Best Sad Society Poems
"When humanity becomes louder than love, stay out of its way. At times, it's better to be the lion in the distance, rather than the sheep losing their way...again."
This was the 1st time
I felt out of place.
Its impact mimicked abused parallelograms
Unto emptiness’ solution
I witness sliced wrists shedding bohemian smiles.
Testament verses
Latching onto anchors of invalid mo(u)rning
There was no sunrise to be found,
Because humanity kept making love to silhouetted blinders
I was surrounded by shovels
Ransacked
For the sake of digging louder messages’ trench
While I
Caress incipient wings
And half-full Windex bottles
Just to keep perception from clouding my lyrics
Because nobody wants to see eye to eye…
…
…cataract-laced speeches permeate tainted whispers
Of an innocent breath
Simply
Searching
For B-rated serendipity
Oh, this was the 1st time
I felt out of place.
Turning away from windowed afflictions
Ready
To step towards gratitude’s breath
Outside,
No longer looking in
How good it feels.
Yet, I still miss my friends.
©Drake J. Eszes
How life has changed
Simplicity no longer reigns
Now a society of ‘look at me’
Lost is self respect and modesty
Breasts and bums on display
Faces plastered in clay
Bodies injected with toxins
Natural beauty no longer an option
Plastic people with plastic minds
Self absorption and vanity combined
Every movement captured on phone
Posed and poised down to the bone
Never present in the here and now
Natural spontaneity they know not how
Life lived only for the screen
Admiration, praise, likes ,comments seen
Humility, modesty, respect
Replaced by egotism, vanity and body perfect
Priorities and thoughts all about self
Consideration , concern for others shelved
There is nothing they will not do
To get that almighty view
Void of decency and dignity
Now a society of ‘look at me’
standing in line
at the local grocery store.
I stood there watching people
sighing impatiently and tapping their toes
while typing on their phones.
I was next, elderly lady ahead
was paying by check.
I saw her tremble
as her fragile fingers penned
away her social security check.
I reached over, held her hand.
said my dear friend,
"this checks on me."
an experience never observed
in "self checkout."
"If I fell in love a thousand times, would it all make sense?" Sense - Tom Odell
Learn to say no, they said
Before you dwindle to dust
Till they drain all of your magic
In their selfish claws that constantly grab
The mouths that never pause
To listen to the cries of your heart
There is a small world I turn to
Where a small hope glistens
And in it, small me awaits
Break from your dungeons of dread
Give yourself some self-respect
Do not disappear in their needs
For they will grab you,
Devour you
Till the last crumb of you bleeds
January 21, 2016
I write the sadness of the Brazilian forests,
About modern centuries and glass cities,
Tattooed Indians who are murdered too,
For a handle of gold or green diamond,
I write the greatness of Brazilian forests
Roots that descend to explore the earth,
Leaves that capture white light,
Suns that fall on the wild jaguar,
I write the sadness of the Brazilian forests,
Friends of the earth and emerald sky,
Beheaded trunks like haughty kings,
Rivers polluted by bad mercury,
I write the great sadness of happy Indians,
Insects that we eat on the stone
Large trees providing oxygen,
That they slaughter for expensive cosmetics,
I write the sadness of the Brazilian forests,
May it reach our deaf ears,
Let it open our doors as a silence, new one,
A silence deeper than our history and Gods.
J’écris la tristesse des forêts brésiliennes,
Des siècles modernes et des cités de verre,
Des indiens tatoués que l’on assassine trop,
Pour une poignée d’or ou de diamant vert,
J’écris la grandeur des forêts brésiliennes
Des racines qui descendent explorer la terre,
Des feuilles qui capturent la lumière blanche,
Des soleils qui tombent sur le jaguar sauvage,
J’écris la tristesse des forêts brésiliennes,
Des amis de la terre et du ciel d’émeraude,
Des troncs décapités comme des rois hautains,
Des rivières souillées par le mercure mauvais,
J’écris la grande tristesse des indiens joyeux,
Des insectes que l’on mange sur la pierre
Des grands arbres pourvoyeurs d’oxygène,
Que l’on massacre pour des cosmétiques chers,
J’écris la tristesse des forêts brésiliennes,
Qu’elle parvienne jusqu’à nos oreilles sourdes,
Qu’elle ouvre nos portes comme un silence,
Plus profond que notre histoire et nos Dieux.
