Best With Pity Poems
The Sounds of Silence
By: Simon & Garfunkle
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
‘Neath the halo of a streetlamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
No one dare
Disturb the sound of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said “The words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sounds of silence
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciERzSFRwzk
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With a Little Salt and Lime
Hello Jose my old friend
I've come to guzzle you again
The party started before afternoon
I started sipping on you far too soon
My last SENTENCE I fear was slightly slurred
(Vision blurred)
Forgot to EEEET----my breakfast
They look with pity upon me
'Can't hold his liquor', they agree
Now I'm weaving when I try to walk
Senseless babble when I try to talk
Then I feel the NEEEED to flee to an old-oak-tree
(To heave and pee)
but cannot LOOOZE---- my breakfast
Did not like his tone at all
Got myself into a brawl
I quickly put him in his rightful place
Broke his knuckles with my pretty face
Shoulda’ had my OOOATS but didn't so alas!
(I kiss the grass)
and now my ASSSS----is breakfast
In the morning I awake
moaning with a bad headache
Bright-sun glaring through the window pane
I whine and whimper in my wretched pain
In the next room a TV-is-blaring
and screams in my pounding-ear
(No thank you dear)
Believe I'll PASS on----breakfast
*Moral of the story: Never drink before noon OR on an empty stomach...
GROWING PAINS
It’s all about pain, frustration, tears. Fears, it’s all about fighting temptation
Watch the sun rise and set to the darkest thoughts of contemplation
My heart smiles not, my lungs laugh not to restoration
My light shines not it dims even the most vital motivation
From the day I was born to the day I shall die with lamentation
The question to my satisfaction still stands without fortification
The course of my education, my certificates sleep in nullification
The restoration of my sanity, my greatness, my dream is in a state of decomposition
As I watch it decay to a fossil plant without inspiration
I`m the brown leaf without respiration or perspiration
I am the unlubricated machine imprisoned in storage without life or action
The anger trapped in me bleeds my heart to death
It hurts my soul to a coma, to a collapse, to a faint
The pain and rage within me sends my brain to a trauma
To a clot of dangerous damaged stage of acts and drama
The finger pointing at me with pity soils my confidence
The mouth laughing at me spoils my happiness to a gloom.
That blossom to an irrational and uncontrollable doom.
The tongue that betrays me kills my authenticity
Usurp my serenity; launch a highly tactical robbery of my ecstasy
My peers are at the lecture room behind desks reading and writing
I am standing behind the lifeless tiles cleaning
Standing behind the stove cooking.
That was not the vision that was not the mission.
That was not my dream, it was not the operation
Form:
Panting in low moans
Meandering through dense brush
Shrouded by evening sky above a forest
Crystallized by frozen branches
Oaks, maples, pines
Coffin wood encasing icy earth
The amber-eyed predator’s fur
Damp and matted
No prey in sight as hunger grows
While creatures huddle with their clans
In feathered nests and sheltered lairs
She trekked on frozen leaves confused
Longing for the comfort lost
She couldn’t understand her plight
Life had once been kind
As dawn dispelled the sandman
A cry I heard outside
Weak and wanting tones of desperation
A child lost? A babe who strayed?
Anxiously I donned my coat
Fearing what I might find
On this late December morn’
Listlessly she scratched and sobbed
The glass door kissed by thick ice
But when I turned the knob
And pushed the panel forth
Her tragedy bit hard and sharp
Her tender paws, raw with dried blood
Infection had sealed one eye shut
A bony spine, frostbitten ears
So fast I took her in my arms
Cradling this wayward soul
Reaching for a blanket, sharing salmon
A faint purr was my thanks
For warmth and love and food
Peering at her one good eye, I wept
Overcome with pity and grief
I realized the selfish act
That led this sweet one to my yard
College youths on Christmas recess
Left her on a nearby road
Before they joyfully headed home
I found their tiny cat today
Abandoned, nearly dead
Stung by an act of thoughtlessness
Fear not; the one-eyed cat will live
A refuge I’ll provide
But do not ask me to forgive
The sin that made her mine
For P.D.'s Pet Contest.
Dedicated to Katie Cat, my pet of more than 20 years.
"Time to take the Soup off the stove,"
a little birdie whispered in my ear:
'Tis the Sabbath Queen that's drawing near."
But the Soup's not done, I dared to say
in an unpoetic, defiant way
The little birdie just looked at me
with pity, but not with sympathy
Shook his head and moved his beak:
"Sabbath's come; the Soup is done.
