Best Ignore Poems | Poetry
Below are the all-time best Ignore poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of ignore poems written by PoetrySoup members
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New Ignore Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Ignore poems are below this new poems list.
Can't ignore it anymore
by thomas, shari
Ignore the Fears
by Michelle, Juli-
Never Ignore The Heaven s Voice
by Asuncion, Bernard F.
Ignore The Words
by Christensen, Gry
Ignore The Mist
by Asuncion, Bernard F.
too little to notice, too much to ignore
by Thomas, Jamie
Ignore me tonight
by Raynes, Lewis
It does not matter how much you ignore me
by Gupta, Probir
Easy To Ignore
by Beck, Maggie
Ignore the bad
by Miljkovic, Davor
View all new Ignore Poems
The Best Ignore Poems
In a world where hearts ignore compassionate cries.
Acts of kindness become rare, so empathy dies.
As human nature loses the skill to listen,
his mission is to help every smile to glisten.
He needs no theme song to introduce his name,
nor has a desire to reach Hollywood fame.
No x-ray vision nor bionic power,
he can't read minds nor move the Eiffel tower.
His tongue is an olive branch forming peaceful words,
most beautiful soul whose heart can conquer swords.
When sorrow calls and heartache leaves the mind in knots,
his sincere voice will calm those tormented thoughts.
The tenderness of his fingertips will soothe dark scars,
as the heart heals, it will illuminate like stars.
He sees no difference between a dove or pigeon,
his humble heart spreads love like a religion.
He is not the sandman, but he can help bring dreams,
he has no halo, but his love flows like streams.
His life is like a cherry blossom bud full of grace,
a butterfly who doesn't belong in this place.
In his quest he sacrifices his own pain,
aware his emotions are like sandcastles in rain.
He knows death awaits, but his empathy bleeds,
continuing to inspire, ignoring his own needs.
The Silent One
18 November 2017
Example for HERO contest
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017
On a warm summer’s day, in the month of July,
in a town that’s as small as a grasshopper’s thigh,
walked a girl with a flower, her eyes looking down,
when she bumped into somebody wearing a frown.
Now this Someone was someone she’d met once before,
and the words that he’d said, she had tried to ignore;
so she turned on her heel and she headed away
but the Someone called after her, shouting out “HEY!”
He said, “Hey you, Missy, you know who I am?
I’m the Someone who will and the Someone who can!
I’m disliked in this town, but I know what I’ll do -
since they seem to hate me, then I’ll make them hate you!”
Now, the girl with the flower was starting to shake,
'cause she knew from before that this guy was a Grake!
And all Grakes are unstable, they’re mean and they lie,
and they like to cause trouble, and make girlies cry.
So the next day, she’s walking, her eyes are cast down,
when whom should appear but the Grake with the frown!
“See, I told you I’d be here, to maim and to crush!”
Then he shouted out words that would make a hog blush!
Well, the girl with the flower just stood there, confused,
'cause she didn't deserve to be hurt and abused,
just an unlucky victim of graking, it seemed,
from a Someone who’s vengeful, and grumpy, and mean.
So she just stood there silently, knowing she should,
'cause defending herself wouldn’t do any good,
and a crowd began forming, just gathering ‘round,
just to watch the poor girl, and the Grake with the frown.
And the Grake carried on for what seemed like an hour,
(for when Grakes have an audience, this gives them power).
He ranted and threatened, and made quite a shrill,
'cause he’s Someone who can and he’s Someone who will.
Now, the crowds that all came (and they stopped and they stared)
Well, they tried to speak up but they felt a bit scared
so they just stood there, watching, and shaking their heads
and they thought, “glad it’s HER there, and not me instead!”
Well, the next day it happened again just the same;
that Someone, that Grake, played his same awful game-
He attacked the poor girl and he caused such a scene,
and the crowd gathered round, just to watch him be mean.
And the girl with the flower just took it all in,
with a tear on her cheek and a trembling chin,
and she felt her whole world start to crash to the ground,
when suddenly, she heard such a beautiful sound:
“Stop it, you meanie! You’re nothing but bad!”
(‘twas the voice of a young girl named LuLu McMad.
“You’re nothing much more than a big awful Grake!
So stop it right now, You! Go jump in a lake!”
Now all eyes were on LuLu, but she held her ground;
she walked up to the girl and they both turned around
and they stood there with both of their backs to the Grake.
Such a simple, yet wonderful statement to make.
Then two people joined them, they stood with them, proud.
Then two more, then three, then the whole bloomin’ crowd,
until every last one had their back to the Grake,
and he finally realized, he’d made a mistake!
See, when someone is being harassed or put down,
it’s not nice to just stand there and not make a sound.
So don’t be afraid to stand up for what’s right!
And make all the Grakes of the world lose the fight.
If you're being bullied, don't engage - just walk away... and tell an adult.
If you see someone being bullied, speak up! It can be scary to stand up to a bully, because we’re afraid we might become the next victim. But sometimes all it takes is one person to break the power that a bully thinks he or she has; it also helps others to be bold enough to speak up too. Be the brave one ... and do the right thing.
Dedicated to the sweet and fearless Laura Loo.
Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2016
POTD 5th Feb 18
Dedicated to Ken, a good friend of mine who had to give up a brilliant ballet, ballroom dancing and stage career when he was injured after a fall while performing a complicated dance routine maneuver on stage. I hope you will enjoy the video too!
