Best Passive Poems
holding her head still
she’s offended
her face frozen
expressionless
like she practiced
a thousand times
her teeth clenched
veins popping at her temple
she bites her lip
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
I created this poem to teach passive voice in an ESL class in Chile (English as a foreign
language)
**************************************************************************
My heart was broken,
By the sound of your eyes
No words will be spoken,
I will be wise.
Your expressions destroyed my hopes,
My trust is vanished,
You have put me against the ropes
by the end of the day, I will be banished.
Give me one moment to believe
Now my thoughts are awaken
I know you have to leave,
I will be forsaken.
THE PASSIVE VOICE (Grammar series)
In Italy a glorious Voice
Was employed by Pavarotti
In England of voice we’ve a choice
Which sounds a little dotty
When we sing our verbs of action
The way we do, it sounds as if
We’re committing a verbal infraction
For these words can be voiced in the PASSIVE
Just consider: if someone is active
There is something that someone is doing
And you'd think that being passive
Means that doing they are eschewing
But we need not be hopeless or cynical
Say it' s British illogic - insanity
We'll be annoyingly rational and clinical
Causing foreigners to express profanity
However you parse it or say it
While in both voices something is done
In the ACTIVE we say who did it
But in PASSIVE might not say which one
So in solving a murder for the fun of it
And answering: "Who fired the gun?"
We need not claim the butler 'dun of it'
But inscrutably say: "It was done"
Thus the PASSIVE is my voice of choice
For my deeds despicable or infractive
But for actions worth merit, that I rejoice
I will happily indulge in the ACTIVE.
I don't want to hear,
I don't want to know.
Your life is a Soap Opera,
like a T.V. show.
Your life is a mess.
I can read the signs
but I have trouble keeping track
of my own plot lines.
No one's life runs smooth.
We all have our issues.
I needn't hear yours
to bring out the tissues.
You have social media
to vent your frustrations,
your ups and your downs,
tragedy and elations.
I have my own stuff
to deal with your know.
I just choose not to put it
out there like a show.
So I wish you the best,
I wish you well
but those passive aggressive statuses
can just go to hell.
15/09/2015
puzzles puzzles
they write in rhyme
encrypted messages
poisoned in hate
guesses in the dark
surmising
unable to say the truth
denying
hiding
play nice
yet still
there is the knife
Friendship taken for more
what awful gore
innuendos galore
the truth is out
read the encryptions
read the lines
following suit
following suit
this message
will self destruct
IN YOUR MIND
Eileen M
taking a class on
being assertive with love
I've been so confused
mixed up passive with
whimpy and aggressive with
assertive 'til now
no wonder the life-
less devestation I've left
in my dreadful wake
passive/aggressive
is my middle name for sure
been without a clue
childhood needs unmet
caused me to rush about to
make up for lost time
blind reality
in a huge fog of smoke
lost lil girl searching
for a better way
without losing all I thought
that I'd been learning
You give me questions.
Most of which I can answer.
Tested. Algebra...
Friends fade into the common wave,
lost in their naiveté,
the days change the blame stays,
so on they go,
about their ways, insides rot.
Slave to the poison of their own creation,
oozing from their brain,
fragranting their breath,
voice saps life from their vicinity,
complaining insults, cease not.
Listening ears burn with rage,
and herald a life of ease,
free from lowly and lofty self-hate,
that self-feed such a disease,
ally ignores, rapeful ramblings never stop.
Ears cool and learn to let them fade,
from friend to cohort to stranger to slave,
happily hateful world workers,
stressfully loving their blightful lives,
patter of greater prosperity, zot but a prop.
I don't care
I don't care if you don't kiss me hello
I don't care if you don't hug me goodbye
I don't care
It doesn't bother me
It doesn't bother me when you don't touch me
It doesn't bother me when you don't look my way
It doesn't bother me
I am not annoyed
I am not annoyed when you leave and don't tell me
I am not annoyed when you don't call
I am not annoyed
It doesn't matter
It doesn't matter that you spend less time with me
It doesn't matter that you can't take a hint
It doesn't matter
I don't care
It doesn't bother me
I am not annoyed
It doesn’t matter
that I am telling a lie
Global warming leads to climate change;
that's why the weather is acting strange.
Pollution and deforestation;
now affect every single nation.
Feels like the planet's overcrowded;
people are scared; their judgment clouded.
Xenophobia is on the rise;
as folks harbor hatred in their eyes.
Everyone, it seems, is filled with rage;
we're behaving like rats in a cage.
Passive-aggressive is the new fad;
dealing with cell phone Karens; how sad.