~ So's all your work for this week!"
Old crone, please tell me your secret.
Give a taste of your magical brew.
Whisper the herbs I must gather.
To mix up your potency stew.
A mere mortal born, I am helpless,
Unless you will lend me some power.
What ever it is I will drink it,
No matter how sweet or how sour.
“Close the book , ring the bell, light the candle”.
If that’s what we’re needing to do.
You can trust that I won’t tell your secret,
And I need just but one hour or two.
Long enough just to make up a potion
That will cure a loved one I hold dear.
For I have been told he is dying
And perhaps will not out live the year.
We’ve tried all the doctor’s prescriptions.
They are useless against his disease.
“Close the book, ring the bell, light the candle”
And with pity, take heed to my pleas.
By: Joyce Johnson For Linda Marie’s “Bell, Book and Candle.”Won a 3rd place
Etchings upon my heart, so profound in time
These hues, colored so bright, bringing out an array of light
This love, in healing softened my existence and allowed me to trust
Yet sad, as we parted for the differences were evident and pained;
pained by the physical was he, as I would watch him sleep
curled up in a fetal, his hidden small frame
Today, no evidence of the cancer, and I thank God for the blessings!
I am not selfish, as he moved on to passionately live
For he needed the things in which I could never provide
Someone once said to me that they had a normal life
and it might be a good thing to try
Yet I find my travels amazing and the people I meet daily in life
I smiled gently, as I refrained my opinions publically
leaving them pacified that yet somehow,
there was a bit of encouragement that they had left me
For in this world filled with filth, money and greed among things
It is something I've always refused to conform to really
Sometimes I wonder about him, as I sleep on this life's pillow made of concrete
For I know many struggles, yet I know the Lord is showing me
The easy way is not always the best but the path less traveled
enriches the spirit
At times my flesh reeks of the sinful spoils, that I cannot deny..
Some look upon the stars and ponder great loves gone by
Some think that true love will just fall out of the clear, blue sky!
I say to you now, love is a verb, indeed, I know this to be so
and sometimes after the valleys, our rotten fleshly ways
I awake in the darkness, at dusk, awaiting the dawn to arrive
In the silence, the wind caresses my skin and I remember a different time
and I breathe in deeply to keep the moment that soon I will have to exhale,
with a somber farewell, as my heart hopes for another moment in time,
lest I am left with the depth in my soul to carry of loves tragic goodbye
So, these lessons in life are sometimes blessings in disguise
I know not, why God shows us the things he does each day
I find peace, though I am much different than most, I know
One day the Gallo may be requested for me,
and my more than average, unconventional ways
I merely ask for one thing,
Please do not greet me with pity, along my passing way
~Someone said to me once, they had a normal life and it might be a good thing to try~
Nothing hurts me now, been the one to fall, painless, no feelings for my friends, not caring for the family
I once died for, another mind, another perspective, nothing holding me back, my time wasted building a life,
now is gone, breaking every promise i now hate this, gone by for blood, searching for the horizon, theres
nothing to look inside my chest, you wont even find the minimum, my soul, in vain i fought, i didnt wanted
money either the world, just respect, my tribute offered for faithless, i dont have eyes for this anymore, get
up and leave this room, dont talk to me with pity on your broken tone, i dont care if you offer me your soul or
your slavery, leave, i dont need you here, dont look my way anymore, dont even ask about me again, i hang
my feelings nights ago, i suffocated my heart with good memories days ago, i forgot the man i was, become a
cold and reckless one, my cold instinct blinds the wind you breath, heavy fall to my dark little world, far gone
from this land, far gone for this place, out of your side and out of your mind, your now left alone in this life
with no one to cry too or to talk too, long rest the man i was, he is dead, gone, dont mourn for him, dont
write about him and dont talk about him, is over for You and your pityful little game.
Long rest the feelings tonight!
Form:
His ribs jutted out,
His body was gaunt.
A living skeleton,
A sight that would haunt.
He drank from muddy waters,
And ate the dirt of the street.
He walked on cracked hooves,
His body was cold, without heat.
He came to a little cottage,
After wandering up a dusty road.
The starved horse was on its last legs,
He was dying, it showed.
Inside the little old house,
A wrinkled widow cried.
Her body was still strong,
But she was broken inside.
Broken from the loss,
Of many a loved one.
