Best Pathetically Poems
* Collaboration of Limericks written by Jan Allison,
Tom Cunningham, Tania Kitchin and Lin Lane
Here's a news flash, the latest scoop
There are parasites in the soup
AI bottom feeders
Poet superceders
Those who cannot write worth a poop
Artificial intelligence is smart
But never uses words found in the heart
Some dolts use it to cheat
Thinking they are discreet
We should hit them in their butts with a dart
They say AI is here to stay
But plagiarism is another way
Some may copy/paste Poe
Or other greats you know
Add their name, it's sorted way hey!
We know you're fake and using AI
Your poems are nothing but a lie
Wanting to be cool
but instead, a fool
Now you can just leave our site, goodbye!
Some poets get Poem of the Day
It's AI, (of course they don't say)
AI contest "winners"
Are poetry sinners
Does admin prevent them - no way!
Real poets write using only their hand
AI users need more'n a reprimand
Deleting their accounts
'fore their winning surmounts
There should be a way they could all be banned
Stay put, no need to get out of bed
Or have a thought in your empty head
So, just ask Alexa
And she'll write it for ya
A shame you can't use your brain instead
What is your real poetry name?
As fake poems seem to be your game
All Plagiarism and AI
We're really not sure why
Your page is pathetically lame
Pestilence borne in the form of AI
Not of Biblical proportion but why
do you have need to chouse
Poets' concern and rouse
the community to feel so awry
On the day AI begins its world rule
People will still call each other a fool
Is the human race then doomed
AI will have us all groomed
To serve them as lowly slaves, a footstool
I asked a generator to write a Limerick, its response was...
An AI that wrote with great flair,
Could craft limericks beyond compare.
With rhythm and rhyme,
In a jiffy, each time,
It brought smiles to faces everywhere!
This was my response
No! au contraire, AI generator
Not everyone smiles at your creator
I will admit you're quick
but it's deceptive schtick
You're a bad poet's ego inflator
Categories:
pathetically, community,
Form:
Limerick
My vacant stare was sure to be
a giveaway to anyone that saw . . .
I was a Pilgrim there to the land of techno-jargon,
of icons, Help instructions meaning nothing,
and a world of young and savvy operators.
Our teacher wasn’t there.
Certain that the worksheet explaining all the basics
would be a breeze for us to carry out,
he’d arrogantly left the room
and left the lot of us to the mercy of
a keyboard and computer.
I looked up from his worksheet
to a screen that stared right back at me,
awaiting my commands.
I was on the starting path to what is often called
the Super Highway,
and my boarding pass, tuition to the class,
was non-refundable.
Overwhelmed, I started out. Then I hit a rut
and didn’t have a clue what next to do.
My learning peers already seemed to know
the route quite well.
Some, in fact, were calling it a day
while I stayed on, ashamed to bother
any of the others there for help.
I looked around the room, my tired brain
a hot plate in the midst of younger minds
with the speed of ovens made for microwave.
Perhaps they’d all conspired to put
the older lady at unease.
It seemed the more I tried to understand,
the more pathetically off course I’d go. . .
Till finally (longing for a time when
“cut and paste” implied the use of scissors),
I got up from my seat and left behind
the self-instructing worksheet which
that egghead teacher said would be “a cinch.”
Two big words were scrawled across the top
of its first page, two big words in red,
written with the one tool I could trust:
SCREW IT.
For Natalie Whitlock's
"Talkin' Technology" Contest
Categories:
pathetically, computer-internetwords, teacher, teacher,
Form:
Narrative
Romeo and Juliet take a hike
You had something pretty nice
I've got the whole world but I'm alone
I've become a one girl tragedy
Out of my mind
Lost capacity
A ghost who wishes to be seen
Pathetically partner less cause
Love's been one sided affair
Romeo and Juliet; at least they were a pair
Categories:
pathetically,
Form:
Meeting God in a stranger is always a treat.
It was a rare day. I was totally beat.
I was exhausted from trying to change a tire.
Had left my wallet at home. Was at the end of my wire.
My jack was not working. Triple A was two hours out.
I was irritated and hot and ready to pout.
Hey! Someone said Do you have a dollar for me?
