Best Pitiful Poems
I am beautiful, so stop being pitiful, you can't change me, I'm God's creation you see, I may not have the looks in all the pictures I took, but I've got bass that I can't replace. My personality is wild and weird, but I don't care, cause normal doesn't compare. Your fist and your words will hurt, but you cannot stop me from getting back up from the dirt, I may be short, but my standards are tall, there's nothing more you can do to make me feel more small, so go ahead and keep putting others down, they will rise, and you will still be on the ground. So are you mad or not? Cause it seems like your salty that's all!
Pitiful illusions
I've had spectral visions, haunt me in my dreams
Spinning my meditations, into nightmarish schemes
My pitiful illusions, scatter in depth of night
Mourning has broken...darkness conquers daylight
John Derek Hamilton
December 18,2019
Excerpt taken from my poem
Mourning has broken
written October 10,2019
Spit fire and spin honey,
the target-a wealthy man and his money.
She has no other talent that qualifies,
just the sum of what quantifies.
She's got cause and family ties,
under the guise of friendship and lies.
Depending on time to line her pockets,
she waits like a spider to sign the dockets.
The honey it dries,
the old man dies.
It evokes such pain and indifference,
targets of especial sentimental significance".
Pitiful Tears
You went away and left me sweetheart
I know through no choice of your own
I am missing you every day since, my dear
The days are now years that you left me alone
One foot in front of the other
Is how I have coped with passing time
The years creeping slowly by
With me remembering when you were mine
All the good times we shared together
The laughter and all the fun
So much of our life we enjoyed
Being together when each day was done
I will love you all the days of my life sweetheart
Many years now it has been since you were laid to rest
But my heart will never forget the love we shared
As long as it continues to beat in my chest
I have lived these many years without you
One foot placed in front of the other,,,
Some days I wonder why do I do it
And other days I have yet to discover
Now I have no idea what I need to do
There must be a reason I am still here
So I will try real hard to figure it out
Count my blessings, and dry up these pitiful tears
Connie Moore
1/16/2016
Pistol Pete is Peaceful Peter now,
Married life has altered him, and how.
He used to be a honky tonker
Always spoiling for a fight,
Now he's always home with Mama
And in bed by nine each night.
It was a huge mistake to take that wedding vow.
He had to give up hanging out with all the boys,
And had to throw out all his "girlie" mags and toys.
Nor can he scratch, nor cuss, nor chew,
He had to kiss that life good-bye,
And when he's dragged to church on Sunday,
She even makes him wear a tie.
There's not a thing about wedded bliss that he enjoys.
Six months in and she can't take it anymore,
All she does is wring her hands and pace the floor.
When Pete proposed to her he promised
He'd reform and get a job,
But no one wants to hire a guy
To sleep, drink beer, and be a slob,
And Mama's sick and tired of being poor.
What the last straw was for Mama, who can say,
But the police came and carted her away.
What she claimed as her defense,
That made the judge and jury frown,
Was he forgot too many times
To put the toilet seat back down.
"Justified, perhaps, but guilty, anyway."
To see her tried Pete's old friends flocked from miles around,
Then stayed to see her fried and Pete put in the ground.
As each one heard the eulogy,
This thought was racing through his head,
"If I had followed Pete's example,
That could be me there lying dead!"
And not a dry eye in the parlor could be found.
If there's a moral to my tale, this truth will fit:
If you only "like" someone, do not commit.
Before proposing, think again
'cause it's a fairly well-known fact
That married life can be a pain
When complete opposites attract.
If you don't believe me, just read his obit
Because Pistol Pete's the pitiful proof of it.
Stumblin' through the haze
In a dumfounded daze
In a muddled malaise
Like a mouse in a maze
Broke and blase
Stuck in my ways
My libido won't blaze
My mojo betrays
Got a glaze in my gaze
Got nuthin' to praise
Hope it's only a phase
Or just one of those days...
The Pitiful Reality Of Time And Infinite Sorrows
green pastures, dawn's glow
future scenes of lonely night
pale moon, shadows fall
Robert J. Lindley,
haiku, ( Wherein A Battle Rages On )
This very short poem is all that I can muster now of my dedication to my lifelong writings...
Sad....
Whereas once many centuries ago, writing could ease my pains and help heal me- now it seems to be a negated exercise and thus not so...
Pitiful to See a City Full
Is there a limit to how much you can be gullible
If I were to say to you that I was infallible
Error or mistake for me is impossible to make
After you read this complete a second take.
Supposed I were to grab you by both gills
And from you shake out all of the thrills
Would chills of big bills you be followed by
When they were being piled high in the sky.
Did you know they call me do or die Dan
Who we understand sure is quite a man
Liked playing cards and holding a trump
Who thinks he can give us a big bump.
