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.
Free me from servitude of constraining boundaries
Guiding life’s journey, questing meadows pristine,
Beyond void of nothingness, afar hills of misery,
Rescuing from oblivion, from doorways of abyss,
From pathos of mortality, from realm so ordinary,
Take me, sweet fairy, beyond world of drudgery.
Thrusting spirit of vitality, show me where to exit,
For verdant prairies burbling streams of serenity
Buoying ambrosial instincts of ethereal themes,
Seeking supernatural intrigue of esoteric dreams
Vying ecstatic feelings blossoming dawns of bliss;
Take me, sweet fairy, to the frontiers of tranquility.
Navigate me away from emptiness roiling destiny,
Away from the distraught flaunting pride egoistic,
Away from ambitions yearning things materialistic
On the wings of enlightenment leading to harmony,
Transporting to transcendence~ heavenly, idyllic;
Take me, sweet fairy, to peacefulness of sanctity.
Lift me above darkness of life’s tenebrous clouds,
Enlighten visage of impercipient, ignorant shrouds,
Attaining equilibrium within purpose and meaning
Discarding grievances that steal virtuous equities;
Take me to nirvana ~ to paradise of utopian peace,
Take me, sweet fairy, to domain of blissful ecstasy.
September 15, 2022
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 32 – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Take Me to Nirvana
Despite being atheist,
I would nonetheless bet
dollars to donuts
(Dunkin and/or other wise)
Jesus would be mighty pleased
to know, his sir name
linkedin with commercial ties
no matter, he might not garner
a percentage of profits,
especially if he
unwittingly gets trampled
to death by madding
flash mob crowd source
rushing to snap up
latest 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
daughter(s), subsequently
guaranteeing, nailing crosswise,
and clinching safeguards
immunizing against the Grinch
a sure fire way to
guarantee future generations
will become avid consumers,
who reverently, obsequiously,
and devoutly idolize
supporting the apostles
of commercialization
nearly every
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
with being ostracized, hash-tagged,
and demonized Scrooge.
Christmas nears, I am gone but Yasmin fills my mind
in old Bombay she sits and writes to aged dames like I.
So far away, all we have is words to bring us near,
so often times I hear a ring, and her voice loud and clear.
I know what she wants from me and it's something I can give
friendship, loyalty and companionship and nothing to forgive.
Now, neither Yasmin, nor my dear Kash are Christians, nor am I,
but still, at this time of year, the gifts of open heart ally.
And, I know of wisdom, of learning and of love, I share,
hoping Kash accepts the gifts, and waylays all his cares.
To Chas, now I have no need to give him worldly things
for he has his wife, his Carolyn, and their loving hearts sing.
Yet, I would give them days and nights a house, and home, needs be
if they had need, if they wanted for a step-daughter.. me.
For my little sis, for my Dee, our mischievous Cyndi,
I give her books with pages blank, for her and Verity.
My gift to her and Verity is the space to bloom to grow
unfettered by conventions, transformation to undergo.
Last, my Vie, to her I'd send a picture of my wrinkled smile
and know she'd sit, stare and think "Perhaps, I'll see her in a while."
She'd ring her chimes, and I'd ring mine, and continents would merge
for friendships such as ours, take patience and pathos to emerge.
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Happy Holy Days to Yasmin Khan, Poet Kash, Charles Henderson, Cyndi MacMillan, Vienna Bombardieri
Up the delicate dale
of latticed life,
at esoteric edge
of sinking sky,
hermit horizon
shimmers sensuous,
as paled passion
disappears desiccated
with the setting sun.
In cracked cinnamon ground
parched to the core,
my deserted
dunes of desolation
pervades to despise
the faded dreams
of the fallen leaves,
in fragile filigree
the rustle echoes
the hymn of hope.
On convolute silhouette
of swarming dreams,
whirlpool desire
swivels disoriented
in inert momentum,
arcane mindscape
disintegrates unsensed,
sequestered un-sculpted
in twilight obscurity.
The eyes weep
torrent of tears
lost in mirage trail,
fill with pathos
the pining cauldron
within unseen,
remnant essence
of forlorn life
remains designed
with contorted contours
of eroded banks
of meandering mind.
In platitude plateau,
the final flow
of extant obsession
originates inspired,
ordained for
integral fusion
with supreme sea,
the end embrace
of sublime silence.
Cascading cadence
of surreal symphony
drifts with fervent lilt
from the yonder plateau
of yearning
to seize entranced
ripples of melodic longing
in lilac lagoon
of my heart,
pulsating with
enticing refrain
of endless ecstasy.
Aviating aspirations
of effervescent incandescence
spread psychic plasma
of primal sensual spectrum,
painting the exuding exuberance
of the indigo emotions
on the convoluted sullen sky,
fantasy configures with contours of memory
fascinating fresco
of the mental panorama,
suffused with halcyon hues
of sublime sensitivity
embedded in exalted ecstasy,
blooming bemused
in seraphic color blast
of floral kaleidoscopic spring,
awaits the assault of summer
in the credulous mindscape.