I turned and was astounded to see not one but three.
The man had the nicest smile. The child looked sad.
The dog was pathetically happy. No one was mad.
I wish I did I told them. I left my wallet at home you see.
We all blessed each other, and they prayed together, these three.
Yes, I am including the dog for I feel there is no mistake
That God and Dog have all the same letters you make.
I met God in these people with their homemade sign.
Determined to come back and help them later, a decision, mine.
I came back to this spot around noon the same day.
But they were gone, these beggars put by God in my way.
Categories:
pathetically, god,
Form:
Rhyme
Sitting on the shelf like a broken teacup
I go on despite these difficult moments
I run into myself with Irish green eyes and permanent tear stained cheeks
I've endured the immensity of agony
I’ve turned down all those so-called hot lovers sulking in this harsh yellow land
I wrestle with the ongoing struggles of this evil world
No…nobody can go backwards
You see, you and I were never meant to be
So...don't tell me your hurt is my fault
I’ve assessed these holes in my life-have you assessed yours?
It was a lifetime ago…forever gone in all that I was
In a curious way I’ve known the debris of myself ...
I’m more damaged than I care to admit
Here I am…pathetically sitting in the rubble of where my heart lives
A thin-skinned loner- a re-cycled me of who I used to be
I can't waver yet again, to take another chance at love
I've known too much time away from it all
So evident in the moment of my blinding conscience
Pondering the un-gentleness of things
That should have been beautiful...but were not
And so, I pick up the pieces of my broken soul
From a broken love that was never meant to be
I'm in for a new change of lifestyle - a new change of heart
A release of all those emotions that were tearing me down
The old life I knew, I threw away with the teacup
I got a new life, a new cup, and I'm forgetting you and the past
Categories:
pathetically, allegory, angst, husband, recovery
Form:
Free verse
Chris Risum
1865 – 1920
She was the only woman who listened to me.
The only lady who cared enough to care.
For within my own dead marriage
I was sadly alone, pathetically ignored and ridiculed.
For while I was alive, I was an afflicted man.
A man dead inside himself.
A man endlessly looking for absolutely nothing to find.
With clenched fists and thrown shoes,
I was the man dodging the vitriol.
The man who felt absolutely no love
For the last twenty years of his life.
But alas, I met her.
The only woman who ever listened to me.
My lovely Gertrude,
The tall busty eucalyptus tree
On Rideout Way.
And there I would sit in her sensual shade,
On warm summer afternoons with my thoughts and desires.
And with the presumptuous winds
Streaming and knifing from the west
She would reach down with her long leafy flowing arms
And allow me,
A mere man worth absolutely nothing,
To touch her.
To feel incontrovertibly,
Her scintillating life force!
Categories:
pathetically, death,
Form:
Epitaph
Is it not time yet to end this food bank life
And desperate youth killing each others with a knife
Short of support, help and education
Short of understanding it's not that complicated
They don't don't see equality in this society
What people see is the have and have nots
What poorer sections of society see is how much more
Some of the more fortunate have got
Paying footballers tens of thousands every week
Yet carers, nurses and doctors and public workers
Are down on their knees hoping food banks will supply their needs
Meanwhile tax evasion is still rife
Ignored by a government who have shares in each slice
MP's and ministers as corrupt as the corporation bosses at the top
Zero hour contracts to keep people down
While those at the top do many jobs
For an obscene wage for working only a few hours and few days
This is how society plays it's game
Ensuring the poor lose and the rich gain
Causing division, hate and blame
Creating classes instead of equality and unity
This is sign of a government pathetically failing
People living on the street in a so called advanced society
Is a sign of failing and a lack of compassion
And is a form of neglect and cruelty
Which the government dies nothing about
Because it treats people lower than them brutally
And hope seems to to go by with such futility
In the knowledge that nothing will ever change
Because we don't do enough to bring this about so on us
I guess that's where the shame lays.
Categories:
pathetically, angst, betrayal, corruption, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
APATHETICALLY I APPROACH THIS TASK
ACADEMIC FERVOR RUNNING THIN
“FOR IS IT NOT TIME TO SLEEP?” I ASK-
FAVORING FINALE, I HOLD UP MY CHIN.