Here a trump there a trump and what is next
Saw a big sign on barn that had been hexed
After Trump had crashed his big dump truck
Case came to a close when he ran out of luck.
Is this a combined Will Rogers/Ogden Nash poem
or a poem so pitiful no one would of wanted to
see a city full.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
Propped open, perched up
Placed in place on your pedestal
Pondering if your position on top is permanent, your premeditated perverse becomes paranoia
Protracting your path of prideful propulsion while we pause, preoccupied by the propaganda polluting our vision
To the public your punctual, full of purpose
Pitiful, people cannot perceive the true purpose in your perception
This prison you have placed us in painted as a palace, a paradise for the pensive person
Persistent on pushing politics with a personal preference and no proof of positive effects
A private and profound plan to purge a percentage of the populace
And you are just a piece to the puzzle
Purely a puppet
To ponder is a principal of the people not yet punishable
The paralyzed population still has pupils, piercing through your puny pompous perspective you call protection
Please wait for me to too away my comfort zone
For, you and I have trekked this rocky road for years it seems…
And we did this all on our own, yet we haven’t groaned
We haven’t groaned
No, not once have we groaned
We grew out of that long away – it was, well, disowned
The sun is the spotlight…
When I perform a deep, despondent song
It’s like a disco ball above my head tonight
Swarms and swarms
And swarms and swarms of fans
Surround me happily – I feel like I belong
As I swiftly walk off of stage without hesitation
My heart is pumping rapidly with anticipation
I briskly walk that road of recovery and my mind’s blown
Where have you gone?
Where have you gone?
Have you driven back home?
Where did you roam off?
I’ll just play it off and slightly cough
Open up your heart
Open up your heart
Be considerate for once…don’t break our trust apart
I’m locked up in the attic of my imagination
The attic of my imagination
The attic of my imagination
Can you help me down or I’ll collapse on the wooden floor
With a sore, sore bottom
I’ll be mad to the core
Mad to the core
My want grows more and more
You're the one I adore...
The one I adore
The one I adore tremendously
The one that I open the door for!
These scars won’t disappear
Can’t wait till my hopes reappear without a taste of fear
I’ll keep fighting till I get what I want, when I want
What I want, when I want…
What I want, when I want,
But, I sound like a selfish brat of a teenager
I might get myself in a whole lot of danger
Hold on to the bars – hold on to me, my love
Hold on to me
Hold on to me
I’ll try to mend your scars
Mend your scars
Mend your scars
And hand you a bouquet of stars
street child
looking hunger
hunger in the eyes
posted on October 8, 2018
Give me one moment to reflect
On wonted scenery once erect
The steel, glass and wood all made
A home for birds, and those who trade
From here, there, all did see (unless
housed in a cave) Hollywood on TV
Land of the free, Home of the brave
Brandishing banners with God's Holy Name
Pitiful shadows dance when we stir
Given voice from the Puppeteer
Those towers stand in our mind's eye
Etched in retro, the old New York skyline
A warning? God forbid some say
Unsung heroes receive their just acclaim
Poetic justice? Verdict delayed
The sun rose again, the Eagle soared frayed
Our savior trod to Golgotha
We too will walk the road anathema
Remembering when. looking forward to
(Nothing borrowed, blue or old) something new
In everything I do, my all is what I give.
So when you hit me hard I wont forgive.
You threaten me with things, when you dont get your way.
I'm actually glad you didnt choose to stay.
Now my dreams and life I can fully live.
You want your cake and eat it too.
But that wont happen look at you.
You want my sympathy and you act pety.
When you left me, I was ready.
I just wish to yourself you could be true.
You want to talk on your conveniece.
I really dont understand your reasons.
When I ask you a question, you ignore.
I am so glad you chose to walk out the door.
Now you can deal, since to you our marriage was an inconvenience.
You make things harder than it has to be.
Threatening me, because you refuse to meet up with me.
Have you not learned life ain't just about you.
Really I thought through these years you grew.
Apparently the truth of that I didnt see.
I never bad mouthed you or said anything mean.
For six years I treated you like a queen.
After we split you said things of kind manner.
Now you cant even answer.
The confusion on my face i wish you seen.
Like I said you cant have your cake and eat it to.
Cause after this divorce I'm am completely through.
I don't want you calling my phone
Remember your good and grown.
Trust me I'm done and this is true.
You dig
pit
after
pit
after
pit.
Then wonder why nobody comes around.
The few that tiptoe into your eggshell world
are only there to use you...
In greener years you were just another cutter
graduating to just another pit digger...
Blood or not, I'll not dance in your self-inflicted pits..
I'll just sidestep the "hole" mess and say happy digging.
Danny Diver is no belly-flopper
Only this time his dive came a-cropper
Danny started out fine
But he’d drunk too much wine
He's motionless in the rescue-copter