Awakened by the sighs of the whispering trees
Looking across the vast empty space he sees
His winged companion pondering in wisdom
Visiting frequently knowing the significance of Freedom
Waltzing through his mind she invades once more
Intruding reflections oppress thoughts that soar
Imprisoned dreams midst fields of unpicked seams
Endless chasms of regrets in which no sunlight beams
Broken chords strumming tunelessly in solitude
Of songs of praises by an adoring multitude
Time when they were darlings of virtuosic impression
Dancing in wild abandon to a public adoration
Truly enamoured in each other their love did blossom
Though in Life’s carousel sadly far too often
Pursuing perfection whatever may befall
One gets absorbed in the fluster of a fall
Adorning false crowns in high esteem
Ego soars and plummets and shatters the dream
Negative energy interrupts Life’s Grand Scheme
In the drop of a pin - displeasure he perceives
Their past idolising could not now appease
The icy cold rejection she projects as she flees
Leaving a broken man - who has failed to please
For many long years he lays wishing Death’s end
Dwelling on memories of his so called friend
Friends he thought solid who chose to ignore
Even in his whispered words ‘forgive me I implore’
Shunned he was before his knees hit the floor
Long years of solitude one day he awakens
To find that his dark soulless days have forsaken
Terrors of the night have been released - set free
False security dismissed by a Heavenly decree
From an unsuspecting sky all dark clouds flee
Dark night of the soul heralds White light of the self
Perceptions of enlightenment an awakening of himself
From the corner of his eye a movement he detects
A woman of the White Light he strongly suspects
In her iridescent persona to her task she ascends
His vulnerability she sees and her hand she extends
And in a confetti of star showers his heart she mends
POTD 5th Feb 18
Dark Night of the Soul - White Light of the Self
Arbre Solaire: Music : Ludovico Einaudi - Nuvole Bianche Video : " Haoma " - ESMA Movies (Mathieu, Melissa, Elodie & Yann) Jan 2018
Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2018
Listen to poem:
The last time we spoke I told you about how my life had changed for the better. I had been ridiculed and scorned for years. Never had any self-worth. Never thought about my future. Then, one evening, an angel from above had been sent to me to inform me that I was indeed loved after all. I didn't fully understand what it all meant at first, but I was overwhelmed with gratitude to say the least.
A year has gone by, and I wanted to share with you some wonderful news. If you'll recall, I was raised for a number of years in an orphanage. The director there was a cruel man who beat me often, all because I was ugly and different. After my rebirth, as I like to call it, I got to thinking about all the orphans still left in the world. So I took my severance pay along with money I had saved over the years performing in the circus for a certain E.T. Farnum and purchased an old abandoned schoolhouse on the outskirts of London. It hadn't been used in years and needed some freshening up and not a few repairs. But with a little help from the locals I had it up and running in short order. After securing all the needed certifications, I named it the Thomas Woodward School for Orphans. You see, that is my birth name, a name that was obscured for most of my life as few people ever dignified me by addressing me by my given name. But now there it was on high showing itself to the world. Not that I'm high-minded about it of course, no. I like to think of it as a reminder that all things are possible in life.
Soon I was being sent orphan children from all over London. I had no restrictions, really. Any child up to 16 years old was welcome here. The only qualification per say is that they be orphans, needing love and schooling. Due to my financial limitations I could only hire two teachers; one for children 2-10 years old and one for children 11-16. But I held out and engaged only the very best. Not only did these teachers need to meet high academic standards, they had to have demonstrated over the years that they truly loved children. Yes, for you see, my children deserve the best that life can give them. After all, they've already been dealt a bad hand, they not having parents and all.
Now at this point I'd like to tell you about a very special orphan that I've especially come to love. When she was small her home caught fire and her mummy and daddy were killed. To make matters worse, she had suffered burns over eighty percent of her body. When she first came to the orphanage I noticed that the other children tended to ignore her. And she said nary a word, no, but instead would be off to herself most of the day and night. Her teacher tried her best to bring the little girl, who's name is Katie, out of her shell but with poor results. Then, one day I had an epiphany of sorts. I thought to myself, here I am the former 'most unlovable man in the world.' But now I'm loved and cherished. What made the difference for me was when someone went out of their way at great risk to let me know I was loved.
So one day during class I walked into the classroom and introduced myself. Now the children had rarely seen me and only from a distance. But now here I was in all my inglorious ugliness right before their very eyes. Needless to say all the children got quiet and had anxious looks on their faces. So I sat down gently in front of them all and told them my story, just as I've told it to all of you. After I was done, and to my surprise, they all came up to me one by one and gave me a hug. Why, it brought tears to my eyes. But there sat Katie in her corner chair, eyes cast downward. I called to her:
'Katie, come here darling.'
She looked up at me and I could see that her eyes too were brimming with tears. I repeated:
'C'mon little Katie, it's okay dear.'
As she stood up and slowly walked toward me all the children watched with eyes agog. I sat her down beside me and said to her:
'Now, Katie, you've heard me tell my story to everyone. Now it's time that you told us yours. It's okay sweetie, we're all here for you.'
