Long Empathise Poems
Long Empathise Poems. Below are the most popular long Empathise by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Empathise poems by poem length and keyword.
Bring me a cup of Java, honey, and put some coffee in the water, will you?...
Whoa there! Bet you can feel the withering sarcasm in that simple phrase...
People, I welcome you to the world of crime novels by James Hadley Chase...
With cryptic titles like I'll Bury My Dead, it's a crime novel befitting even the dead...
The protagonists in every novel, Mr Chase humanized each of them in good stead...
As a crime writer, Mr Chase has no master, or even an equal of his calibre...
Dialogues, suave and cultured or in the low life lingo, is excellence beyond compare...
Most of all, the many believable twists and turns in every one of his crime story...
You'll empathise with the hero and the heroine, and root for them in each story...
What Is Better Than Money is yet another master yarn uniquely spun by Mr Chase...
About how a piano player bidding time tangled with a junky beauty with trilling vocals ....
It is amazing how you will identify with the struggling two bit piano player as he grapples...
With the opportunity of a lifetime to hitch his economic wagon on a less than perfect starlet..
In No Orchids For Miss Blandish, I remember rereading the same book twice over...
To be thrilled and to savour how the master story teller spun the story altogether...
Mind you, I was back then just a little boy, given access to the senior section of the library..
Faced with rows and decks of all kind of books, I was a bewildered boy lost in the library...
Then I spied a rather worn out hard cover book entitled No Orchids for Miss Blandish...
Small in print, yellowed in pages and looked slightly misbegotten, but the title intrigued..
Reaching home, I could not put down the book once I started reading that slim book...
I was thrilled, I was truly engrossed in a fascinating tale of crime found within a book...
Etched in my memory to this day, I recall vividly the awe and the joy in novels by Mr Chase...
Little wonder through the years I often read and reread crime novels spun by Mr Chase...
James Hadley Chase, crime story teller supreme, without any cheap graphic x rated scenes...
He is the ultimate maestro for story characters and crime tales that electrify your senses...
Readers, Mr James Hadley Chase, he's The Man for grippping realistic crime stories....!!!
The regressive Supreme Court decision
hustled, proclaimed, and voiced
June 24th, 2022
immediately quashing pro choice option,
struck down constitutional right
(upheld for half a century -
formerly allowing, enabling and providing
the muliebrous population
access to secure and safe abortion)
and sent a chill into the air.
A woman of childbearing age
within the United States trade
risk seeking abortion if she
unwittingly finds herself pregnant
resorting to desperate measures
sans mortality written
courtesy blood and gore costly paid
for ownership of body electric
autonomy usurped to choose abortion,
especially females representing
low income statistic,
whose chaotic, frantic, hectic..., existence
quite unlike bucolic, idyllic, poetic
lifestyle exemplified, exhibited, and exuded
by Thomas Kinkade
impossible (aery) mission
to buzzfeed another mouth
hence unlucky gal
now faces criminal charges,
whereat strong arm of the law
one lass unable to evade.
Despite being an older
long haired pencil necked geek male,
(a genetic product
of the baby boomer generation)
albeit one dazed and confused man,
whose body resembles
a miniature lead zeppelin
I a baby boomer guy
always inclined toward
remaining aforementioned gender,
nevertheless can empathise
with red hot poker anger
fecund women most likely experience,
when in the heat of passion
birth control measures vehemently
even non verbally overruled,
when an aggressive partner
thwarts such rational precautions
exerting patriarchal domination
loosing abundant seminal fluid
with deliberate intent to impregnate.
Many instances abound,
(since time immemorial)
whereby linkedin couples
ardently, fervently, maddeningly
strive to beget offspring
and thus shuck off
the application regarding
accessing, kickstarting, wielding
invocation of divine spirit,
thus their sexual relations
forfeit applying prophylactics,
oftimes feeling down and out
when biological fertilization
breeds despair, grief, mourning...
yet no sooner does adoption
appear as the last best hope
the maternal hormonal gonadal
secretion agency, propensity, viscosity....
and quirky unpredictability,
where unsuspecting latent virility
to procreate ironically occurs.
I am a little Alsatian puppy- can you empathise with my wretched plight?
I cannot impress upon insensitive humans, my God given inalienable right,
As a scrawny tottering helpless babe, I used to suckle milk from my mother,
I slept close to her warm body and had great fun romping with my brother.
Men snatched me heartlessly without any qualm from my dear mother’s care,
She searched and searched for her precious offspring desperately everywhere,
They separated me from my siblings too, did they think I liked thus to be parted?
I am man’s “Best Friend”, but towards me, why are they harsh and hard-hearted!
They brought me captive to a mansion cold, and kept me within its encircling walls,
They expected me to be satisfied with silly, inane toys, and a few multi-coloured balls.
In the fields I was free as the untrammelled breeze-- I would then frolic, roll and play,
In nature we lived happily in a close-knit pack, not in solitary confinement all day.
Now I am forced to chew on artificial bones and in a secluded house I must stay,
But it was so much fun to be with one’s kith and kin, this I can now honestly say,
Even when I’m hungry, I have to make do with whatever portion they deign to give,
The same processed unnatural food daily, isn’t appetising, to be had as long as I live.
