Best Sympathetically Poems
The mechanical components, the valve that pumps my heart
The reactive nerve endings that serve a sensory stimulus
The tear ducts that latently only lend lubrication
The silly little practical necessary body bits, pieces and parts
I yawn & it reminds me… I should probably inhale & exhale
I smile because it is simply facial muscles that need exercise
I do mechanical muscle management to strengthen & maximise
Biomechanical body’s like mine don’t simply go frail..
My skin surface is stimulated, & sympathetically constricts.. it must be cold?
My mental function set to maintain a neutral base
My muscles, skeletal system, ligaments, tendons & bony structures
Encapsulated by a mechanised myofascial web, complete the outer mould
Organs operate internally as a well serviced engine, its all systems go
Emotions just pesky little hormone imbalances, from a time long ago
Where we as woman once needed in order to reproduce
Will evolution shrink our ovaries as they have outgrown their use?
My tongue embraces words, my tongue the sharpened sword
I trip stumble & fall and my senses heighten
My pelvic floor constricts & I feel it twitch & tighten
I massage the distressed muscles & release multiple rewards
It’s my body, it’s my temple, my vessel my machine
Not some sensitive, high strung weak inferior copy of a male
It is supple, soft and silky to the touch, all curves & contours
It’s my body, it’s my temple, my vessel my machine……
One obnoxious orangutan ordered oysters
Staff sympathetically said such supplies sold
Constantly complaining confronting chasing customers
Barred because before being boisterously bold
Two timid tigers tragically trembled
While watching woeful weasels wrestle
Standing straight shaking subconsiously scared
Displaying discomfort dizzy dribbling dreadful
Three talented turkeys taught tricks
Creating courageous crazy circus clowns
Amazingly always attempting additional acts
Frolicking foolishly finally forgetting frowns
Four fabulous flamingos fixed fences
Gigantic glamorous gardens generously grew
Proud pedestrians passing praised perfection
Beautiful bouquets blissfully blended blue
Five fussy frogs found french fries
Every enchanting experience eagerly entertained
Loudly laughing licking lemon lollipops
Sharing sarcastic smirks showing shame
12 April 2016
It wasn’t that she was the only woman
in the group, that mingled precariously
beneath the bronze figure, or her classic
stance, when placing immaculately the
newsprint covered bottle to lips willingly
breached, but more her opulent style, her
contrast of attire, her hair as yet unspoilt.
Although jewel less except for a wedding
ring in her recently pierce blood stained ear
lobe, (this bearing signs of some street wise ritual?)
she still wore a suave sophistication, eyes
that bred a wanton life, fingers more use to
the gentle stem of the crystal goblet, than
the demure grasp of the shapeless neck of
the common brown. But alas maybe the
corrosion has not as yet penetrated her
foreboding mind, a mind that in time will
be given to surrender, never to realize that
this volatile life will plunge her deeper, into
one shambolic life, whilst still trying to escape
from the previous. But! Who knows what ills she
was force to bear, what tribulations life brought
upon her, maybe her new found acquaintance
comfort her, listen to her sympathetically,
understanding her predicament, also a novelty
this sharing, this caring, respect and reverence
showered upon her, like solicitous petals
falling gracefully upon her shoulders,
removing the burdens of a lifetime.
Her head
began to lift higher and higher with every
mouthful of distant courage, every courteous act.
Then! A look of deep despair, as the bottle was
released from her reluctant deep red lips, a
senseless shake only proved her greatest fear.
Immediately to her aid, came one of her new found
companions, swiftly finishing his own endless gorge,
he commence to wipe the neck of his perpetual habit,
with his mucus soiled cuff less sleeve, before
passing it on to her veracious hand, his eyes eagerly
awaiting its return.
One can imagine when the long day
is over, the sun finally at rest, only the motley bench will be hers, only the best that fleet street can offer, will cover her chilled body, her metabolism soon accelerating, to become one with theirs, a license to enter their dissipation, only then will all options for her diminish, external metamorphosis soon to blend with inner corruption, life’s destruction almost completed!