Well, for the first time she spoke. And spoke. And spoke. Why, she went on for an hour! Not just about the awful fire, but about her mummy and daddy and teddy and her doggy named Fritz. It was the second most memorable moment of my life, next to my rebirth. Because you see, Katie was having a rebirth of her own. Yes, from that day on all of the children began treating her like any other. After a time no one saw the burns anymore, just a beautiful little girl named Katie Lynn.
So there you have it. I wanted to share with you a bit of my joy. Life is wonderful. I hope and pray that life is equally wonderful for each and every one of you.
Until the next time.
Copyright © July Morning | Year Posted 2018
Well, GI Jack is welcome back, he left his legs in 'Nam.
He wakes at night in sweat and fright, then drinks another dram.
He doesn't know quite where to go, so seeks his uncle, Sam.
One can't ignore - his ma was poor, and life was sometimes cruel,
yet Jack was brave and well behaved and surely no one's fool
so joined the ranks that man the tanks, as soon as he left school
He learned to kill our foes at will (ordained a sacred rite),
and packed his bag and wrapped his flag and went away to fight.
And yes, the tide was on our side (for, clearly, might makes right)
Through tangled days in jungles' maze, he sought the enemy
behind the trees where, ill at ease, he fought the Yellow sea -
upon the waves of sunken graves he sailed a killing Spree
The napalm dropped and cooked the crops, burnt huts along the way
and tanks, with ease, mowed down the trees and villages of clay.
Yes, turret guns were loads of fun with roaring roundelays
While on the hunt with other grunts, he burned some babes alive
and wondered why frail things must die, while evil's phantoms thrive -
When folly ends, he'll make amends if only he'll survive
With booby traps (sticks dipped in crap)... yes, Charlie fought unfair.
He hid in holes like snakes and voles and snuck up everywhere
and like a mite beneath the night, caught Jackie unaware
At battle's end, Jack sought his friends - their souls were washed away
and only he and destiny were left in disarray -
with bed and pan, just half a man, the man of yesterday
When Jackie woke, beyond the smoke, his frame no longer whole,
he found instead a medalled thread, some wraps to hide the hole,
and realized another prize: a chair on wheels to roll
Across his chest (you've surely guessed) his medals shone, arrayed.
His head felt light, as well it might, at Victory Day Parade
for when he rolled, while others strolled, his boots no longer weighed
Well, Jack stayed home (no roads to Rome) to start his life anew
receiving dole (that took its toll) which fell in Sam's purview,
but soon enough, when times got tough, his uncle, Sam, withdrew
To walk the streets with fine elites (or someone else who begs)
or find a job (or even rob) requires both your legs,
and those that don't and those that won't are those we call the dregs
For getting by he tried to ply and mine his medals' worth -
a tinny cup, a hungry pup near loamy pits of earth,
and best of all, per protocol, beneath a bridge, a berth
He clutched a sign 'A dime to dine?', if anybody cared,
but soon he found, as time unwound, that victors seldom shared.
And Jackie's pride was slowly fried by vacant eyes that stared
He took to drink to break the link with thoughts of what he'd done,
though threads of doubt began to flout the yarns Big Brother spun
of freedom's ring and other things like what it was we'd won
He told the breeze his vague unease; his words infused the air
and like the fogs above the bogs, soon floated through the square
where people sat at tea to chat, and thought 'How could he dare?'
But freedom's price is never nice: like storms before the flood
the Daily Rag was on a jag, was looking out for blood,
deemed Jackie's thoughts untamed and fraught, then dragged him through the mud
By snooping clues, they plucked his views like grapes upon the vine.
Big Brother came, blamed Jackie's name for thinking out of line,
shut Jack away from light of day while letting freedom shine
The Junto Brass, with eyes of glass, were robed in fine array
to hear the words (though slightly slurred) the witness gasped to say,
while Justice snored (the water board awash with Perrier)
Well, Jack was charged with laws enlarged in secret dossiers
within the guise of spreading lies and leading thoughts astray -
The Jury's out... the rabble shout 'well someone's gotta pay'
The Judge (who fears the mind’s frontiers), he turned his head to yawn
while making haste through courtroom waste, though slightly pale and wan -
The voodoo Lune withdrew as soon as Night condemned the Dawn
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the sighs of Silence, rife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the Reaper played a fife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the price was Jackie's life
While censor’s cooks are roasting books (and truth) on stakes ablaze,
well, Jackie's head (though chopped and shed) still thinks about the praise
for deeds once done in victories won when cruising in a craze,
and then again about the sin of thinking, nowadays,
where, absently, humanity is served in urns on trays -
and, reconciled, it simply smiles at fortune's funny ways
A mind was caught while thinking thoughts neath Sammy’s prying gaze
and forced to stop by concept cops, else join the castaways.
For now it's law to hold in awe the brave new world's malaise
and dance like mimes to rigid rhymes (which no one disobeys)
and celebrate with white-washed pate, adorned with dead bouquets -
with freedom’s death, time holds its breath, and waits for better days...
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2013
Tears of a hero
Tears of a hero, they say I supposed to be a tough guy..So I can’t let the tears show.
But with these feelings I’m having its getting hard to conceal though.
8 years on the force, 23 years of age when I started…I was just a kid trying to find my way, with a kid on the way. Road map was uncharted. Little did I know the journey I was embarking would be a long hard journey, but a rewarding journey I must add. Although here lately the things I been seeing...have been making me sad.
