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.
I was born married to the master of subservience,
fell in love with the master of somnolence.
I dissolved Reality, divorced carnal calamites,
and the raw ache of captivated chaos.
I commanded a tactical tilling of damning emotions
and made a bed among the poppies,
so I could forever seduce Sleep at the edge of Oblivion.
I sold my soul and barely chafed chastity
for a phenomenal phantasm of passionless pleasures
beyond Gates of Ivory.
Wafting winds cradled creativity and I was a starving minion,
a zealous zephyr, questing after the deep highs
to capture luscious laughter and opium kisses
from Slumber’s linen wings.
My psyche reveled in these unrestrained orgies
climaxing far above ashen alleys
where life corroded the living.
A patron of illusions,
always hunting for more fruitful fascinations,
avoiding natural navigations through wicked whining
and the sight of probing pairs of crescent craters
searching for substance in battered faiths.
Deliberately oblivious to the sadistic salutes
of Godforsaken souls;
sleep inoculated against plagues of Pathos
that dawned with prehistoric procreation.
Amethyst apparitions fiercely feigning blindness
replaced callous captions with textile thoughts;
such beautiful deceptions, flawlessly manufactured
to be reality resistant.
Yet, I was sleep abandoned,
blistered by drops of winged darkness,
deceived by twisted twins.
Euphoria arrested, phantom limbs flailed,
swatting swarms of bleak sobriety
but Death was already aroused,
masturbating memories I thought I’d purged.
Retribution for a life lived at the edge of death?
Pollyanna caught loitering, rotting in sweet dreams
and living in the mirrored mirage of a Glad Book illustration.
My disturbed somniloquies became railroaded ramblings,
paranoid confessions of a Happy Addict,
torn from forgotten scenes, stripped of sunny sided semantics.
Death swaddled my crippled soul
mummified in the bunting guts
of my patchwork playground.
Each time I blink a resentful, halcyon curtain cries
yearning for my cuckolded Life.
This restless, sentient existence is eternally mine,
dictating discharges of cruel insomnia.
Pinched, folded, and squeezed
in the fiddling fingers of inescapable reality.
Clearing Out Old Growth
Last week I cleared some old growth, ‘parting’ (1) planted in my yard,
An Avocado tree you’d grown from ‘pit’ of eaten fruit.
Tree’s color for your living space! But pots do limit roots
(Which leads to stunted growth) though I felt watered by your smile.
You left, at last, trees in the room, ‘first’ husband slightly scarred,
A good man too, who loved your aspect; (2) letting go, astute!
Best fight (to join) shares’ purpose’ (3) more than fresh or scarred recruits!
But did ‘Love’ lose? The truth, I think, was love evolved more style.
Though love oft plays on ‘tilted field,’ intelligence: Well matched!
I led by twenty-seven points, still sought to be a ‘pal’ (4)
(I twice divorced at forty-five) to flower just in bloom, (5)
My province: tenderfoot on tour, a ‘stranger in strange land’ (6)
With Russia thought our enemy! Yet peaceful plans were hatched
Amidst the pathos of this plight! “Show human face,” our rationale! (7)
Can thought exist that does not ‘rage at night,’ (8) reject love’s doom?
Though time may laugh at my expense, I still would “hold your hand!” (9)
Now in my life, I’ve found a love that’s soared beyond my dreams,
And poetry (that leaves me breathless), ‘hail verse (so) well met!’ (10)
We’re wizened now, blush gone, as well, from youth, prowess,
Might you or I take ‘second look?’ (11) I sigh! Was fault our age
Or more our ‘Age?’ Abundance lives in more than schemes!
Dreams too! (12) The world sees US wealth and hopes to vet,
To equal, and perhaps, exceed America’s success.
Quoth Shakespeare (paraphrased), “We’re all poor actors on life’s stage!” (13)
To work for love with no complaints suggests you value soup! (14)
In time you’ll find someone to love for whom love’s more than face
Or ties to wealth! Is love a boat that mortals commandeer
Or are we passengers at last who find “the play’s the thing,” (15)
That expectations strangle love that doesn’t flee the ‘coop,’ (16)
That no chain binds (or helps control) that rust will not erase.
The heart of Love begs you release all those you would keep near.
No prison built can hold a soul, but what-should-bees can sting! (17)
Brian Johnston
26th of October in 2019
(Please See Poet's Notes!)