Free speech fuels the spreading of hate;
condoning violence as of late.
And yet, we cannot abandon hope,
we'll get past this; we'll find ways to cope.
We are the masters of our domain,
given free will; we will not choose pain.
I pray that democracy survives
intact: outside library archives.
We may well wish we had it someday,
then realize: we gave it away.
Isn’t it fun to be passive aggressive?
Subtle and biting, rather impressive!
Fact-free and spiritually dispossessive
Use of hyperbole: deathly excessive
Squeezed that one in, somewhat digressive
Some might say that crosses to the transgressive
(Authoritatively, overexpressive)
Now, I’m just bordering on the obsessive,
Cycling up and down, manic-depressive.
Or maybe I’m battling imunosuppressives;
Time for some fresh air, the best decompressive.
Leaving behind, the red tulips
You leave, the unnamed autumn
That showered snowy flowers of silent concern.
Throwing thorns on my heart,
Though it was out of question,
Since no thorns were born of friendship
You listed me in the group of fellows,
Not even to be looked at, of foes...
Alienating my lines of deep, but bitter affection
As we couldn't possess
All that crept in our courtyard,
You showed me a vine without buds on
And taught me to be a less dangerous enemy,
Who could never attack, but only stay calm...
Attending to my waitings, first,
Listening to my words, you kicked me off
The steps of your worries...
You are not to be blamed!
My heart, so silly,the fly to fall in the dark
With its lights burning, not to wipe out the clouds
But to be damp in cries,is the culprit
Jailed are my pangs for you in the dungeons
Of untold revolts, of passion sinful..!
fréolic chocolate-branches form upon
meadows beyond the tessellated glass
of my home. Whither upon meadows who's
horizon meets with the fading sunset;
translating to nights of bright creations
who fall out of gravity in flames to
enkindle Nostradamus prophecies.
Osier you hold the key to the roots.
Without you, who is the fruit tree to
appreciate for the reaped blossoms;
Oh, Grana Double Tree.
Thy poise divides on the
Myrtle balance of my
lands. Dynamic as the
Mediterranean.
A name on the tip of a tongue.
A father caught in traffic, who never made the party.
A mongrel fighting a lion,
whose only reason for living was the one for which he was dying.
Were you here yet changed so much?
Never be recognised; a caterpillar-butterflied.
But I tried...
...and I tried...
...and I tried.
Every season fallow,
exhausted,
exacted.
Have I retracted or is there time for one last sweep?
Am I the janitor never paid,
always more dust to collect, to heap?
My bristles are worn and no longer reach into your corners.
A spider, relentlessly scaling an unclimbable bath,
a forward moonwalk that will only end in withered legs,
and blistered feet,
then nothing.
Life may throw you a paper ladder,
but all too often life is wish washed away,
with the scum, the debris, of a bad bad day.
Mistaken,
unrecognised,
potential is lost,
if potential is there it comes with a cost.
A surety that exists only like beauty,
in a beholder's eye,
In an older sky,
an older I.
awaiting interpersonal subsequent situation
aye tend to get ants
see when in the midst awaiting
said sub routine involving
outcome of circumstance
the parameter, perimeter, potentiometer,
et cetera extents
sifts out the destructive sycophants
versus real boot not nacho
munching macho gents
thus ipso facto fur cher
pro bono, and hence
gaining kudos for fas innocence
je nais sais quois joie de vivre personal aim
finds this lapsed passive pen sieve blame
less body electric alternating
between defendant versus claim
"FAKE" aunt Emma, who wrote to said
real or fictitious dame
purportedly gave solicited feedback exclaim
ming absolute zero tolerance
for acquiescent docile frame
within the real versus make believe
Milton Bradley board game
of LIFE as well my late mum (Chris Anne)
whose maternal sermons
included a ban
against blindly enlisting
into any sect chew will clan
purporting pretending posturing
as Dudley Do-right dan
sing with the stars amidst a Euclidean
Geometry auditorium,
where the glitzy dazzling audience
flush with many a fan
gnat tics toward a particular couple
said open eyed spectators
focused glazed eyes and grand
huzzahs on a man or woman,
who took charge hand
dilly directing his/her partner
acrobatic aeronautics inland
pro active with guiding he or she
toe till lee tubular counterpart re
speck ting decorum, yet pre
zen ting a choreographed production nee
an utterly out of this world with lee
ping skyward ward jumps key
pin equipoise holy jee
purrs, which scenario
analogous to taking bold
measures tubby
forthrightly assertive fold
ding arms crosswise
across chest, taking hold
din stance without conveying
a haughtiness mold.