But they said I’m supposed to be a tough guy…so I can’t let the tears show. But with these feelings I’m having it’s getting harder to conceal though.
Playing dual roles, on the streets I protect and serve with honor. At home none of that matters, I’m just a husband and a father. Raising my 2 young ones teaching them right from wrong. They love me with or without the uniform. They don’t know they are those who hate me..Because I wear the uniform.
I chose this job for a reason, I wanted to make a difference you could see. Although sometimes it seems the person needing help…is me.
But they said I supposed to be a tough guy so I can’t let the tears show, with the feelings I’m having it’s getting harder to conceal though.
I’m referred to as the officer in blue, often times forgetting I’m a human just like you/ they say I’m emotionless and seem so detached. But listen the emotions are there…just suppressed.
Working nights calling home to my lovely wife just to say “hey baby, I may be home late”. Her reply “just please…make it home safe”.
I put my life on the line but it’s cool because…that’s what I signed up for. To serve and protect, put my right hand on the bible, that’s what I swore.
But the memories and images of the things I have seen are sometimes hard to ignore. But they said I supposed to be a tough guy so I can’t let the tears show. These feelings I’m having they getting harder to conceal though.
You see..I don’t get praise for all that I do. That’s ok but it hurts when things are said about me that are so untrue. We are living in a time where perception is reality and police brutality is perceived as a common normality which is a fallacy but the media deceives so you can’t see the actuality.
Understand I’m an officer….but I’m a black man too. Behind the badge.. I hurt like you. They said I’m supposed to be a tough guy......But I got to let these tears flow.
Copyright © Tyrone Ruff | Year Posted 2017
Old blabber mouth gets on my wick
His attitude makes me quite sick
He plays to the crowd
Is brash and so loud
My husband thinks he's an idiot!
Inspired by Stevie Wonder Song on the Radio today - He's Misstra know it all'
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
Impolite blabber mouths and know it alls
completely ignore rules and protocols
nasty comments they impart
from the pit of a black heart
Jackasses like that should be kept in stalls
From that mouth erupts volcanic dribble
He taunts with words until there's a quibble
But runs with tucked tail
With a cry and a wail!
When he's bitten with more than a nibble
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
His ego keeps growing up top
Mouths opinion not gonna stop
No poet nor bard
He's such a blow hard
Can't wait for his bubble to pop
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
A video was made for a surprise party. Each person, including children, pretending to spoil the surprise. Weebles were a type of toy. Little people that would wobble and not fall down. HERE is the limerick:
Who can stand them, blabbermouths in the know?
Watch those weebles wobble and watch them go!
Wee foibles whisper into ears.
It’s for a surprise party, dears.
Acting their parts, turns out it’s all for show!
WRITTEN BY Kim Rodrigues © 7/2/2018
If your “wit” doesn’t get you that far,
And all you’ve got’s blah blah blah blah,
I’ll give you advice
Cos I’m terribly nice...
If you zip it, we’ll all shout “hurrah!”
WRITTEN BY NINA PARMENTER
There's nothing more infuriating than a know it all
Who loves nothing more than to make you look small
But its so lovely when they come up
Against someone who knows their stuff
And like old Humpty Dumpty they have a great fall
WRITTEN BY TOM CUNNINGHAM
He always sings the same boring song
With a foot in his mouth, and a thong
He thinks he knows it all
But I will make him fall
Let me google it and prove him wrong
WRITTEN BY TEPPO GREN
He talks fast and has a huge head
I’m sure he thinks of “bull” in bed
His words are empty
He gets no sympathy
That’s all I have to say, enough said
WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y
I once met a man from Peru
Who said he knew better than you
He was a huge phony
And full or balony
He knew nothing, that he thought he knew
WRITTEN BY CHARLES MESSINA
I once knew a man from Brazil
A know it all with looks that could kill
once he opened his mouth
it was like a babbling spout
He was no longer much of a thrill
WRITTEN BY TANIA KITCHIN
His horse races wearing no shoes
Counts by fingers and toes by two's
His life sick and sad
Wants to be so bad
Friends happy when he has the blues
FIRST EVER LIMERICK WRITTEN BY ROBERT LINDLEY
I know someone on poetry soup.
Opens their mouth and words fly the coop.
Tries so very hard to write,
Condemnation is their plight!
A name? I cannot that low stoop!
WRITTEN BY MICK TALBOT
PLEASE FEEL FREE TO JOIN IN AND WRITE A POEM ABOUT BLABBERMOUTHS THEN PLEASE SOUP MAIL ME YOUR LIMERICK
AWARDED POEM OF THE DAY 3RD JULY - THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO CONTRIBUTED AND IS SHARING THIS HONOUR
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2018
Our two party system isn’t working
Plastic figures, disaster lurking
Conservative or liberal isn’t the call
It’s the ultra rich against us all
For the people is what it’s not
All candidates have already been bought
Platforms built on promises and lies
Hear the people, ignore their cries
Wave that flag as if you’re proud
Then bow and worship the corporate crowd
You no longer serve, you’re out of place
You are an elitist group, a public disgrace
You’ve subsidized the rich with your insanity
Then crippled the growth of humanity
You’ve killed our children in endless war
The media smiles and keeps the score
We sing of amber waves of grain
You’d sell it all for personal gain
You left our budget in disarray
You’ll tax our grandchildren for it someday
No water boarding terrorists you warn
Then murder a child who is still unborn
You have no ethics, you have no shame
You have no morals, you accept no blame
Washington is a place I’m told
Where politicians are bought and sold
Where dreams and ideals are destroyed
A city where honesty is null and void
A place where hope has been dethroned
You won’t get nominated unless you’re owned
A place where once” In God we trust”
Now we look in sheer disgust
Country burning from your sparks
You replaced Uncle Sam with Karl Marx
Our nominees we cannot select
The media decides who we elect.
