Long Pathos Poems
Long Pathos Poems. Below are the most popular long Pathos by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pathos poems by poem length and keyword.
Gaseous ice water floats across the field
White exhale comes out of the mouth or nose
thin roof, two infants crouching to shield
Snow remains in these dreary sacred zones
A wave of emotion that brings chaos
Roaring anger melts away the ice of sorrow
Distraught that melts cool, and again pathos
ink dripping from a ripped paper swallow
Pounding the beach of my dying drab life
Intermittent and ruthless, the tides swell
remembering the ancient sailor strife
If the penultimate wave never goes well
And fizzle the fire a fading soul can give!
You breathed on me and raised me to live
bizarre beauty
subtle&
slow
evoking
the visual
in intervals
of
silence
on the cusp
of melody
ambiance
bespoke&synchronised
musique
de furniture
gentle&repetitive
strange
sounds
exposed
in
a
toned
atmosphere
complementary
with
a sense
of calm
in the surreal
&absurd
effortlessly
unified
in a minimalist
tapestry
neutralized
melody
chaotically
created
pathos
laden
in a collage
of
eccentricity
I have saved one tear
in the event that time
may someday pry it from me,
ask of me once more
to grieve in endless death.
The rest, those shed
pre-mortem
agony, long dried,
upon this barren, rutted, face
this monument to intransigence.
Yet one I save, protected,
lest it weep for itself
fall selfishly to vanity’s
search for sadness,
sear the surface of hate
with the coolness
of passion’s pithy lies,
with the truth
of its emptiness.
One last tear
to prime the pump
of pathos
to drown delusion’s
endless death.
©2/4/2019
One Last Tear Poetry Contest
Silent One - sponsor
The musical of the rain
sounds as tinkling music
not a specific beat or rhythm
Who has punctured
Our Lord's clouds?
Cracks opened on the sky
The asphalt, wet and dark
the passengers are silent
breath mists the route
hides the beak under the wing
as wet crows
could almost grasp the fear
This narrow, dark
and desolate country road
Heavy rain
major consequences
feared landslides and floods
A feeling of numbness
the mood of melancholy or pathos
everyone has paid their ticket
drive carefully
- hope to arrive home safely
07.11.2022
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Rainy Days
Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
2nd place in the contest
Tears of the past invoke frozen footprints
When fears rekindle flares of dire misery
Feeling the ache, straining blood streams
As wrinkles pop up swelling deep worries,
Holding dialogue with sustained poverty
Attempting to traverse shuttered streets--
Bent, but not broken, in grip of tragedies
Trapped in the pathos of agonizing grief
Building escape still, flexing meager means.
When in my solitude, these images I’ve seen
Awaken me hauntingly in frightening dreams,
Grudgingly I go there, where I used to be
And see a child deep in hapless poignancy
Bleeding profusely from veins melancholy
Revisiting relentlessly orphaned memories.
Time unconsciously releases those feelings
When ode to new morn happy robin sings
As sun rises gleefully from deep blue seas
And life illuminates in golden hued beams
Oscillating winds, gleaming through trees,
And I walk with pride on the bridges I built
And thank my bright stars that lit my path
Twinkling diligently to show me the light
When obscure was the face of my dark night.
Silhouettes of yesteryear are purging now
Cleansing dread with vibrancy of spring
And jitters of nightmares in aspiring dreams
Seeing new growth in parched winter land
Like flowers rise through remains of ashes
Confronting what was, with what could be.
I have staged my play to my own melodies
And the rhythms I set to my own music
No longer evoke the prompt life gave me
As I write new chapters, create new scenes
I’m planning the ending as I wish to see it:
The story that was past, my future won’t be.
December 7, 2020
Placed 1st: Catharsis poetry contest by Silent One
Eight decades past world war two was at its last gasp.'
Parades were to folow.' Nazi Germany was beaten hollow
Like a drum..'Some scenes echo.' And make me dumb my
Mouth, silent my eyes observe the violence shaky screened
Whirrs my mind.' On the real actions of nazis and horrifc
Finds.' Humans dehumanised stacked like sides of pork
Or cords of wood.' The simple pathos alone talks..Today i hear of nazis again.' I see one was feted in Canada and
That two leigions there gained.' New lives and citezenship
Can this really be.' Then zelensky sends troops to Isreal i
See.? Meanwhile (yuroslaf hunka) the ss soldier he elevated.' anongside trudeau.' Both looking elated' clapping
Hands this in parlieament setting' well after their earlier
Meet and greet and narration.' He was a freedom fighter
Against the ussr.? I beg your pardon.' And I state I am no
Czar.' Of lineage or of lies.' And the truth?? Well thats been
Battered.' Just as eight decades later.' With Ukraine really in
Tatters.' And claims of nazi elements.? Whats with historys wheel? No matter the narrative.' Whats real is 'still real' I
Can't trust drainsteeam-media..To tell the time of day.' I conject on all their outrageous info but hey ' even should i
Be told California has gone rouge? Letting in American
Warships to attack America.?? Do you think that story could be told.? Yet when ships sit in Sevastopol i'm told
Crimea might get invaded 'and they'll soon be speaking
Russian.?? But I thought they did? Whats this all in aid of, kids?