HONESTLY, BETTER COULD BE DONE.
HONESTY IT IS NOT THAT I AM LACKING;
COMPOSITION BECOMES LITTLE FUN,
DILIGENCE LOST, I AM SLACKING!
Categories:
pathetically, funny, satire, school,
Form:
Acrostic
Surely, Sherlock was rooted in the home.
But his ruby slippers
Had worn-out souls
So the jaded detective
Followed Fitzgerald and the lost generation.
But somewhere in between chapters
And the thicket of printed syllables,
He took a wrong turn
And found himself in neverland.
The lost generation
Morphed into barbaric
Lost boys
And though the Englishman
Aged like the mulberry wine
Drowning his consciousness,
Literature never grew up.
And so,
The stories remained:
Timeless.
While in the lagoon
Of a dead poet’s society,
The poems still exhale.
Engulfed pages of pulp fiction,
The rind,
Binding the vitamins of knowledge
To the seeds of ruminations,
Still blossom, fruitfully.
And though Holmes’ words now crawl,
Pathetically,
From his tongue--
Their decibels still caress my skin.
Insignificant filaments
Stand erect
Upon my forearm.
As misinterpreted anthologies
Hold their compasses to the North Star,
Their melancholy is lifted,
And literature can be reborn--
Free.
Tonight,
Sherlock lights his briar pipe,
And gives one last request.
To Peter Pan,
The feeble man purses his lips:
Read me a bedtime story.
And with that,
The mystery is dead.
Damned to eternal sleep.
The last page,
Still yet to turn.
Categories:
pathetically, books, language, philosophy, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
There’s a fairy in my garden,
Her voice is rather rough
And when I asked her for her name
She answered, “Fairy Nuff.”
“That’s fair enough,” was my reply,
“It seems to suit you well.”
“Oh no,” she said “I’m not like that,
I’m under someone’s spell.
I flirted with a Fairy Prince
On last year’s Halloween,
And just as luck would have it
I upset the Fairy Queen.
She said that I’m not Goody Nuff
And this of course is true,
For she is really rather posh
And very well-to-do.
The Fairy Queen just waved her wand
And said she’d had enough,
How dare I try to steal her son!
So now I’m Fairy Gruff.
My voice was always crystal clear
And I could sing so well
But now I croak pathetically,
A cracked and worn-out bell.
Well fancy that, just look who’s here,
My very handsome Prince!
We met at your Mum’s party
And I haven’t seen you since.
Oh yes, my voice! That’s all her fault,
Her spells are very good,
She thinks I want to win your heart
And I would do if I could.
You’ve really set my wings on fire
With love and admiration
But your Mother has the final word,
You’re way above my station.
You like me, did I hear you say,
You care for me as well?
Then prove yourself my Fairy Prince
And break your Mother’s spell.
Yes of course, I’ll stand quite still
And close my eyes real tight
And when I’m Fairy Nuff again,
We’ll set the world alight.
Your Mother doesn’t frighten me,
She’s really not that mean,
We’ll let the strength of our regard
Placate the Fairy Queen.
We know that love can conquer all,
She must have heard that said
So when we seek her blessing
It’s sure that we will wed.”
Once more my garden’s empty
Except for flowers and stuff,
And it’s very quiet and peaceful
But I think that’s fair enough.
Categories:
pathetically, fantasy, voice, fairy, love,
Form:
Light Verse
Of course you’re fourteen years older
since the last time I saw you.
Your magnificent girth - dizzy height.
From your smallest roots (the size of a man’s thigh)
to your first branches that bees nested in -
your honey would have been the sweetest.
A man could build a house from this tree
my uncle told me. I believed him -
in fact, you could have built more.
I flew over you once in a helicopter,
you looked pathetically small,
but a fool was I in your towering shadow
thinking you were so.
Written: 1987
———
Kauri trees are the biggest (in volume) tree
in New Zealand standing up to 50m tall.
This particular Kauri tree was on my mate’s
father’s farm which I would visit as a kid.
Categories:
pathetically, growing up, perspective, tree,
Form:
Free verse
Who else in this inhumane edifice
can dance while the suspecting eyes stare
at his moistened armpit?