In cracked somber soil,
draped by dismal dust
of extant cinnamon ground,
where the deserted heart desiccates
in the yearning core,
when auburn anguish
pervades passively
and creeps with crafty camouflage
in the wilted veins
of the fallen autumn leaves,
as fragile rootless essence
rustles restive
with the olive tune
of serenading sanguinity.
Emotive eyes weep
the concealed tears unshed
in torrent of torment,
fill the impulsive cauldron
of pent-up pathos,
forlorn life’s desolate distillate
designs the malachite crystal canopy,
shining with emerald buoyancy
in the jade thicket
on the eroded banks
of awakened awareness,
while classical cadence
of symphonic zephyr,
drifting with the sonata spirit
of fleeting fervor
from the yonder plateau
of rolling passion,
vibrates with timeless rhythm
on the waves of rhapsody
in the bay of bliss,
glides with the enthralling melody
of the harmonic heart,
pulsating spellbound
with the lilting lyric
of the lavender lagoon.
The clouds of pathos rose from the sea of sorrow,
the storm surged from the horizon of mind’s visage,
melted in many streams of tear to torrentially flow
like the rushing rills of rain drops on face of foliage.
All the clouds didn’t dissolve in the deluge of grief,
a solitary clump held the tear drop in emotion deep,
like rain drop concealed in the fold of sodden leaf,
waited in me to wail for the promises I couldn’t keep.
Before the end of our pledged journey you’re gone,
forlorn I’ve crumbled in the debris of the fallen sky.
The hidden cloud clump melts in remorse I discern,
as it upwells within me all the restraints I feel it defy.
The spent sun sets in the ruins of my broken heart,
my dismal life can’t rise from the dark dust of despair.
As the destined time comes for me to finally depart,
for you, the cloud of memory melts one last drop of tear.
Written : February 5, 2019
May 28, 2020
Contest : Brian's Choice Y
Sponsor : Brian Strand
PATHOS
Every time I have to do something for you,
an overwhelming sadness envelopes me.
It’s been eight months since you passed,
I still have not shed a tear, there is none.
I did most of the things needed in arranging
your memorial service; but could not do a tribute
for you for I don’t really know you very well.
Two of my siblings out of seven children did.
We decided not do anything after the memorial
services, except lunch with all your children,
most of your grandchildren and some of your
great grandchildren because of the pandemic.
We agreed on getting together to celebrate your
life two days after your birthday in November
and we are inviting our relatives and your friends.
Again, I got the invitations going for the event.
We planned on giving presentations and I have to
read a couple of poems or say something about you.
Reading the poems is easy for I just have to choose
what poems I have to read; talking about you is hard.
All I can think of is the strangeness between us, the
deafening silence when I visited you, the immense
feeling of being an outsider, your total indifference.
If I could not write a tribute then, how can I now?
There are no words I could think of, it is all blankness
for remembering you evokes sadness and heartache.
9/25/21 "P"Contest, New Or Old Poetry
Constance La France
Theme #1
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
Our flirtatious glances were as rosebuds in Spring
Infatuation blossomed into confessions of love
LOVE: such a fragile emotion, a rather delicate thing
We bloomed profusely in Summer's fulgent heat
His touch as soft as the velvet of my crimson petals
We swayed in gentle breezes, content and replete
On warm, sun kissed days and long sultry nights
His parted lips tasted far sweeter than raw honey
We savored each moment of exquisite delight
In Elysian fields we lingered by Summer's end
Romance, the nectar of our paradisial passion
But in our arbored garden, I felt him bend
With Autumn approaching, the air grew chill
There was a sense of fading and withering within
A petal fell and my world seemed to stand still
Our bloom lost its luster, its fragrant floral scent
I languished in pathos as my lover turned away
Feeling the agony of loss, I drooped, head bent
No longer did I feel the warmth of the sun
Inside my weary veins no tenderness remained
The beginning of my demise had sorrowfully begun
Love became a memory in Winter's frigid mist
Tears spilled like drops of mourning dew
Snowflakes touched my lips, once tenderly kissed
I became a frozen blossom, standing on my own
Icebound in time ~ once loved, forsaken and alone
My season of life and love was tragically windblown
Pierced by the thorn that once protected my heart,
I have no interest to awaken in the thawing of Spring
for love died and wretched regret has torn me apart
MELANCHOLY
Kissing horizon, Sun is setting down soon.
Torn pieces of fluffy cotton clouds in platoon,
floating aimless to welcome dusty dusk.
Grave environ is going to put charcoal mask.
I was watching you to walk away
stepping slow but in grace,
Yet momentarily you turned your face.
I searched for a glimpse of hesitation
in your reserved specific style
at least a sad smile !
That was our last meet.
Melancholy spreading on faded twilight.
Morose evening is merging to turquoise night.
I was shattered.
My ardent ardor got frozen.
My amour was dishonoured !
Pathos prevailed over my tingling pricking passion.
My valiant heart beats made a pause.
Unpredictable crystal -clear rain drops
startled me all on a sudden.
Tears rolled down.
You walked away.
05/08/23