
The soul bawls with the season
It's muteness comes from the countenance
It's enrage comes from the expression
The world is it's reason with no solution,
The solution we have gives us the problem
Where the Moses of the Israelites died with
The hope of seeing the promise land
The soul wail with the questions that;
Why did the good die quickly and easily,
While the nefarious last lengthy?
The affluent are the money maker whose,
Fountainhead is from the destitute.
My soul bawls with the time
My weak heart gets weaker with the clock of a,
New season with no vision;
With the splash from the opulent auto and hoping to
Have good sit with the potentate
Believing that time would come while the soul bawls
The ascent of the sun remind them of the further
Dispute with sorrow from there mind while,
The rich extol the supreme being for the luminous
Day with the hope to absorb corruption in the
Consortium.
Joy has no locus to lodge in the heart of the,
Penniless with the bawl of the soul
It journeys down to the opulent heart but,
Not welcomed with remorseful act of
Partaking in vices.
Who will JOY live with?
Whithered Face Of An Destitute
His innocent and withered face
was a melancholic story of a destitute
who never relished his childhood
nor did he ever go to any institute
Calm and cool were his gestures
and face was dirty but very cute
curious were his broken black eyes
that looked very silent and mute
His father was drunken and died
exists no law for them to rectitute
to feed bereaved and devoid family
destiny forced mother to be a prostitute
many laws were framed by human society
but no law for them we could constitute
to make this languid face smile again
society has sympathy only to contribute
dreams of this homeless face come true
some actions' society needs to execute
he doesn't demand any moon or star and
this noble cause can't have any dispute
Alas when such a sere face die of hunger
every society feels proud to pay tribute
then pray to god for his heavenly abode
and start murmuring who was this destitute
(By Kishan Negi)
SOUL OF THE DESTITUTE
The soul bawls with the time
The soul bawls with the season
It's muteness comes from the countenance
It's enrage comes from the expression
The world is it's reason with no solution,
The solution we have gives us the problem
Where the Moses of the Israelites died with
The hope of seeing the promise land
The soul wail with the questions that;
Why did the good die quickly and easily,
While the nefarious last lengthy?
The affluent are the money maker whose,
Fountainhead is from the destitute.
My soul bawls with the time
My weak heart gets weaker with the clock of a,
New season with no vision;
With the splash from the opulent auto and hoping to
Have good sit with the potentate
Believing that time would come while the soul bawls
The ascent of the sun remind them of the further
Dispute with sorrow from there mind while,
The rich extol the supreme being for the luminous
Day with the hope to absorb corruption in the
Consortium.
Joy has no locus to lodge in the heart of the,
Penniless with the bawl of the soul
It journeys down to the opulent heart but,
Not welcomed with remorseful act of
Partaking in vices.
Who will JOY live with?
Jealousy turns to rage that we bottle up inside
Where the demons are at work punishing you for all of your lies
I can say I told you so or that I knew that this was coming
And I even tried to convince myself intuition wasn't cunning
I'm just as foolish going along with it as they say sh I t comes in pairs
So why elect to circumvent a task then blame me why should I care?
I've been through way too much to fall for this it's not a game just a season
You drive me crazy go away you imp, you humonculus, just go away you demons!
With flaming pen
The beast inside me scratches to remove,
Fingers pulsing with my heartbeat growing
What will prove
To quit and quiet or sparkle softly,
In the distant night.
What would it prove to cater to
Such shallowness as one’s delight.
When beasts burst forth exploring every pore.
Scattered scallions
Relinquish the air to moan.
Even the box
Is outside the box
At Heaven’s gate deluxe;
To remove the pitied eye and stand forth naked.
I do hate, I am human, After all.
Who was it again that witnessed the fall?
Well, we all sag weary against the ropes
When each rose uncoiled clings,
The jaded blackbird sings, and
Pie-in-the-sky magpies flap their useless wings.
Look in the mirror at the naked scourge behind you.
Listen to the pounding of the drums of your doom.
There isn’t any room.
Not the slightest wiggling inch
Of breath or sound or excluded pinch;
When we shout Holy Hell,
Holy Haunted Hell, After all.
The messenger in all of us
That wakens a sleeping sickness of liquid pus,
Of bruised and startled semen-egg to mark its choice.
Heavenly Father where the hell is your voice?
Aloud, Aloud, After all.
Meekness protruding from some dark and brooding
Corner of misunderstanding.
Comes the Death; Comes the Light;
Comes the Commanding Voice.
Return once more to the core of all confusion.
Take back the shelter and reign in the smelter
Of Christ’s own blend of defiance.
Be in Death or Life or Hell
On Faith be our reliance.
And in the end of all, after alls,
We find yet another broken appliance.
For you,
Roses are honoring gesture;
Enjoy commemoration of past;
But don't realize,
You secede me from my family twig;
The pain I endure when you pluck;
We are pair of roses,
Weep watching own death,
Waning beauty,
Disappearing odour;
We are affeluant,
Strew odour and beauty,
Make ambiance pleasant,
When we are intact in parent plant;
© Sadashivan Nair