My master gorges on lip-smacking food which I would have also liked to munch,
I too would have relished digging into juicy flesh, for breakfast, dinner and lunch,
My jaws and teeth were meant for food, other than the machine-made dog fare,
Thoughtless men assume they are doing a lot, that we’re treated with a lot of care!
Men should realise how much they’ve been unfair in unreasonably torturing us!
Why should they expect us to submit to their senseless training, without any fuss?
If men could become the wretched dogs and dogs could turn into “God’s Chosen men”,
They would certainly understand our miserable plight, without my having to explain.
You stank, and poo was once revealed when pants were pulled in playing field. Hard round briquettes, quite dry, like dung with straw sun-hard and undigested.
All kinds of unkind taunts and silly songs were sung and rumour did the rounds of Traveller’s goings on in dog-bark fenced compound.
Nothing known, but always just suggested.
What were your meals in trailer park, beside the fields, beside the rec,
beside the school where boys all played you for the fool, and girls sang ‘stinky bum’, and parent’s day didn’t see your dad, and did you even have a mum?
You struck a chin full fist when foot deployed to halt your playground dinky toy. Your anger clearly boiled beneath. Did you every day recoil from father’s buckled belt, or older brother’s fist, or even mother’s wounding cuffs confined to caravan
on drizzle chilly days as autumn shed cold leaf?
You walked with ricket bandied legs, a waddled painful labour.
I too was your tormentor, on endless friendless days and lonely playground corners, and classes where the empty desk was always nearest neighbour.
Your white and skinny scabied form found true excuse from sports.
No one saw 'there', beneath your shabby shorts, except the school and nit nurse. We always thought your underpants were wet, or stained, or worse,
and most days did you even wear your soiled and threadbare underwear?
Would these older opened eyes now see you as a son?
Would softened heart now empathise with how you had begun
your life and realise the pain and strife that laid your path,
where mine was carefree fun?
These older eyes are sorry now, with memory’s regret.
But yet that child knew not the pain that surely comes to all,
and tempered hearts cannot relive the spring before the fall.
No matter how devoted one is to their chosen faith, they forget, or have never understood that it is not of their choice they worship their God, no he, or she chose them. All Gods or Goddesses have chosen one mortal to portray their beliefs, and to gather disciples to preach their words of peace and goodwill. And perhaps each one has its evil twin, and for the way things are happening in this modern world, I think it is the evil ones, the devil God’s that hold the reins. They have chosen mortals of their ilk, either insane, sadists, belligerents, or just egotistical maniacs all of whom will have things their, or what they think is their own way, little do they know who’s sitting on their left shoulder issuing the orders. Fear not those that follow the path of the righteousness for good will prevail, and all evil will fall back to the hell from whence it came.
Oh, the cross, a symbol of Christianity? No, back when, it was a structure designed to nail a human body too, for dissenting against the Roman Gods and Goddesses, even back then evil was in control. It became a symbol of Christianity after the crucifixion of Jesus, who actually claimed it to be I don’t know?
Am I a man of the cloth? No, am I a Christian, allegedly? What I am is a Samaritan, a good Samaritan, and my faith? I am 100% behind nature, not as a religion, for I pray for it, not too it! In many ways nature is tangible, at least certain aspects of it are, and what I take from it, I give back to it, when convenient, or caught out, (pun intended). I empathise with the needy, beg from the greedy, help protect the planet,
Anon………..
April 8, 2017
The Good Samaritan: Sponsored by: Craig Hawkins
For so long now I have been battling this pain.
At times I feel like it's about to drive me insane.
The fun and freedom it has drained from my life.
My mixed emotions now bring trouble and strife.
Nights and days melt into one as I cant get a restful sleep.
I self medicate with alcohol but this just ends up making me weep.
But it does allow me to get just a little rest.
I often wonder is this pain really all a test.
Tablets I take over fifteen a day with little release.
Doctors test time and time again but the pain doesn't cease.
Years have gone by and this pain just gets worse.
Will i ever find a remedy from this curse.
I can no longer be physical with the one I love.
And i start to wonder is the pain a punishment from above.
Now the depression whirls thoughts round my head.
And I start to think I would be better of dead.
I'm losing the ability to function and often have to wear a pad.
People look at me just making it through and think it cant be that bad.
But they don't see what I see when I look in the mirror at night
A broken version of me, for whom getting through each day is a fight.
Friends and family try to empathise, but cant know what its really like for me.
It gets so bad I sometimes think of the end knowing then from this pain I will be free.
Can they ever really understand how i live, what its doing to me, can they see.
I keep battling on knowing I have to stay strong, hope and positivity is the key.
But I know my battle has to go on and one day from pain I will descend.
Till then i battle on waiting for the day this pain comes to and end.
Form:
The Storms !!!
My young Daughter’s life is in such a mess.
Her aching heart, her soul, in pain, needs a rest.
I know not what to do, or say, just give her my best,
knowing, it is not enough, meaningless, I must confess.