© Harry J Horsman 1991
a disinteresting air
another gaze
within a full length mirror
a persnickety grimace
bandaids
the severed slices
of crystal
sleeping
within my
larynx
excuse my idiotcy
not utilizing
punctuation marks
cmon darling
please please
warrant my arrest
dementia is not covered
under my insurance policy
but
cough spit
mutants
like myself
somehow survive
religiously pathetic
empathically morose
sympathetically laughable
one last day
one fleeting
precious
moment
the rifle is gently removed
from an uncolored mantle
periwinkle would have
been my palor of choice now
Say ah and place
the hunter's
metallic eye
strategically
down your throat
everything is pretty
everything is so goddamn
wonderful
sweat on my forehead
sweat on the trigger
one deep breath
one more for good riddance
go my sweetheart
cmon
pull it
i said pull it
for a starved beggar's last day
will be
righteously
and
magnanimously
honored
by himself
We laid hands on your empty corpse
We stretched hands to touch your soul
We cried sympathetically looking through your grave
We cursed the provocation that sounded your death knell
But again we are here and mourning
Crying for our beloved friend
In the depths of sorrow, we find solace
In the darkness, we seek the light
The memories of you linger in our hearts
A reminder of a life once bright
A fate worse than death, a loss profound
But in our grief, we are bound
Bound by love and shared despair
Bound by the memories we all bear
So we mourn, we weep, we remember
For in our hearts, you will live forever
A fate worse than death, we survived
But in our love, you will always thrive.
My father recalls to me stories of his past,
gripping his fists tightly
as his faces turns gray
telling me,
“Son it was a dark time for Lebanon”
Anxiously I continue listening
spilling his inner suppressed memories
“15 years… 15 years of blood and hate”
Buildings that once stood graciously in the sky
punctured by the bullets that continuously danced in midair
Streets that were once filled with jubilant people
now only hosted lifeless cold corpses
Men grew absent from their families
forcing women to carry lethal arms to shield their broods
with their fingers embedded on the trigger
Lurking from street to street
in a scavenger’s hunt for vital necessities
The excruciating smell of rot at sunrise
a mixture of decomposing human flesh and garbage
Flooded the streets
an endless totality of discarded wastes
After the sun departs
the stagnant stars appear
not a clatter can be heard on the tranquil streets
Sympathetically reaching out to my father,
removing him from the ominous nightmare he re-erected,
holding his trembling hands firmly
as I bring him to the reality of the passive present
What's true these days? This world we live in has so much lies we can't even
tell the truth anymore. Real eyes, realise, real lies. If only people could see with
the eyes they were born with. Did you know that you don't listen with your
ears? Your ears are simply the reciever of the sound waves I'm creating and it
changes them into impulses which sends them to the brain. So you listen with
your brain. Strange hey. Your brain is the second most powerful thing you
have inside you.
Look around you. You see people that are different to who you are. Different
morals, different tastes, different styles. Acknowledge it because once you try
see the goodness in them that's when you've dropped the ball. Never trust a
soul. Don't trust me. Don't trust the person next to you. The devil was once
an angel. I'm not saying lose hope just be careful. You can't mend a broken
glass because before it was broken it was pure and clean. It had the ability to
hold a certain capacity and now that its broken not only has it lost the ability to
hold something, its capable of cutting you. Bring you down to size. Stab you
with hatred, cut open your gullibility and kill your ego.
Kill the ego that is not visible to the human eye. Cause eyes can only see
what's in front not inside. Two-faced people that look like they have love and
sympathy. Sympathetically loving you for actually believing them.
Sympathetically loving you. They don't love you, they feel sorry because you
don't know what you're about to feel. You are not seeing with your Naked Eye.
Distorted vision. 2 becomes 5 and 5 is soon 10 and before you know it you
don't know who you are. So drunk you don't know who you are. Getting
blackouts, trying to take the black lungs out but you can't... Take something
that wasn't given to you. People say nothing is impossible yet when they try so
hard to do the possible it becomes impossible. Naked Eye. Who do you see? A
poet reciting a poem with a message or a poet asking for permission to enter
your brain and help you see things from another view? You decide.
2014/07/29
"Please, I've been wandering aimlessly," Whispered a breath among the trees.
In response rustled the leaves.
"Can you hear me?"
A pause followed the next breath.
"I'm tired and I want to go home."
The soul rest on its knees no longer wanting to roam.