An arthritic flesh
Hesitant wipes off deteriorated lens
Every exhale,
Another tragic sulk unto morrow’s pit
Flaunting suicidal fallacies
Off-white flag motions
Signaling mercy under liar’s duress
Muted pride
Cracking dusty knuckles
Penetration’s decrepit vowel
Slipping in between faulty, stamped licenses
Just to belong
Another back-handed waltz
Bordering beggar dialects
Untrue
Towards paradoxical epiphanies
A faceless identity
Converging amongst unwelcomed hymns
Tainting hallelujahs with discolored spit
Worming their decapitated fingertips
With equilibrium massages
Back to a barricaded oasis
Deciphers from a slanderous heretic
Proclamation of syllabic want
As arthritic flesh
Scribbles out expendable nickname
Manipulating good intentions to be sadistically validated
From their rendered nether
Nameless never inscribed a verse to call their own
Struggling to swim
In the rivers they cried
©Drake J. Eszes
I am pretty.
I know, because everyone says so.
I am so pretty that
Hoodies and lack of makeup
Translate as showing off
Natural beauty- as confidence
In the fact that everyone
Will love me,
Instead of disinterest...
I am so pretty that
Boys ask how old I am,
And say, "Too bad..."
Because I'm under 18.
I am so pretty that
My boyfriend doesn't like
To kiss me in public
Because everyone stares
At the Hispanic boy
With- The nerve!-
To touch a white girl-
And a pretty white girl,
No less!
I am so pretty that
Any boy will flirt with me
And when I remind them
That I have a boyfriend,
They protest,
"But you're so pretty!"
I am so pretty that
When my best friend,
A Muslim girl,
Taught me how to wear
A hijab,
People asked why
Would I ever cover up;
They would say,
"But you're so pretty!"
I am so pretty
That I know I could never
Say that I feel lonely-
People would just say,
"But you're so pretty!"
I am so pretty that
When I'm upset,
People will tell me,
"But you're so pretty...
You, know that, right?"
Yeah. I know.
Madras
Hotel lobbies, hotel bars
Hotel rooms, air conditioned cars
City sights and sounds and smells
A smile, a frown, a shout impels
The thoughts within to exude
And express themselves without interlude
Here no blossoms, no sweet fresh air
Save the scented jasmine in the women's hair
And the two don't mix, as we all know
Like the fires of hell and virgin snow
Flowing bright and silken dress
Saris adorn the putrid mess
Hems lifted gently to protect them
From certain ruin in the amalgam
Of open sewers - each gutter one
Of refuse tips - the pavements on
Rotten, decaying, organic matter
Dried up dung and vomit spatter
From the mouths of the unlucky
Poor and destitute - never plucky
"They are content with their lot"
(Steeped in drink, their guts they rot)
Laying near the dirty door
Their filthy rags bright no more
In the street or on a stair
Ignored by all without a care
And yet...and yet, life goes on
Each to their own - their God isn't one
Some are born to thrive and prosper
Others to poverty and despair
And here we are, visitors just
Though we discreetly watch - as we must!
And absorb each heart rending sight
Forsaking those in their plight
But if we give - sometimes we do
There are no thanks, nor feelings due
Because are we helping them buy food
Or alcohol which kills? Then we brood
And the rich they come in chauffeured car
Or the latest model bought by Pa
In designer clothes, their scarves unfurled
The stench, the poor? Another world!
Tell me why ...
babies have to cry,
from not having enough food to be pacified
Tell me why ...
mothers have to moan,
from seeing their babies suffer all night long
Tell me why ...
fathers have to feel impotent,
because they can't afford to pay the rent
Tell me why ...
parents have to lie,
to receive necessary benefits to survive
Tell me why ...
children have to lose their innocence,
having no safe haven makes no sense
Tell me why ...
man causes all this pain and suffering,
with the oppression his unjust ways bring
Tell me why ...
in this world there can never be enough joy
I've been asking myself this question ever since I was a little boy
My mind is dark and my tears are blinding,
I cry when I'm hiding.