As these mean black clouds, loom, menacingly overhead,
Storms are a brewing, raging, boiling over, instead
of dissipating with compassion and understanding.
The thunder they bring, doth ring out loud
within the accumulation of this black cloud
that only seems to harbour a sad rendering,
beats – with a heavy fist – upon the door
to my brain, pounds with angry passion in my head,
bouncing off the walls of my skull, with ever more
force than I, sometimes, am able to bear
and what I have to look at, listen to instead
should never be a parent’s nightmare, not fair !,
these shards, these flakes, these splinters of lightning
that strike, penetrate deep into the heart – frightening !!! –
as it cuts through and into the very marrow of my soul
as all this pain, all this rage, I have come, only to well, to know.
I know not what to do, for you and me, my Dear.
I know not how to elevate / eliminate all our fear
except, to be the best I can, be a man rising above it all,
empathise, listen and understand, heed the call
and keep on fighting for you, and for your love
give you my unconditional love and keep it above
all the bulls**t that has brought us, driven us down,
taken us round and round on this merry-go-round
ride, confusing what we are and are to each other.
All I would like, you, with all my love, to smother !
B. J. “A” 2
June 28th 2002
As along our long life journey we sail
We all do encounter belied expectations
Feeling of deep hurt results from betrayal
Our shrivelled heart writhing in contractions
The hurt needs healing so we go to a healer
Who examines blotches in our aura field
Looking grave is this wheeler dealer
As his magic wand he does wield
Half who visit healed, the others not
For he simply invokes the placebo effect
Opening up our mind beyond its fearful slots
The faith healer does nothing yet no one suspects
With this comic interlude over with let us examine
The root cause of our pain needing healing
We negate not potency of toxic poison
Simply look at origin of so feeling
The aspect of us hurt is our identity
Plunged into dark gloom owing to its loss
Recognising not that in world of ephemerality
Attachment to fleeting images of pain is the cause
In monk mode detached thus free from pain and sorrow
Lower mind vaporised, we abide in blissful joy
No expectations or desires for the morrow
Mind illumined we recognise ego ploys
Acceptance of others just as they are
Knowing that maya oft causes misalignment
Acts of others be as they may leaves then no scar
We empathise with one and all resting in blissful contentment
We then are our own best faith healer having faith in love divine
Offering no niche within for rancour to anchor onto our being
Knowing that in timeless time with love all souls will align
We nonchalantly breeze through life ever celebrating
29-November-2020
Cripple
Nature made me incomplete
She failed to give me two good feet
The left one’s fine,
It’s well in line
But the other is rather bittersweet
It twists around to a great degree
A much disgruntled employee
Of a brain as quick
as a lightning stick
But useless just below the knee.
A childhood spent in pain and traction
And futile physiotherapeutic action
Didn’t help a jot
just hurt a lot
To the surgeons evident satisfaction
“Crippled crippled look he’s lame
Hop-along Cassidy is his name!”
I died inside
hid and cried
hung my head in mortal shame
Very cruel the other kids could be
jeered and laughed and bullied me
Until I wondered if
God had blundered
And so resolved to go and see
I did my best to meet my maker
But became a recuperator
In hospice bed
Far from dead
A suicide impersonator
There came an angel in disguise
A teacher who didn’t instantly despise
Nor ridicule
A crippled fool
But tried instead to empathise
She gave me books and made me read
Seeing clearly an inner seed
As yet unfilled
underskilled
But glowing there, a burning need
She opened up my narrow mind
Allowing me to leave behind
A crippled past
A plaster cast
That held me in it’s prison bind
Now I write with creativity
And with much publicity
bathed in admiration
bought in proliferation
treated with tender sensitivity
And though I have a leg still game
It seems that popularity and fame
Make folk forget
My foot’s offset
And I am still inherently lame
Through seventy years of change,
Orb and sceptre in your hands,
Serving your people, young and old,
You have reigned over these lands.
To duty called when you were young,
You took the oath in Edwards chair.
The crown sits well upon that head
That doth its precious weight still bear.
A beacon to your people,
To all your commonwealth,
You show us what devotion means
To something beyond self.
Prime ministers and presidents
Have graced your royal court
Charities from every sphere
Your patronage have sought.
A mother and a grandmother,
A loyal and loving wife.
A Queen with whom the nation
Shared the milestones of your life.
You could not give us any more,
You’re an example to us all.
Of the meaning of self sacrifice
That answer”s duty’s call.
You too have suffered pain and loss,
Part of life’s kaleidoscope.
You empathise, you sympathise,
You bring a nation hope.
You’ve led us in remembrance
At war’s sad and bitter loss,
You’ve shed tears at the cenotaph,
For the fallen and the lost.
You truly are respected
By every generation,
For standing by your people,
For fulfilling your vocation.
Not for ourselves alone are we
Born to this life we’re given
You’ve shown us what can be achieved
If we too are truly driven.
You”re our pride and our identity
Loved and held in great respect.
History will remember you
As our beloved “Lillibet.”
We celebrate these seventy years,
Your Platinum Jubilee.
And I, for one, am glad to be,
A subject of your majesty.