Somewhere on this pretty planet,
There is a heart made of granite,
Indignation its pulse would take,
The soul’s machine fear'd trust too fake.
On righteous wings glory’s noose,
Hangs the head of war’s best muse,
Her eyes befit the worst of times,
The look, the stare defies all rhymes.
Reaching into forgotten tales,
History chose armored males,
Dusty tomes on hidden shelves,
Books in tongues for tiny elves.
Here’s to He who broke the bread,
A promise too many came instead,
Land so fertile flowers swooned,
Food to heal the people’s wound.
Abundance wreaks what dreams deny,
Riches breach thy neighbors cry,
Winds begin like soft whispers pass,
Fear the tempest that might amass.
No one heard the approaching storm,
The blind saw not the eyeless worm,
Man’s great cities it came to breed,
A pathos so hungry it began to feed.
The poor of mind hailed this time,
Its witless soldiers stuck in crime,
But this was no Christian phase,
Powerful waves, everyone pays.
Morning took hold, the sky was dark,
The bow was bent and knew its mark,
A book of facts, a thousand lies,
Verse so deep frozen beauty cries.
With thunder’s yoke rains wash took hold,
On tides ebbed out went all once old,
Upon spring flowers hope took turn,
Lime and ashes make death’s love yearn.
Once the deluge heavy airs broke,
Weeds and vermin went with a stroke,
Poison and bile, cancers two friends,
Fell to the grounds hungry amends.
Trees laughed loud and grew their hair,
Opulent green color’d the air,
The crowds were gone, the coast was clear,
Butterfly songs for all to hear.
Know you man’s hopeless devices,
Always waiting for a crisis,
To stick a sword in another’s heart,
Man’s most pathetic lost dead art.
Wolves and tigers follow no rules,
Never betting on prudish tools,
Blaming not the world as given,
Their jaws obey love’s laws arisen.
Eons ago a vow was made,
Years before words lost to trade,
The path before you poets know,
Only your heart can make life glow.
Pointed fingers hide three blind mice,
Beware of crowds and mob’s advice,
J’accuse writ large holds guilt away,
Thumbs up to She who holds her sway.
Issues, like mushrooms, spring up when two or more humans meet,
Issues start from how you are and what size is monkey's feet;
And thus my friend and I, like nail and flesh - same age - once met,
Debated on existence - theme fitting an intellect...!
Socrates, the thinking giant's thoughts on society!
Transcendence and idea-world of Plato’s gaiety!
Substance and categories of Aristotle - complex!
Theophrastus Botanical world - looked like an apex...!
Descartes –cogito ergo sum; Spinoza - sole substance,
John Lock - life, liberty, and property as confidence;
Discussions went endless like the flow of a stream fluent,
We had put a break and dwelt on matters very current...
Existentialism, like a thrilling tale, so exited us,
Concepts such as - God's no more - man is in confusing fuss;
Absurdity, null, void - A world filled with hell-like chaos,
If death puts everything at a standstill, what's not pathos?
Yet, there's no absolute end to creaturely life, I said,
Amidst death, there's the great resurrection and transcendence;
This theory, like a scorpion-sting, he soon reacted,
As though I'm an Orangutan, he got much protracted...
If so, will I rise, like Jesus, with my body and soul?
Or take rebirth into a dog or donkey or an owl?
Or from my ashes arise an orchid and multiply?
Or in soil or molecules of the cosmos will I sigh?
When I felt the arguments get heated like a quarrel,
And could bring in our heart cracks like drought dismally cruel;
I thought friendly relation is greater than life after,
And tried to replace the debate with some jokes and laughter!
Well, whatever way we exist after death, is life too,
Existence unblemished in heart, I said, is always true!
This too did not cut the cake, and he stood firm on his view,
I thought, within: if he holds to his view, why should I woo?
The world's vast; life's great; could I close growth in a cool cocoon?
Thoughts, like seas, are wavy and endless; is life a small boon?
My cat may have three legs; can't another have four or more?
Hence, in a world of views, should arguments have any shore?
08 October 2021
Difference in opinion Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shreya LN
I drink privilege, I breath iniquity.
Everything around me wreaks of docile obsequisy.
I was a born a prince, of a minor province.
And ever since, I have often heard words minced,
By those below, who dare but tow
The line of those above who hardly know
What ghastly sacrifices
Line their perfect patios.
