Best Unsympathetic Poems
"Gosh, you're such a freak."
"Did you wake up that ugly?"
You say to me.
It has become a daily ritual that we partake in.
You say what comes to that cruel,
unsympathetic mind.
And I sit,
listening,
telling myself I'll be home soon.
Just a few more hours.
Not the rest of my life.
"Must be hard to look in the mirror. Is it cracked by now? You're a monster."
You laugh.
I slide further into my desk,
waiting for you to leave, as you usually do.
I never look up,
too afraid to make eye contact.
That'd be too personal.
Yet you always find a way to get eye level with me so I can see the anger in your eyes;
masked is hurt, maybe,
pain from your own life as if belittling me helps any.
"Tomorrow. Same time as usual. Don't get any more beautiful on me."
You say, clearly kidding.
You finally walk away.
I exhale out,
letting the air I've been holding in escape.
I sigh and get up to leave.
Whatever I'm feeling I push down inside,
just like any other day.
I can't break.
Not now, not here.
I go home and head to my room.
Once there, I can feel.
Fear and frustration, cross my mind first.
Anger and agony, follow.
Sorrow and sadness, next.
Then come the tears.
Warm as they may be, they do nothing to warm my heart.
The words of the day always find a way to my memory.
Ugly,
freak,
monster.
Today was a mild day,
most are worst.
The tears continue for an hour,
tissues fill my bed.
Then they stop and I go on about my night,
always anticipating tomorrow.
The next day is the same.
Different day, similar names.
Hideous,
midget,
elf.
I try to feel nothing, but today I feel bitter.
Years of torment have changed me.
Allowed me to remain quiet inside until I want to feel.
At the end of of the day,
as we normally would part ways you ask,
"Why don't you just kill yourself?"
For once I look up,
"But I'm already dead."
A new species
Cunning cheating
and then fleeting,
Machiavellian many
crafting and contriving,
Deceptive dishonest
frankly defrauding,
Slaughtering slaying
bloodshed of massacre,
Conflicts and combats
enmity and warfare,
Uncaring unfriendly
barbarous and brutal,
Savage sadistic
Cruel and unsympathetic,
Cold hearted cold blooded
Insensitive Inhumane.
Contrary to what
God had created,
Is it some new species ?
Written April 5th, 2016
For contest by Anthony Slausen
Manipulative
and arrogant
Simply because
someone wants and can
- only their own interests
in this world
Strong need to impress
and be admired by others
- Avoids side views,
horses blinders
EASTER DINNER
they liked the one behind me
the teal and black checkerboard
its sparkling tiles on the diagonal
red, yellow, blue, pink pillows
on sofas and chair
the sunrise was unsympathetic
like the cross, but the service
was cozy for Easter Sunday.
remember how it was raining yesterday?
they liked the one behind me
with framed women and palms
i’d have to look over my shoulder
see the eyes of the beholders
steadily for twelve hours plus
prepping the whole affair
can you smell the onions and peppers
the beginnings of love
they liked the one behind me
with the blue and pink sky,
red roses fanned out, ferns,
and modern art on display
stirred the flour, salt,
nearly a dozen eggs
and water, still needed
more water
they liked the one behind me
with the great picture window,
the surf and sail, red and white
striped shell, a book, and
a cocktail with straw
chicken - legs and breast
red and white wine
no deviled eggs - tossed
toadstool radishes
they liked the painting
it drew them in
i liked that they liked it
wonder if they saw
the red parakeet?