Wearily her eyes scanned the trees.
"Please," She whispered again and waited for an answer on the breeze.
"Where is my mercy?"
Sympathetically the trees heeded the desperate pleas.
Carefully considered.
Then sent a fluttering of wings.
Just as softly as her whisper fluttered a black winged butterfly from her listeners.
"Have you come for me?" Whispered she ever so softly.
Soundlessly the butterfly flitted away.
Deeper into the forest.
Beyond the trees darkness was giving way to day.
After the mysterious creature she did stare.
But to follow deeper into the forest
She wasn't sure she dared
Author's note: This is an epic length poem that will have to be split into parts and will be serialized in successive posts.
Part 3
Dr. D. confers in panic
with Rex and boys at the Limbo Saloon
by now my eyes are ping pong balls
the final recommendation is for
ritual abandonment
Fra Umbilicus answers his page
in the monastery wing
and servos his motorchair up to my railing
intones the curse of the catacombs
think of it as original my sin er son
how the flat line fooled the experts
was on the 6 o'clock
perhaps it was the fact
that it went vertical
tripping alarm buzz circuits
from Hell to breakfast
like a reeking retching lurching
Nietschean Lazarus
a scarred and demented Universe
gave birth to itself
and the combined riotous
and cheering populations
of BURN WARD 3
and AMPUTATION WARD 2
and NARCOLEPSY WARD 666
cameras pick up deicide in the stairwell
a theomachian commotion
clangity-whaaang go the
oxygen tanks bouncing four flights
plopity-smash go
the out/intravenous bottles
whackety-crack
goes his portable Respiropump
screechety-eech
goes NEURO WARD's $90,000 Lobotoscan
cascading sympathetically
8er from Decatur
straining against the tube works
and their attached impedimenta
beneath the basement corridor steam pipes
awakening autopsy cadavers
with every labored pitch and yaw
bursting through the fire exit
on the firing squad's day off
out onto St. Hilarity's loading dock
he turns and waves howdy-ose amigoes
to the gathered throngs
Musela, Tex, the Santa Guadalupe Mariachis
slams Lucille the ambulance's door
severing all connections
arm tube nose tube mouth tube
chest tube piss tube
hits the throttle light bar and siren
and lets Lucille's squealing wheels
burn rubber clear down
to the land of rubber plantations
until the tank hits empty
and memory returns syllables
and lost parts of speech
the twin t's of utterance two swords
and fate the swindler of souls
has a blowout
at 90 at 5...at 15...
the separated twins
separate the H-O-R-I-Z-O-N
into before and after
rhyming less on the outside
than on the inside out
a vacation follows
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
http://tinyurl.com/nhfk6dr
For me the world becomes a playground,
the gray concrete becomes the forgiving mulch
beneath the swing set. The clouds start to move slower
and they all start to look more like dinosaurs or cowboys
when I watch them saunter across the sky.
The birds start experimenting with different genres.
Have you ever heard birds sing pop-punk music?
I think you’d really be surprised at their range,
I don’t know why they stick to classical and the blues so often.
The swans at the lake near my house stop fighting
half so often which is an amazing feat because swans
are the strongest willed creatures that I’ve ever met.
No love in the world, not even your enigmatic smile,
is strong enough to keep them from fighting completely.
Anyway, I’ve noticed all the doors I open do so eagerly,
and without complaint, no more whining or creaking.
Now that I’m really thinking about it I can’t
remember the last time I stubbed my toe or if I did
I can’t remember the pain. Splinters are a thing of the past,
my allergies haven’t come around anytime recently either.
But the thing that really stands out to me when I fall
in love is that I start seeing your face everywhere:
you’re in the window of every coffeeshop downtown,
you’re every person I stand next to on the train who smiles
sympathetically when I lose my balance as the train
leaves Boulevard station, you’re the murmuration
of starlings that weave and carve their way through pink
and orange sunsets above a silhouetted city.
I’m not sure if that answers your question but it’s the closest
I can come to answering it without getting sentimental.
MEDITATION IS MUSIC
The raga’s minor keys flood my mind, unlocking a balancing shiver, pranayama and Om,
Its rhythmic tones in harmonic relation, echoing season and day,
Draw out tension and sadness in tear-stained sitar notes.