For I was once one of the elect,
But now I am derelict.
But I yet carry the residue of favour,
Even though I am now considered a mere ranting raver.
My heart is broken but my bank-balance is booming,
So I cannot scream without drawing entombing
Glances, which look askance at what I can possibly mean.
There is no punishment for those who have stolen but a dream.
Truly, I would be content in a tent,
But I have rubies to pay my rent.
I can feel your envy already,
Try as I might to appeal to your pity.
Even worse than my wealth, I am in fantastic outward health,
And still even sometimes passably witty.
Yes, one could even say I have a talent,
For constructing rhyme, with sense still all but paramount.
But neither, I suspect, will you feel admiration,
For one whose losses heap up such desolation.
I am thought mad by all accounts,
Plus with all these pills
There's nothing left inside my pants.
Turning the t.v. on is practically like climbing a steep hill.
Privilege and inequity,
Two forces in fixed enmity.
Cancelling out our pathos.
I look around me, and see the world's sweat, blood, and tears,
Is spent on trinkets, and 5th holiday homes
For those passing a few most miserable years,
Too sick from depravity to reside in them.
Billions squandered on mimicking melanasome,
While the pale soul gathers dust, with nary an 'amen'.
Women careering too recklessly to care for her mother's aching bones,
And fathers flying too high to read stories to their children.
As for the millions starving in Africa- they can all rot.
Isn't that right, you greedy old sot?
The meat industry? It's swell.
Well done-you've created a living hell!
But its foolish to condemn, truly, I suppose,
We who suffer from it most are ourselves,
Its just the way that the wind, it blows,
We are destined to die the ironic, unlovely death of fallen angels.
let me make an argument for love you can’t refute
I want to win you
I want you to be convinced
I’m the best thing that there is
give heed to this, my argument of logos
for in that you will find peace
it makes sense
logical
I can satisfy your needs
a good arrangement
I know the empty spaces
of your heart
I will make you whole
completion is within reach
I am here
and what of ethos?
am I credible?
are you scared to trust in me?
afraid you will break
like before
By others who were untrue
stop keeping the score
I am not of the same hue
my color is faithfulness
I will never let you fall
ask anyone to testify of my honesty
ask now
believe
I am the real deal
rest in this my bed of honest devotion
trust me
in my eyes truth lives
I am credible
let my actions of the past now speak to you
dispelling your doubt
I am genuine
never fear
what can compare to pathos?
my all-encompassing love?
the oceans are impotent
the “mighty” waves weak
so unlike the mighty swells of my passion
that pound
that withdraw
only to come crashing down
stronger
Leaving you gasping for breath
pulling you under
again and again
tugging and churning
helpless in my liquid arms
the moon hides
unable to compete with my love for you
shamed by the brilliance
of my devotion
she gathers the stars
my love can illuminate
your way in the darkest night
even the sun is no match
to the fiery heat my passion ignites
wilder than an inferno
hot flares
Oh….so....H O T
it blazes with licking tongues of desire
able to melt your restraint
consuming
let it set you on fire
let it sear your heart
let me smell the scent of your burning body
in my unquenchable flame
I implore you to consider my great love
it is life
it goes beyond life
it is deep
it goes beyond depth
it goes beyond star embroidered veil of night
it goes beyond the horizon of today
tomorrow
and eternity
consider my love
the logos
ethos
and above it all, pathos
let them be my voice
open wide your heart to me
…today
don’t wait
surrender to me
s u r r e n d e r
to...M E
Eileen Manassian Ghali
The Estranged [A dedication]
Jay was sitting in his small cell
His head resting on the rails
Staring with an absent minded wonder
At the raiment on his shrunken shoulder.
Is he the same man! or a shadow of
Jay Sen the scholar, the stylist philanthropist
The graceful spendthrift, a sophisticated sophist.
When did his advent venture turned into adversity!
When did he turn an addict, refusing golden opportunity
He couldn't make up his mind
He couldn't cope up with the blind
Those who can't differ
A gold and a plated glitter!
Those who have used him and
Threw him like a burnt cigar.
The cynical pseudos who blamed him a psychic
Accordingly they deserved blows and kick.
To some 'normal humane' this was unusual
An act of violence, not so sane and frugal
From then Jay's address is 'the Asylum',
The 'kind' home for mentally disturbed hoodlums.
Just then he saw himself
In a half burnt cigar, the warden threw.