even the beach chairs are red
did they spy all the red things
obviously I’ve counted
most everything
that is behind my back
and in front of me
4/9/2023
Here as I wander through this vast and sometimes unsympathetic world, with those who claim to be more civilized than they that walk with their backs to the sun…yet they fight amongst each other and reek havoc and rage war and shed each others blood over trivial matters like the color of each others skin or the way in which you should worship our God! They don’t even love each other as they should as the word of God so commanded them to do! They even rage war inside their own homes…sons against their fathers, they are each filled with hate and malice towards each other...for a status of dominations, which matters not in death but only to the here and now, which passes like the speed of light. They are vain and self absorbed inside of a world in which they have each created with delusions of grandeur and deceit. No true love for each other yet they claim to be supreme beings above all others? Animals don’t kill just for the thrill or just because they can, they do it only to survive and because sometimes they are in fear. But we do it out of self satisfaction or just because we can…take heed my brothers and sisters all is not good and what appears to be good is not, for it is far more important to love and submit to each and other than to stand as sole king or queen on hill were no one else lives or comes…somehow our good intent to become more better than the animals has turned into some type of misdirection on why we are really here? Love can't be misdirected, it can only be not given or received.
In this poetic rhyme scheme I will weave this world’s unreal
As we are faced with malevolent acts towards each other that only God can heal
Are we in a world that exists as a tangible reality?
That is why we have to learn about each other’s cultures and diversity
As we stand at the threshold to the doorway of tomorrow
The future has embraced us but are we willing to follow?
The world is definitely broken but love has mended it stronger
Our adversity with hope will strengthen our love longer
We need to change, unite, and hold on to love and strengthen our weakness
Which are hate, racism, enmity, and our unsympathetic emptiness?
It’s a crying shame but to validate our existence everything is virtual or digital
There is no more human contact, its’ a perceivable reality
I think it is the infinity of love which has bonded our souls
We are blessed that only Father God has that control
Love, faith and hope are essential components of life; which are gifts
So we need to put aside our differences and take hold of each other to uplift
This question always inhibits my thoughts, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
As we pray for hope and liberation; the explanation of this phrase is much deeper!
Genesis 4:9 Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” He said, “I do not know; am I my brother’s keeper?”
John 15:9-17 As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete....
Hewn in verse and ancient lore,
It descends through an open door
To place its fingers on mortal souls,
On meager pleas on lifeless shoals.
Far below where creatures dwell,
Its surging scorn is born as rising embers swell.
Small shadows merge where thoughts collect,
And pierce the fog of day,
Murmured sounds rise to settle on unsympathetic play.
Cast aside each whimper lost within a chastening howl;
Hidden in burrows, mortals scurry
And feel the weight of worry.
Dark whispers mingle ravenous desires
From misty lofts in chambers forlorn,
From anvil thrones their cries adorn the morn.
From a heavenly palace, they scatter stones of malice;
Sparks of thunder pierce the night,
Then fade from sight.
Their cold embrace excites our race;
Unleashed hordes reap our toil,
And plunder our grace.
Through layers of snow,
White blankets, the world
Peaceful and quiet, still as grief – abiding
I stay hidden, secreted in the darkness,
Buried beneath the dust, the mud, the earth
Where life awaits the springlike touch
From sunshine’s blessing, rich and glorious
Awakening the music of a heart’s mystery
Soothing, like stardust – so gentle,
Light covers my grave, so somber
Earnest and peaceful, I lay quietly, waiting
For the miracle of a moment when sunlight
Breathes its wisdom through my veins,
Inviting me to rise through the soil, the richest
Clay, trembling with compassion, caressing
Away the frost, cold, so unsympathetic – bitter
Like resentment who fills the heart with
Doubts, distant thunders, storms in skies so blue
They feel like beautiful guiding me through
The reckless rest where I’ve been dormant, forgotten
By the twinkling stars, the sunrise and sunset
Never aware that I was even there – alive,
Hidden by the winter freeze, with ease
But, now – as spring silences the silver flakes,
There, hesitating within the earth, my tender leaves
Begin to peek, peering up toward the sunshine
Graceful and lulling, like the glimmering glories
Discovered in the new buds, stirring, emerging – soundless
On a quest for the light, the rain sprinkling through
The night, erasing winter’s touch with a growing
Promise – the assurance of a thriving blossom, a bloom
Who develops just as the heart begins to beat
With eagerness for the beginnings of spring,
Growing – springing from the darkness, resurrected
Great joy comes from the knowing, the hope
That revives the spirit, the feelings
In those who see that I have made it, once again,
Through the silent nights and the snow blanketing
On a land, sleeping through the winter’s smile,
Waiting quietly for the proper time to rise
From the earth, - new birth of a bud, a gentle
Wish peeking out from the past, prompting the spirit
To listen to the whisper of God’s tender gift to us,
Those who know that, despite our deepest wishes –
In time, in season – there is birthed a splendor
In spring, that splendor – that pretty comes from me
The bulb who waits, patient, beneath the ground
Where there is the promise that, in time, there will come
A beautiful flower who will brighten hearts like the sound…
Laughing in the breeze – a flower, free to breath!