Politicians with great orations
Puppets to the corporations.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2010
You, most desirable bride among
Your suitors many have been throughout
In every part of the world, you were the one
They were after
You declined their proposals, despite the fact
All suitors, to charm you they have tried,
With great honors and by putting your name
Next to theirs, to allure you to sanctify their
The totalitarians and
Have declared themselves your fervent
Admirers, your ardent devotees to you and to
Your eternal principles
By wrapping themselves in your
Heavenly gown and calling themselves your
But you unyielding remained
You knew that no one has succeeded to measure up
To the ideals your wise father, SOLON,** has set
And to the glorious values with which he
Nurtured you, those superb principles:
Of lack of self interest
Of the paramount devotion to
The common good and the happiness
Of the people you serve!
It is for that reason, you, oh Democracy,
Seldom have shown any favoritism to any of
Your suitors, for all fell short of
Your lofty aspirations
You were, unfortunately, for very
Lengthy periods of time mistreated, neglected, subjugated and
Exploited by your pretenders:
The power thirsty
The war mongers
The money seekers,
Chose to ignore all that you stood for and
Disregarded the common good and the
Happiness of the people they supposed to serve
For to promote their own interest and those of
Ruining the chances of any true democratic
Society to be established
For that reason, oh Democracy, I understand you now
Why a spinster, you, have chosen to
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 OCTOBER 2014
* Democracy is the combination of two words: Demos and Cratos . Demos means the People and Cratos means Power so Democracy means “ Power to the People.” It will be helpful to read my poem “ THE BIRTH OF DEMOCRACY” for a better understanding.
**The concept of Democracy is deeply rooted in the Greek Psyche! We see it in the Mythology where Zeus, the supreme God, is just “first among equals” Then appears in Homer’s poems but the father of Democracy is asserted to be Solon, the Athenian who was one of the seven wise men of old. Solon, 7th –6th centuries B.C. was the theoretician that established Democracy. Solon considered the pillars of Democracy to be Justice and Virtue. So every politician should be Just and virtuous and his main objective would be to safeguard the wellbeing and happiness of the people and that of the state's plus the wealth to be distributed justly among the citizens. Knowledge, responsibility, self-control, self knowledge, sacrifice, equality, had do be characteristics of every citizen. Plato said that “Virtue worth as much as all gold that is possessed by all people put together and all gold that is still in the ground.” To that Aristotle added that “ every politician has to be forged on the anvil of virtue.”
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2014
Allow me to be disgusted at the jest
and your halfway happy surprise at the end result
of the missile timed precisely:
Did he just splatter?
And allow me to feel the brunt of the bruising
upon my saddened heart, where for others was felt,
from laughing hard.
Yes, all lives matter
Even the ones who don't bear
our national colors
our political expectations no matter how wrong or right
For just this occasion let us get back to basics:
That was a human
ten fingers and ten toes
perhaps a wife and family to call his own
but do you even know?
Or even care to think
beyond the face of it?
Getting kicks at watching the Live Leaks
of people being blown to smithereens It bothers me
That one should find it amusing
Does it bother You?
---a single tear of blue
is all I'm asking---
Who he was or what he did
what difference does it make?
When life closes the lid
all we have is the acknowledgement:
That was a human A human
What if those pixels on the screen
were all that was left of that man's memory
would you still find it funny?
And yet still we turn to Facebook Enlightenment
with quotations that decorate a sniper in a holy moment ---
"And oh God. One more thing.
Ignore my enemies heathen prayers
and help me send those bastards
straight to hell.
(The amount of "likes" are disheartening
and should be a sin.
Where's the "vomit button" ... ?)
Reading through the comment's section,
like poetry for the juvenile,
and the criminally insane.
No Alka Seltzer No pills
I'm riding this crazy train unprotected
as if I'm dying for a thrill.
Dying ... at the very least.
Queasy at the vertigo of a nation
acting to love and loving to act
they want their plot back)
And have you read empathy such as this?
ROFL, mate! That's classic!
(you have a doggie bag on ya, by chance?
I think I'm gonna be sick)
That was a human
And you call yourself a Man of God?
Yet still feel compelled
to pull back His Grace to your own ends
... that slippery tide
between your fingers
As if infinity could only be stretched so far;
it won't last long my friend,
before you look into that celestial mirror
scared at what you see
Is that me?
Yet still you wear that outpouring of love
on your neck like a trophy
as if you even deserved it.
a single tear of blue just one
can you give it to me, son?
t h a t w a s a h u m a n
And do you even care?
Does it phase you in the slightest?
Or does a coat of arms
give you further reason to divide?
Jesus died for all For all
All that upheld the American flag
as equal to His words.