Well it can't be the truth? I re-check on history, and the Crimean war fought in 1853.'
On pensive planes of wraith-like existence,
Are stoic shadows feigning affection;
Crimson lips of withering consistence,
Have lost their craze for craving confection.
Tear-filling prisms tilling a rueing sphere,
Pathos prowling, pity's wild and roaming;
Reminisce wind-blown is tumbleweed drear,
Bathos like bramble bur clings in gloaming.
Tin foil hearts' echo sad droning down-beat,
Rose petal ballet two rust figurines;
Today's gray sleet does douse yesteryears' heat,
Apathy's ennui directing the scenes...
Love once aflare in fanfare marigold,
Lies now a wizened weed, dried and stone cold.
Susan Ashley
November 2, 2017
You revealed the face within your face
Human,lowly, humbler than an ant
The pathos in your eyes made sad my gaze
The other face, defended, has no grace
With it ,you appear quite confident.
Yet you revealed to me your hidden face
I know now of the suffering of your days
A fear of tragic pasts feared imminent
The pathos in your eyes made sad my gaze
The Lord says you’re his lamb and sends you grace.
Yet you must hide from men intolerant
You revealed the face within your face
Like Jesus, you were scourged and in disgrace
You wandered feebly,lost, itinerant
The pathos in your eyes makes sad my days
If God exists then would he not embrace
The lost, the lonely, even the vagrant?
You revealed the face within your face
The pathos in your eyes makes humans base
Death-like phantom, pathos, so dusk dark, seems to be calling,
Though not dry, like autumn leaves, in dreams, I feel like falling;
Where do all these illusions, like morning mushrooms, spring from?
Where do illnesses, like termites in weaker wood, fast germ?
Pathos peeps from the soul, like a mouse from a filthy hole,
Scrolls, like krait, bites, pouring within pure poison bowl;
Though not willing, owing impulse, I get so fast succumb,
Like a knave, forgotten his true self, I go madly numb.
Pathos casts my directions like the rudder in a ship,
From optimism to pessimism it changes fast the trip;
Finding feeble before the goals like Parkinson it shakes,
Like a kite whose thread is broken, it falls and licks dust flakes.
Anguish aggravates pathos; causing pains anonymous,
Humanity and the surroundings increase emptiness;
Fear, distress, panic... all get imported by the same boat,
Life turns into a den of devils of deviant gloat...
Pathos, as though fallen in a deep well, seeks sympathy,
Pity, anger, honey-flowing words, and wants empathy;
Positive thinking, prayerful living, and divine depth,
Pave the way to pass from pathos to existential breadth!
25 September 2021
''P'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Despite being atheist,
with serpent teen eyes,
I would nonetheless bet
Eve fen number guys
named Adam, or gals noel lies
(christened) dollars to donuts
(Dunkin and/or otherwise)
Jesus would be mighty pleased
to know, his surname
linkedin with commercial ties,
no matter, he might not garner rise
zen percentage of profits, no matter spies
infiltrate competition especially if he
unwittingly gets trampled and cries
amidst chaos (think euthanize)
untimely death by madding wise
flash mob crowd source realize
last seconds rushing to snap up
latest jamb door prize
as venders resort to all
manner of (subliminally
manipulative) marketing techniques
to lure patrons, (especially
photo opportunities with
one of the many
"FAKE" donned Santa
Claus), the latter,
who would lionize
their son(s) and/or apprise
daughter(s), subsequently
guaranteeing, nailing crosswise,
and clinching safeguards exercise
immunization against the Grinch
sure fire way to manure er... fertilize
guarantee future generations rise
zing will become avid consumers,
who reverently, obsequiously,
and devoutly idolize
supporting the apostles who revolutionize
creative commercialization to capitalize
nearly every Cyber Monday
occasion to finalize
(all sales) pennies on the dollar,
where merchants feign
going for broke, and capitalize
eulogize, and idealize
the mighty buck staging "FAKE"
news worthy shoppers to burst into tears
crying on command,
and all manner of pathos
pulling ploys nsync king
"shameful guilt" that squares
singled out forevery one to ostracize,
hash-tagged, and demonize
yours truly as Scrooge.