Writing deeply and avidly
is another way of coping,
if seeing that not-so-pleasant reality;
and feeling the presence of truth,
encourages one to reveal oneself
and being true to all words:
perfectly thought out, not hesitant to burst out...
Many write for profit,
modifying their sentiment,
to make it fit into the demanding times,
so that cunning stories can pay off
without considering whom they hurt;
I am very polite when I express myself,
discerning what is worthwhile telling or not...
Will I strike it rich and be lauded
for my work, which strays from the required trend?
Fortune may make me happy...never complete;
my role is not to act out sheer vanity, but to implement
the importance of greatness
that awaits me after my death...
And with pen and intellect, my ideas
flow on paper delighting my readers
who are continuously amazed by its insight!
I can be hostile, bitter,sad, infuriated, unsympathetic, happy or kind,
but these emotions have stirred those who proceeded me;
to get their message across: for the sake of Humanity....
copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
My execution
A condemned prisoner was I,
Hours before my execution,
I was at peace with myself,
Thence came the short shrift,
for confession and absolution,
That brief penance,
Decree post judgement,
for me to confess the crime I never did,
Should have been for the judge
for pronouncing a wrong verdict,
As a sharp edged sword
Inhumanity pierced my soul,
Those men armed with daggers
must not have caused as much pain,
As here the unsympathetic attitude did,
Farther to the cruel world
ready I was to travel beyond,
Where all sins get a pardon
Will innocent not get respite ?
And there I live for all eternity !
Written July 21st, 2015
For contest "Short shrift" by John Lawless
Oh, if I could quickly bare witness to God's perfect hand in life renew.
Oh, if I now could bare witness to his wondrous seasonal debut.
Oh if spring would come and release my body from the frigid fingers of winter.
The touch of it is not tender.
Let not my stiff joints bark and weep no more.
I called to God and said, Holy Father I am miserable to the core.
I am spent with the deathly view of winter.
Oh, if I could bare witness again the wide white blooms of magnolia, the bursting bulbs of the cherry blossom, and all their splendor.
With God's loving healing grace and the sight of them, I will gladly surrender.
I am in despair of this shivering brumal blast.
My heart grows anxious for the unsympathetic brittleness of winter to pass.
Oh, let my wanting eyes settle on the flowing James River.
Let the array of hungry geese do thither.
Oh, if I could dance on fields of tulips and daffodils.
Oh, if my fever mind could make the spring season to appear at will.
I would walk barefooted on the cool green grass that is freed from the rich Virginia soil.
I would let the cool spring breeze wrap around my body like it was plastic foil.
I would sit on my porch and wait for the return of the cardinal to come back and retrieve his wooden bungalow on the thick crooked limb of the old oak tree.
I would be comforted by the sight of him and his songs of love to a great degree.
I would bathe my aged body in the sunshine.
I would sing of God's glorious divine.
The circadian rhythms of my brain set aflame memories of a past affair.
They were hot and steamy memories of hot and steamy moments that I would not openly declare.
If only spring were here it would satiate my soul.
It would obliterate this disabling toll.