All who marched to the beat of the drums
drowning out the birds.
All who bravely proclaimed: We are Heading to War!
We are Heading to War!
And all those who never asked: And what for? What for?
Do you feel its beating on your soul?
S h o u l d
I t a l k
s l o w?
(the unwritten verses
you added long ago)
It doesn't even matter now,
because all that remains
is what's been left on the page.
All that remains...
Just four sad words
like hopeless sand
slipping through my fingers
That was a human (or at least it was)
Before Man forgot what he had,
Believing he could do better,
Egging the Almighty to play his game
... back to the drawing board, smirked the Creation
And what about you, Dear Reader?
What will the eulogizer speak
in your honor
when the lights out?
That was a monster
He won't bother you now
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016
I have a pain so profound that I cannot name it.
I try to ignore it, but I’m forced to claim it.
It’s a gut wrenching sorrow that only grows
An affliction that absolute misery knows
There’s dejection in every breath that I take
And torment controls every move that I make
Love has abandoned me and pulverized my heart
Faith has done nothing but tear me apart.
My spirit is faded and my soul has turned bleak
I am forsaken by God and all that I seek
Despair has taken over my wretched being,
And blessings are something I’m not believing
My essence is distressed by everything that is
I’m demagnetized by all that the universe gives
It’s an existence of oppression on every plane
Like being institutionalized when you’re not insane
It’s a anguish so powerful my whole body will cry
A ruthless torture that begs my very being to die.
Inspired by Rokeyai Hassen's (It Feels) Like: This Too Shall Pass (Now on PoetrySoup)
Copyright © Kim Hilliker | Year Posted 2010
That tiny pause to skirt the truth, half-reals you'd paraphrase,
The subtle softly spinning gyre of cunning in your gaze,
Vague reflections from your skin - a shedding, sheltering plaque,
All concerned syllables sent swiftly bouncing off your back.
Ever adrift on fiction's lost sea, never blown to shore,
Too late I saw your hidden thirst - too easy to ignore
Evasion and avoidance - thus was piloted your ship,
You'd dance around, not run aground - you gave us both the slip.
I failed your buried, rooted pain, I missed the reddened tracks,
All facts would step aside your rime of displaced parallax,
I slighted each secluded wound, the false-trod thoroughfare,
So ends a life of wary silence, cloaked mutely in despair.
No one knew you as I did, my reward there sadly sure,
I'd like to think away now, yet the hard truths are too pure,
Blinded, perhaps, by my own fear, I let out line for years,
And all my stock of forward time now fills with bloody tears.
Upon my closing sight of you, muzzled words within your eyes,
Your final hour released you not - you'd walked too long on lies.
Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2017
I like to exercise my mind, but how I hate to work.
Whatever needs exertion is the action that I shirk.
Labor with the brain is fine. I do it all the time.
How I love to sit and read or think of words that rhyme.
But send me to the bathroom with a brush so that I'll scrub,
and I'll barely rub the ring off. Then I'll lie there in the tub.
Peek inside; you'll find me, a novel in one hand,
resting as I'm soaking in my own little Bubble Land.
Clean the oven? What a joke. The most that I can stand
is loading up the wash machine (a task that's merely bland).
Maybe run the vacuum once a week across the floor,
and quickly dab where dust is bad; most stuff I ignore.
As my jobs all pile up, housework's even more a chore.
Why must work that's physical be such a dreadful bore?
My well-ingrained aversion to utilizing muscle
does have one exception: at the gym I like to hustle.
To kick box is so fun although it makes me sweaty.
Step and dance are choreographed. For those I'm always ready.
But I wish that just as quickly as from running on a tread
I could burn up calories doing workouts in my head!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
As you ponder each turn that has landed you here,
taut tempo will quicken and frail futures loom near.
Take one somber moment, step away from the din:
The voyage, the detours, the past and what's been.
You look back behind you to retrace every mile.
It bring tears of regret and the trace of a smile.
Hang on first, then let go, due to whimsy or age.
What you keep in the end is the test of a sage.
Fools still ignore the supreme ticks of the clock,
in each change in fashion, embraced by the flock.
Walk on and ignore them, don't bother to chide,
these pathetic lemmings swept away by the tide.
Peer off in the distance as you fight off the chill.
You must climb still further to the top of the hill.
Play the tailor to time, cut and trim, make it fit.
Find the time in your life. Take time to enjoy it.
Copyright © Gerard Keogh Jr. | Year Posted 2009
Walk with me
on golden fields,
down paths built of love
and we will share
every breath of
with each other,
step by wondrous step
Take my hand
and we shall follow the sun
wherever it may lead,
along edges of time,
shadows changing shape,
for this is ours
to hold endlessly
Sit with me
and we will write
filled with fragrant blooms,
leaving petals of our words
for all to see
Wander with me.
bringing smiles and laughter
through forests of
finding the next vista
painted in the beauty
that awaits us
Stay with me
and we shall love
far beyond any borders,
and stardust wishes
till eternity whispers
and we ignore it
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
My finger hovers
Shall I turn you on today
You lie there tempting me
I need to know what buttons to press
But when I press those buttons
You respond immediately and burst into life
Every Wednesday you leave me little messages
I try to ignore them but you are so persistent
You want to update
I want to write
I press any key to continue
And you ignore me and update anyway
My husband is fed up with the distress you cause me
He has a cunning plan to fix you forever ...