Music is me, I am music. Meditation makes music from my body’s rhythmic processes.
So, let a semi quaver ease my quivering and bring harmony to my spirit -
On moonlit evenings an Arabic ney-flute draws out laughter and joy, relieves stress,
While a droning tambura subtly, sympathetically infiltrates my nervous system.
And the Pastoral lifts my chin to tomorrow, my body re-charged, re-tuned.
..........................................................
written by Sydney Peck for
Dr.Ram Mehta's
Contest - Music and Meditation
‘I was born with the meaning of home running through my veins.’ Lauren Eden
inside the back door of our house our laughter rang out
as we sat chit-chatting around the kitchen table
playing board games or telling silly stories
upstairs at night we giggled in our bedroom
snacking on treats we had sneaked into our room
when dad would yell up the stairs at us to go to sleep
not able to quell youthful exuberance
for we had ties bound by a forever sisterhood
born by fate – I don't know
but molded nevertheless by our time together
secrets whispered in the dark
and heartaches assuaged sympathetically
fighting at a minimum
the place where today
though it be no more a building made of brick
is but a phone call away
Tired 2 0r 2 Tired
There’s another hole
My right foot has sympathetically
Decided to leach me out of
Going down, disaffiliating, deflation of the day
Forgive me, eleven hours non-stop
Leaves me numb in the head
I won !
Isn’t that wonderful……………… huh what !
Yes, thank you……………………………….so much
Two coffee cups make me jitter
But don’t stop me sleepily
…………………………………………..uh… what was that; sorry ? !
Playing this slow Tangerine Dream music doesn’t help
Three shots of vodka even less
I need a pick me up
Or someone to pick me up
And put me to bed
Tuck me in and sing me a lullaby
I want to be snooky ookums cuddled drowsily
And plugged the holes in my feet
With giant pillows
Do I really need the extra money ?
Tomorrow threatens to work on me with extra-considered vigour
Gee thanks for that mañnana
Thick eyes my bleary vision sticks
As I melt into a pool of snoring dreams
Propped on my elbows staring blankly at this screen
Give it up
Save the page
Close the window
Go
To
Bed
……………………………………………uh …. Sorry …. What was that ? !
WILLOWS
Willow rise and flourish —
A verdant contrast
To summer’s sun-blanched sky —
Lifting your branches ever high,
But then curving, draping
In arcs on down, with your leaves
So set like rows of tears
In a passion of falling
Over the contours
Of Mother Nature’s cheeks..
Inviting my spirit to sympathetically
Identify
The symbolic, extending
Willows grown within me,
Created to mature
With all the stories and storms
Of my life’s passing seasons.
————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 6/25/22
Thanks be to God
How often do shadows cry
And if they do
This means like us
they feel to
How often do whereabouts
dispose of their founders
The emptied hands pivoted gruesome
To only expire before you lose them
This is why my eyes cry
Late night movies
Midnight hours, how do you spend them
When letters feel “ no need to reply”
To where do we send them
A curious mind in eye sight
A figure taunted
The difference in people is
“Don’t let your personality dye”
Flesh wounds appear the same
Determination’s found in change
Could you spare me some change
A course of new events
Hand prints on the face of cement
Try not to take life out of context
“I’ll be home soon”
Read his final text
History is somewhat of a vex
Sort of a temporary fix
A day, a age, that some of us miss
How do you become a person
Or exhibit the features of everyday people
Minus the wars, the battles, the ether
Trouble awaits
For those of us who refute
Similar choices brought
About in this place of being
Bloggers are subsequent to ignorance
Just the lack of reading
Express’s the true meaning of being for real
The objective to live and protect yourself
Minus the kill
Sometimes glory comes as a steal
Did you think love was beautiful
Black coffee, cigarette buds
A raspy voice
from a figurine with seductive cuticles
A slice of pie
Banana’s and caramel
On top of our lie
Apart of me is fiction
And some of you is true
A journal
Do you commit yourself to unfulfilled comments
Did you dust your hands off
Wash your face
and forget to accept the necessary compliments
If I’m shady
then you weren’t around
Too far gone, dancing in the sun
Musically
you love the violin
Sympathetically
you can’t sing without the gin