She had no company now,
Not a daughter, nor a son.
She looked out her window,
To see a sad sight.
The horse's body was fading,
Its eyes, almost without light.
Her heart was filled with pity,
She decided to care for the creature.
With plenty of food and love,
His starvation she could cure.
The horse brought her happiness,
As his body began to heal.
Her heart was being repaired,
With her sadness, she could now deal.
She never gave him a name,
And she knew she could never ride.
But she had healed him on the outside,
And he had healed her inside.
I look at the green crocodile balls placed in handcrafted bamboo basket
They look ripe and tempting.
The snake skinned vendor looks at me with hopeful eyes
His turtle legs skin with every vein visible is a testimony of many days of hunger
He wears a wrinkled robe of silk over them
His brahminy blindsnake skin glistens in sun
An amazing will power to survive despite odds keeps him going.
I know he will gladly give me a huge discount for his meager earnings determines his dinner
Filled with pity, I buy a kilo and hand over a thousand rupee note to him
He looks at me puzzled
"I don't have change for such a big amount"
"Keep the change", I say
He flatly refuses
"I will have only what I earn
I am not a beggar
I will get change from nearby shop"
"You give me whole basket", I respond
He displays his moony teeth
His face gleams in joy
I am reminded of full moon night
He quickly packs my fruits
offers free home delivery
I lack strength despite good food
He is strong despite hunger
I feel sad and depressed at times
He inspires life is meant for living happily with smile in face
As I walk back home
I resolve to be happy
I have no right to be sad!
06.08.2021
For Emile Pinet imagism contest
They say life is short;
I say it's not short enough...
And the rainbow after the storm
is just another fairy tale.
Sure, when one door closes
another door opens...
But who's to say what's on the other side
will turn out to be good?
Those attached
lust after the freedom of not being
and the supposed lucky singles
desperately seek to be attached.
Everything we don't have,
we MUST have;
And all that we have,
we don't need...
(until it's gone, of course)
How ideal if all things were perfect...
No problems, no worries, just joy...
But then you'd call it boring
The optimist looks down at me with pity
But at the end of the day
When the world fails you
Who's the one that's disappointed?
Spirit of the Navajo
How hard life has become
Reciting prayers of long ago
Alcohol an escape for some
How hard life has become
Water is a scarcity
Alcohol an escape for some
Look at them with pity
Water is a scarcity
Wells will soon run dry
Look at them with pity
How could one not cry
Wells will soon run dry
Land stolen, left alone
How could one not cry
True intentions shone
Land stolen, left alone
Reciting prayers of long ago
True intentions shone
Spirit of the Navajo
Pantoum
The pantoum consists of a series of quatrains rhyming ABAB in which the second and fourth
lines
of a quatrain recur as the first and third lines in the succeeding quatrain; each quatrain
introduces a
new second rhyme as BCBC, CDCD. The first line of the series recurs as the last line of the
closing
quatrain, and third line of the poem recurs as the second line of the closing quatrain, rhyming
ZAZA.
The design is simple:
Line 1
Line 2
Line 3
Line 4
Line 5 (repeat of line 2)
Line 6
Line 7 (repeat of line 4)
Line 8
Continue with as many stanzas as you wish, but the ending stanzathen repeats the second
and
fourth lines of the previous stanza (as its first and third lines), and also repeats the third line
of
the first stanza, as its second line, and the first line of the first stanza as its fourth. So the
first
line of the poem is also the last.
Last stanza:
Line 2 of previous stanza
Line 3 of first stanza
Line 4 of previous stanza
Line 1 of first stanza
THE DOGWOOD TREE
Legend says of the Dogwood tree
That on it, Christ was crucified
His blood was shed for you and me
When the soldier pierced His side
The blood that ran from His feet and hands
And the crown upon His brow
Was all a part of God's great plan
Two thousand years ago – and now
The petals on the Dogwood tree
Form a tiny cross
The brown stains you can clearly see
Represent the blood He lost
As this Dogwood tree is planted
Our thoughts are filled with pity
For the victims and the families
Who were bombed in Oklahoma City
Let this tree be a tribute
To the Man the world crucified
And to those in Oklahoma City
For whom this same Man died
And when you view this Dogwood
Think of those who died
Not only in Oklahoma City
But also the one crucified
This was written for inclusion in a memorial service conducted at Carl Vinson VA Medical
Center in Dublin, Georgia for the victims in the Oklahoma City bombing incident. A
Dogwood tree was planted in their commemoration on May 19, 1995 at 9:02 a.m.