No more automatic updates
From now on you and I can live together in perfect harmony
I can press the right keys to update you when it suits ME
Now I am in complete control!
Computer Poem Contest – Carol Eastman
29th March 2015
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
Some places exist which folks need to clean,
like deep in a closet or under a bed.
Such spots get ignored because they’re unseen.
Those in plain view get attention instead!
Some children exist we choose to ignore,
for they are not ours. They live out of sight.
Unwanted, unloved, and rarely cared for;
some rich, others poor - they share the same plight.
Their life is a darkness where they’ve been thrown.
They are gathering dust; no voice have they.
Their sorrows are only to God fully known -
these dust bunnies, growing more filthy each day.
They are the future, and in a short time
they will have become society’s grime.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
Here in the heavy depths of insolent woes,
We gesture and talk and waste our time,
Staking claim to each minute of our earthly life,
Running the hours through a clock by the day,
Never sated, not content to find even love,
Buried deep inside the petals of a perfect rose.
So was a metaphor created from the rose,
Then plagiarized and used for all of time,
Simply here to represent the beauty of love,
A perfection to which we cannot aspire to in life,
Or even death, in the darkest of all those woes,
Great though they may seem by the passing day.
It's a fragile, soulful kind of love,
In the pressing presence of the breaking day,
Where your back breaks beneath ample woes,
And there just simply isn’t ever enough time,
To do what you plan to do with your life.
Then you start to resemble that rose.
Soft and delicate, with easy loss of life,
Mournful of the passage of time,
Counting down, day by dreary day,
Ever seeking out to find dear love,
The theoretical banishment of woes.
Such is the way of the deep red rose.
Has it ever occurred to us not to mark time?
Just to ignore it, along with any such woes,
Just to leap forth and enjoy life,
To live to the absolute fullest everyday,
And just as chosen by the poet's rose,
To find and hold on to, that one true love.
For I find, that it's mostly true these days,
That people don't make enough time,
For laughter and fullness in life,
So preoccupied with petty woes,
That they forget about the beauty of love,
And in doing that, they forget about the rose,
I know what the rose represents in my life,
And I work hard to expel my woes every day,
So that soon I will have time for true love.
*****Written in Sestina for Constance's Poetry 101 contest.*****
******* 5th Place winner*******
******Sarah Blake August 2010******
A sestina is a highly structured form of poetry consisting of six six-line stanzas and a three-
line envoy (thirty-nine lines). The end words of the first stanza are repeated in varied order
as end words in the other stanzas and also recur in the envoy.
Copyright © Lorrie Scheider | Year Posted 2010
The series "Despicable Me,"
we've flocked to theaters to see.
Wee minions--cute creatures--
and bad guys each features.
To all we respond with great glee.
I never dreamed five years ago
that I would soon dash to and fro
in search of these minions--
in children's opinions,
all treasures. How well I now know!
Some kids possess minions galore:
the one-eyed, the two-eyed, and more.
They giggle and jabber;
"BANANA," some blabber.
Their odd appeal, who could ignore?
My grandson's like other young boys.
For Christmas he craved minion toys.
His loved ones went shopping
for hours, not stopping
till we found gifts he now enjoys.
The minion-themed presents I gave
were puzzles, a cool talking Dave,
a pillow with three guys
with one or two huge eyes.
For these he did hug me and rave.
` I'm glad to say just one thing more:
Fart Blaster, I left at the store!
The child would have driven
me nuts if I'd given
him that thing; but Dave, I adore.
Date posted: February 23, 2016
The rhyming scheme of a limerick is aabba.
Copyright © Janice Canerdy | Year Posted 2016
Trees, trees, everywhere, and no one stops to think
What we may lose as all mankind nears a crucial brink.
When oaks and elms and other trees just simply cease to be,
Less Oxygen will be sent into the air we breathe.
Where will be the majesty of mighty cypress trees,
That pose in stately beauty for all the world to see?
What will be the price we pay if, someday, they’re all gone,
And we are left here breathless to, somehow, carry on?
The life of trees can be started by Mother Earth herself,
Or, sometimes, by some gardener in a pot upon a shelf.
Regardless, how they’re started, we need to wonder why
These beauties of creation are called upon to die.
Redwoods and sequoias that grace our western shore
Stand as mighty icons that we dare not ignore.
When left to die by nature’s plan I believe that you will see
They will outlive mortal man by at least a century.
To those who say God meant for man to use them as we need
I don’t believe He meant decisions to be governed by our greed.
I will not be labeled as a ‘tree hugger’ – not by any measure.
I’ll just continue speaking out for mankind’s silent treasure.
Written By John Posey
Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2013
So you say you want to sit on MY cloud.
The view, you say, is rainbows and bluebirds.
I understand you hate your polyester,
Dishwasher safe, blue light special cloud.
It is weak, sagging under the weight of your expectations.
It is no longer fluffy, no longer billowy, no longer white.
It is empty and dingy and flat. Like your soul.
You can't see the best part of my cloud because it is on the inside,
Where it is built from the sweat of a hundred strong women like me.
Where the walls glisten from the tears shed as others like yourself tried to steal our cloud's glory.