Smoke was still rising, it's still alive, he knew.
He wanted it so badly, he stretched his hand out of the rails
And a sudden pain gripped him
A hooked rod ripped him
Drawing back his bloody knuckles
Jay cries a song of pathos
A rhapsody of agony mixed with rage
Fills the air of the dim lit cage
The half dead creatures exhales sighs of sorrow
And thus the sighs and cries moves on
As great waves of echos.
One night an angel surely came for Jay
With a candle glowing with a serene light
Not for money,not for fame, but only to spread love
And took away all the painful humility like a feather touch of a dove.
She made the disturbed calm and quiet
Mr. Jay is a reformed man now, always happy and satisfied.
When drifting water of the river Hebrus murmurs
a heartrending cry surges from the bottom of the river,
and when this cry reaches the midsummer night’s sky
the stars echo and a lyre in the constellation by Zeus’ throne
plays sad music. And when tone adds pathos to deepen the darkness,
a nocturnal bird soars in the dark air, too, singing a sad song over
a grave in Libethra.
The reason the river weeps with a plaintive requiem is,
not because Erebus is too far or Styx is too wide,
but the stern ferryman denies Orpheus’ passage
to netherworld where he once passed with the crowds of the dead.
Although he once made the Furies cheeks wet with tears,
won a Proserpine’s sympathy and made Hades himself gave way,
why Orpheus has to cry a heartrending cry over Eurydice again
with his plaintive tuned lyre and song of touching story of his beloved wife?
It’s because he couldn’t cross Styx for second time.
He cried through the weeks of sleepless nights,
regretting why he turned his face back to assure
Eurydice followed, and therefore, heard her last cry of farewell.
He called Eurydice’s name for the weeks of agonizing days and
nights without food stretching his arms in air as if trying to hold her,
though she is not there.
Since his second farewell to his beloved wife on the dark and steep passage
of Erebus, Orpheus played his lyre and sang sad songs unceasingly. He sang
to tell his regretful experience on the way to this world at Erebus to the rocks
with melancholic but touching tunes, he chanted an account of the tragic life
he underwent with a gloomy but moving sound to the trees.
A viper, therefore, struck Eurydice with its sharp fangs again,
a horror that of the Maenads’ desire to capture Orpheus
tore him limb from limb.
And when the river murmurs, Orpheus’ limbs fell in water
parted from his body call to one another wishing to come in one again,
Orpheus’ keenness to see his beloved Eurydice grows more and more.
I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:
This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve
But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails
It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk
So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind
Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle
I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no payday at all, just your ego imploded
There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice
And now I am back as a voice for the ages
Except I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark
I bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
Dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat
Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe
____________________________
For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman
3-The chickens’ home
He ascended the stairs
He reached the last floor
He opened the chicken room’s door
He slept hanging his cat
Covering with hens over his chest
Over all his members
So he tried to get warm
In spite of the cold
He got up according to pick up
The chickens’ beaks
At his lips and face
He laughed for a moment
When he saw the cat without move
He cried and lifted her at the hill of chaff
He ascended and knocked the door
Ordering the chickens not to touch her
After he cleaned his clothes as he could
From their stools
She opened the door and released a high sigh
His father came with astonishment
When he saw his son at that manner
He laughed and tried to hang him
Forgetting to ask him
Where he was
Forgetting to show him his pathos
The wife screamed and wandered,”
Oh! Bad one
In spite of hurting him
You laughed at him”
The father ran and returned
He caught a stick
He hurt him in strong
The neighbors looked
His step sister and brother watched
He got up with big sad
When he stole out
He ascended with inner sad
His horizon was collapsed and closed
He expected everything wrong
He expected his future lost
When he opened the chicken’s door
He laughed at loud
He found the cat in fight position
With chickens those attacked
He carried her and celebrated
He danced and jumped a lot
He forgot his hurt and pain
He kissed her a lot
Then he hid
At his bag
When he was out
Her step mother kissed his father
She also kissed her children
When they ascended
His father called at him
He tried to kiss his son
He screamed and said,”
You are not my father
I wish one of us was dead”
That was bad wish
That son wanted to be achieved
There was some fault
Man could be remarked
Or all would be lost
He cried and ran
His step brother and sister took the bus
While he went on foot
The father hesitated
Then he went to his work as he thought
He was late
The boy went to school in sad
to be followed