January 27, 2023
inspired by the musical composition of Summer of 42, composed by Michel Legrand and Andr'e Hossein.
It will certainly raise the eyebrows of believers
May attract righteous indignation of the devout
An unsympathetic reaction from the indifferent
But only a few blessed admire its vast benefit.
Free from the bindings of daily rituals any longer
Enough time to chase cherished pursuits at leisure
Take delight in reading relaxingly the daily paper
And eat breakfast in peace relishing its flavor.
No more chanting and telling the beads of rosary
Free from botheration of visiting divine sanctuary
With no burden of reading the holy texts regularly
One can spend enough time on interests leisurely.
Trappings by rituals and the likes surely do taper
Those come in the way of our engagements dear
Not remaining tied to a stance is a great pleasure
Help breathe a whiff of air with untroubled care.
The unrelenting knots of superstition do not bind
And the movements of planets do fail to pound
The effervescence of self with reasons unsound
This is the reward of being an atheist; unbound.
At dawn, when I wake my world is a winter wonderland
blustery, gusty winds are blowing pure white snow into drifts
cold, chilling and icy is the air in this lifeless world beyond my window
down, deeper under my fuzzy blanket I sink
even my kitty does not take a peak, but
finally, we did get out of bed . . .
getting a cup of coffee I gaze at my frozen view
hopping on the window sill kitty tries to catch a snowflake clinging
inside is so nice and cozy warm . . .
just thinking of going out makes me shudder
kissing me, kitty jumps down and runs away
labyrinth paths in the park are buried deep
magnificent, regal and sublime the trees have donned their white gowns
nature knows how to create a landscape beautiful . . .
over there, yonder is my car beneath that lump of white
painfully, I realize that I am going to have to go out there into the cold
questioning my sanity I put on my winter gear
ready- I look like I am going on an Arctic expedition
snow, pure white, heavy and blowing waits beyond my doorway
trembling, I leave the safety of the house . . .
unsympathetic, kitty watches from her warm window sill with a meow
violent, a cruel wind almost blows me over, but, oh so
whimsical the snowflakes dance fanciful all about . . .
Xquisite is my view-
yes, winter can be cruel and nasty but so magical too, yet I hate these
zephyr wild snow storms . . .
________________________
February 9, 2020
Poetry/Abecedarian/A Blustery Cold Day
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1224-398-09
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Abecedarian
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger, NA, Judged 03/03/20
Submitted to the Standard contest, Best N-A Poems 2020
sponsor, John Hamilton, Judged 01/16/2021
Second Place
I can choose to kill this pain; let it lie
until all sense decays from off the bones
and upon their bleaching starkness hang
the chaff of life:
the unsympathetic hello,
the broken vows,
the endless sham of endless tramping
to and fro.
I can choose to till this pain; let it live
and learn to love the aching limbs I prune
with sorry Memory’s bitter knife;
hold within my breast this burning seed
till nourished on my blood,
watered with my tears,
new life springs forth from barren years.
© 1987, Faye Lanham Gibson
I feel I simply must profess, your efforts to capture me of great success,
Is all for naught, I volunteered,
You imagined a cloud I sit, like a child’s ignorant daydream,
When in truth my presence is beyond what could be feared.
I’ll play this game, my reputation now smeared,
But I am judge, jury, and executioner.
When night falls you fail to see it as my shadow,
Like venting emotions to an insect, but I’ll try,
Your family’s fate was written long before I inherited you,
You cry “murderer” and point soiled fingers to the sky.
Pouring blacktop over lush fields and still wondering why,
Your thoughts are far from prioritized.
My words translate short and unsympathetic, but I assure you,
This will be nothing more than a misdemeanor,
Take solace in your dreams, which I have provided to you in full,
No longer will I view this, in the final act I play intervenor.
The less you spawn the more this world is cleaner.
I swore to tell the truth, and nothing but. The defense rests.