Pathetically unknowing music uplifts not just the soul but the intellect.
Who else got the fire in imparting?
or …
did theirs even start a single spark since then?
Who else brings out the best in these hopefuls?
It’s all the worse and worst that they see.
And you think San Pedro would be pleased
when you gloat you made all the priests, doctors, and engineers?
Woe to you who humiliate the chair by your indolent butts
while uttering kindergartenous blabbers you claim to be education!
Then you get all you want while tabula rasa remains tabula rasa.
And you
You seated on the higher chairs!
Why don’t you trample down awhile
and put your cataracting sight to use
before it even brings you to the death of light.
Has anyone of you even heard what your god told to Pontius Pilate?
Ha! The you-have-no-power-over-me’s have always been impervious to you bigots!
And you say to your kin let me handle it.
When it is delayed and their impatience grows
you see they’ll leave.
Did you ever fret about deadlines
of bills, of matriculas, of debts?
What do you feed to your clan? Feeds?
Get Ripley’s here!
Oh how divine to utter all the Fs!
An Entrant into Catie Lindsey's FREE VERSE TIME AGAIN Contest
©February 20, 2013
Categories:
pathetically, on work and working,
Form:
Free verse
DON’T GET ME STARTED
1. About taxes, we have to pay them so why bother
Wasting breath complaining? And they’re spent on
Useful stuff like nuclear weapons and world-tours for
The Prime Minister and keeping teenage shoplifting kids
In jail (where they belong) and allowing major embezzlers
Or inside-traders to be under light-supervision on open prison-farms.
2. About Richard Nixon, a president who got caught
Doing what practically every president does,
And did trivial things like achieving rapprochement with China,
Ending the war in Vietnam, and signing nuke treaties
With the USSR. What a waste of time.
3. About bees, because why should I put up with stings and all their buzzing
Just for honey, when I don’t even like honey or beeswax?
And don’t tell me about the hexagonal architecture of honeycombs.
Buckminster Fuller did it better without stinging or buzzing anyone.
4. About sushi, which is a bit too fishy for me. I hate fish,
With those big staring eyes in the shop, or floating pathetically
Around In the shrimp-pan gazing accusingly at me.
5. About Australians, wanting applause for kangaroos, wallabies or Melbourne.
How about a round of applause for Canada for having beavers, or the RCMP?
6. About rap “music” which really should be called crap music
7. About dogs
..................................................
( Don't get excited, politically, sexually or architecturally. No nationalistic or animal rights complaints, please. It's only a funny poem.)
Categories:
pathetically, funnyme,
Form:
Free verse
Just stood there grinning
Watching fools pass by
Being what they pretend
Hiding from own reality
Lost in false impressions
More valued than dignity
Laughing for sake's effect
Happy yet truly sad
Wrapped in plastic surroundings
Slipping up drooling slopes
Talking to hear themselves
Deaf to any answer
Hair blowing in breeze
More concerned with style
Than what lies beneath
Brain wasted by conceit
Compassion an after thought
Centered only on self
Grasping for golden rings
Worth nothing in eternity
Love just a word
Seeing loyalty as obscene
Old fashioned a joke
Material things most valued
Sneering at the elderly
Pathetically so boldly unaware
They were their past
Faces revealing mortal future
Copyright © 2015 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."
© 2015 Robert William Gruhn
Categories:
pathetically, art, spoken word,
Form:
Narrative
There are days like these when life patently doesn't come easy
like peas and carrots, tea and biscuits, moonshine & sun's resign,
more so resembling ill-assorted poked chocolates' wrongdoing of
dissemblance discombobulating conceivability mid hokey designed
disorderliness, inasmuch mute poetry impatiently awaiting lavishly
gifted muse's breathlessness to transform convoluted unreasonable
fractals pon escaped tauntingly mundane madness, twixt brass-tacks
wracks daunting tribulations throughout intervals of immoderately
spun matter-of-taxing challenges and perplexing puzzle pieces,
sans instructions far-side nonexistent proportions affixed with sticky
hot glue gun drivel or coffee pathetically absent jolting caffeine...
Categories:
pathetically, confusion, crazy, humor, hyperbole,
Form:
Alliteration