But like this cloud, though we look soft and billowy, we are steel, cursing forth our thunder and glaring bolts of lightning to protect ourselves and our own.
My cloud is high now, but it has had its lows.
Where were you when others avoided and mocked us as nothing more than valley fog?
When the view consisted of puddles of want and winds of despair?
Did you once offer me a seat on your cloud?
Did you give me a hand up? Or were you too busy looking down on me?
So excuse me if I block your sun, ruin your picnic, cancel your flight.
But I will never ignore you.
Come closer and I will whisper a message in your ear:
HEY, YOU, GET OFF OF MY CLOUD!!!!
Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2015
No Not Me
Did you think when I left
I'd never answer my phone,
ignore your messages,
never speak to you again?
Did you think I was that guy?
I thought you knew me
but it wasn't about me was it?
How often have others disappeared?
You were judging me as if I was them.
I guess I can't blame you,
life is not always kind.
But not me, no not me.
I'm not him,
It's my actions represent me,
define the man I am.
Words lie and eyes aren't always
an insight to every man.
You can't always trust their smile.
I bet the devil is an attractive male
with an inert charm and not a horn in sight.
You can't beat the sky in your own skin.
If your a demon you groom flawlessly,
dress like a king, with a look that's soft.
The wolf doesn't tell the sheep "I'm here!"
It's the guy with nothing to hide who is often
misconstrued. Honesty has it's price.
I don't blow dry my hair in the mirror.
practice my reactions.
I don't kiss up,
my nose is clean.
I don't always talk in a quiet melodic voice
or hide my tears. When I say it's alright
It just is.
I didn't walk away, I had to leave
but you can find me.
For you I am always here!
Did you think when I left I would disappear?
I hold you dear.
I'm always here.
No not you
You would never just walk away
Away from people or things you love
You don't always say what you feel in spoken
yet you shout out your feelings in written words,
no lies are here, you write from the heart.
Your love holds no bounds, you love for life,
You say that your eyes are not an insight to your soul,
Yet when the light goes out, I know your dying inside
To walk away, no not you, to hide for a time,
Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2015
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
Love approaches and does not scare.
Love bears and does not let go.
Love cares and does not shrink.
Love declares and does not shun.
Love establishes and does not tear down.
Love forgives and does not remind.
Love gives and does not expect.
Love has and does not gloat.
Love hears and does not tell.
Love hopes and does not give up.
Love instills and does not corrupt.
Love joins and does not run over.
Love keeps and does not stray.
Love lives and does not stress.
Love manages and does not control.
Love persuades but does not discourage.
Love proclaims and does not hide.
Love questions and does not badger.
Love rejoices and does not displease.
Love sees and does not condemn.
Love talks and does not defame.
Love understands and does not misconstrue.
Love values and does not insult.
Love wants and does not ignore.
Love XOXOXOX and does not reject.
Love yearns, and does not insist.
Love zaps, and does not destroy.
LET US LOVE ONE ANOTHER.
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2009
Age gracefully…that’s what I’ll do
Going to ignore the lines, how about you?
Inner beauty is what really counts
I happen to love my drooping mounts
Absolutely no Botox or fillers for me
Another varicose vein, Yipee
I’ll learn to love myself, no matter what
I will forever have my untucked gut
Graceful and elegant, that’s what I am
I will tell those cosmetic companies to scram
Lip plumping or lipo…no darn way!
And as for my hair…I will let it go gray
Facelifts are for the weak, you know
I happen to adore the feet of the crow
I’ll snub my reflection, chuckling a little at me…
For shunning pricey moisturizers provides me with glee
I don’t need any convertible or flashy car
My beauty shines really brightly, from afar
Who cares about the rolls, seeming to multiply each day?
No staples for me, I don’t care what I weigh
Dark circles make my eyes look cute
And those saddlebags are really a hoot
Juvederm and Radiance ….what a waste
On this mug, parentheses DO have a place
Lasik-I sincerely think not
That bifocal look is certainly hot
A new boytoy-There will be none of that
Though I’m sure he’d dig my charming back fat
The bell, oh no, I don’t mean to be crass
I guess I dozed off in Algebra Class
I must have been close to 40 in that frightful dream
And I was just about to let off a really loud scream
Nevertheless, my dear friends, I do so solemnly vow
To go off and age gracefully…at least for now
That's right...no need for the third degree
I promise to not get my first brow lift…until I’m at least 23
Copyright © Natalie The Rogue Rhymer | Year Posted 2011
Not sure what it is
about this land
that grabs you
but I was grabbed
Trip ends today,
last night I stayed up late,
sipping remaining whisky
as the red sun set
neath hill's dark shoulders.
up before six
lake like glass
rustle up the fire
and make coffee.
Rest of camp
so I solo
cast the back bay
release a hammer handle
then troll the north shore
into a freshening wind
to deeper water
perhaps a morning walleye
but the wind’s up,
and the sparkling sun
puts fish down
End of lake
cast the shoreline
snag a bush
retrieve the lure
test line – it snaps.
Retie, change lures,
Tom got a good fish
in these narrows
Ignore my watch,
change to a deeper lure
last point, a satisfying tug
good pike – strong fish
open water, use net
Paddle back to camp
with fresh fillets for home
of when the lake
and I were one.
Copyright © D.W. Rodgers | Year Posted 2014