Curtis Moorman
May 16, 1995
In my youth I recall
A song by Pink Floyd
Called 'The Wall'
It Discussed
Where Fear Resides
Deep Inside
Behind Tortured Eyes
I suppose I should have mentioned
A Berlin Wall
Of Cold War Tensions
It Arose To Demarcate
Philosophical Differences
Of Nations States
Killing People
It stood topped with razor wire
Machine gun towers
From which to fire
Cold Grey Concrete Slaps
Separating A German City
Owner Occupied via sights
It lacked anything to do with pity
But then after all
What are walls for
But to surround and enclose
So those who build them
Can wriggle their toes
Sleeping safe in summer nights
Ignorant of outside fights
Man has built walls
For generations
A Chinese One
A celebration
Hadrian
When all said and done
He built one and not for fun
So now today we hear the news
About how politicians
And the media
Wish to steer our views
An american
Working hard
Uses one as an election card
And what about Greece
Where Walls of Wire
Now are preventing release
Of a situation so dire
We changed its name
From part of humanity
To being a refugee insanity
For what we know
Because History
Tells us so
Is that Walls appear
When we live in fear
And are unable
To find an answer near
So what does that say
As we wend our way
In Wiltshire and Sunny Somerford
Do we raise a glass
Yell Kiss our 'hand'
Accepting no human brotherhood
Can fit in our Porsche
Is that the correct course
Is it at all feasible
That civil unrest
Will create a test
That overflows our peace
Bringing War Near
And Not just Greece
So I'd like you now
To take a hand
Of someone you love
And imagine
If you'd take a stand
Join the push and shove
To save them
For each wall now
Each brick
Is a mark of fear
As it rises tall
There are no surprises
For we hide with walls
Whats on the other side
If you would like to know a bit about me and my poetry please click this link below:
https://youtu.be/Ic_V7aX4xbk
Form:
oh robin in the tree
one beady eye on me
the other
a bother
for the black bug
wings wrapped snug
on leaf of the Lilac tree
under which we drink our tea
to my eldest I turn
and a story is born
dear child keep strong
sing loud and long
yon robin has proud chest
for he sang without rest
to save a princess
'Dad!!!!!!!!'
It's true. for once the bird was dour
lived in Royal ground. Feathers brown
singing to please the princesses crowd
until. Horror. Illness. Proclaimed loud
'Princess was dying having lost
love for life broken hearts cost'
little bird he loved with all his heart
and by her window a song did start
inside in a week sickly state
to her beat did the tune relate
and morbid promise was made
that it was to be her final refrain.
the bird sang through the day
and through the night. stay
by her and steady stave
no food or drink did it crave.
For on that wooden sill
a dirty splinter a thorn ill
pressed ever closer into chest
of that songbird that took no rest.
slowly the blood began to seep
and single flow set to creep
along the ledge up to edge
of drop onto sickly hair
shocking the poorly girl sitting there
her eyes filled with pity for another
that song of love from red chest cover
over fidelity, hope, courage and caring
that lifted her to desire life sharing.
A rush of her own blood carried her
to pull that splinter from the feather
stained forever red
for a life, by love, led.
'Load a Bllx Dad'
Hello Jose my old friend
I've come to guzzle you again
500 people before afternoon
I started sipping on you far too soon
My last SENTENCE I fear was slightly slurred
(Vision blurred)
Forgot to EEEET...my breakfast
They look with pity upon me
'Can't hold his liquor' they agree
Now I'm weaving when I try to walk
Senseless babble when I try to talk
Then I feel the NEEEED to flee to an old-oak-tree
(to heave and pee)
but cannot LOOOZE... my breakfast
Did not like his tone at all
Got myself into a brawl
I quickly put him in his rightful place
Broke his knuckles with my pretty face
Shoulda' had my OOOATS, but didn't, so alas!
(I kiss the grass)
and now my ASSSS... is breakfast
In the morning I awake
moaning with a bad headache
Bright-sun glaring through the window pane
I whine and whimper in my wretched pain
In the next room a TV-is-blaring
and screams in my pounding-ear
(No thank you dear)
just coffee PLEEEZE, think I'll pass----on....BREAKFAST
*Take-off of the song 'The Sounds of Silence' by Simon & Garfunkle
Title taken from the song 'It's My Party' by Leslie Gore