Because the world out there has no place for me,
All the judgemental eyes make me want to flee.
There are many like me outside,
And all of us have cried.
We are all different in many ways,
But bullying is the new craze.
Kick us down, make us cry,
Make us ask ourselves, why?
You make us think we are weak,
You treat us like us like a freak.
But just like you,
We have feelings too.
So why must we be the outcast?
Why must we take the backlash?
Stress and pain, is what we receive,
We all grieve.
We are all made of bones and blood,
So do not treat us like mud.
There are no words
There are no words, to describe the pain
there are no words to try to explain
How senseless gun violence is!
There are no words, there are way too many tears
there are no more words to allay your many fears
From wicked evil acts!
There are no words, to describe how we feel
there are no words, the numbing pain is real
The loss is overwhelming!
There are no words, to explain why man kills
there are no words to explain or justify the thrill
There just... are no words!
This poet is...left speechless!
A young mother who is pregnant is shot dead in her car in Toronto
no known motive.Her baby delivered by C section died yesterday.
Christina Grimmie popular young singer shot dead signing autographs after concert.
John Derek Hamilton
June 11,2016
A crippled mass of beggars
Each at the corner of every street
Deformed by cruel and greedy hands
They perform their daily feat
Of scrounging from the passers by
The people in their cars
Their pathetic, doleful entreaties
Oh, how my heart it scars
Yet who is the beneficiary
In this profit-full career?
I'm sure it's not these limbless souls
Whose lives are not there nor here.......
Whose plight we don’t wish to hear
So much hope for understanding bright,
Larking sombrely, vertical as a servant,
Reluctance explained, quite irreverent,
For the first time feeling justified, right,
No matter the obliqueness of my plight;
But I could not certain issues circumvent,
Even though I risked an unstable mind,
Nearly there, almost ninety percent tight,
But not completely at the table spread;
I pull myself together with both hands,
Facing the community, my world given,
Steadfast guardians need a talking bed;
Conversation is sway and will enliven,
But disappointment visits me in strands.
Rhoda Monihan
Poetry form: Italian sonnet
5th November 2015
For Contest: Dancing With Description
They know every word from the Good Book,
but that doesn’t stop them from being hooked
to all kinds of mess.
A driver hits a pedestrian in broad daylight,
and blames it on the chewing of khat.
Students forget their intellectual pioneers,
and take soccer betting as their careers.
Quack doctors unknowingly administer poison,
only to be caught, ending up in prison.
Random men appear right in front of you with Rolex
watches, whose scamming time cannot fix.
Power blackouts are so rampant,
that indoors become similar to night……
Everything seems to be in disarray,
making us to always pray.
Anyone can see there’s no sense of direction;
the books of law sound like fiction.
Our visionaries are either in the graves,
or not yet born.
Time has made us its slaves,
with corruption as our dawn.
Date of Entry: 24/04/2017
What is it about me? Is it, I'm not the beauty, you think I ought to be? Is it, the bags under my eyes, my hair not long enough, or my gap between my teeth spaced to far? What is it about me? Is it, I'm not capable of any accomplishments in society's eyes; rather it's keeping a job, keeping my house clean with perfection, or keeping my kids secure and feeling loved? What is it about me? Am I worthy to be a mother? Am I worthy to be a wife? Am I worthy of your love? What is it about me? What is the greatest design? What is my destiny? What is waiting for me at the end of my journey? What is it about me? Why am I always lettin society down? Why nothing I do, is ever good enough? Why do this negative energy, weigh so heavy on and around me? What is it about me? Why my misery can't or won't end? Why do I feel like falling in a deep sleep, to never awake again? I wonder if that would make it easier for me, better for everyone else? Why no one understands my pain? What is it about me? Why at times I'm ok with my life, and at times I'm angry at everything society throws my way? Why at times, I'd rather be dead, away from the judgment of everyone's ideal on who they think I should be? What is it about me? Why people underestimate my potential, don't care about how I feel, or try to make me feel invisible? What is it about me? Can anyone tell me? What is it about me? Do anyone care? What is it about me? Will I ever know? What is it about me?