Long Sympathetically Poems
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It rarely rains
on that dusty road,
trees turns to auburn and gleem...
fluttering to the brilliant light,
which dominates the night sky;
my unheard footsteps don't make a mere sound,
they'll vanish like these words that I whisper...
My long wait must end soon,
another storm may approach suddenly
on my calm horizon, ingnoring time,
and erase every beautiful feeling
shared with the ablazed moon;
a secret that keeps me going...
Nobody ever walks
on the solitary road of my backwoods,
the silent owls rest
on rough brenches
and partake of my open sadness;
they sympathetically stare,
but don't question a bit
my unintelligible glare...
My long wait must end soon
and there's no explanation
for the undubted words I'm speaking;
a farewell to the assumption
of an illusion that I'm not identifying,
to decribe the agonizing truth...
Distance
“What about you thinking?” asked Master Satan.
Regarding a meeting that never took place. “Never?”
Never. “I really don’t understand you. There wasn’t a meeting?
She was there. “And?” She sat close to me. A few chairs away.
“Where?” In a church. “ In a church. Where?” In London. Beautiful.
“What is beautiful?” The church. “What church?” The Saint Osmund.
“I asked you, what is beautiful?” I understand. You are wrong. “Why?”
The question failed. “Really? What is the right question?” … Who is beautiful?
“We must differentiate between what and who. And you can. Don’t play!”
With you. “Yes. I am your master.” I am sorry. “No problem. Good student.”
But the lady was there. She was a very beautiful young English lady. “Hmm.”
Yes. A woman. Medium height. Slender. Half-length blonde hair. Twenties.
“Nice blue eyes?” Yes. “And?” I waited for the mass. A few minutes. Only
I was looking for my Catholic Peayer Book in my backpack. I found.
Then I pulled out the book. In my backpack were my work clothes.
“What exactly?” Trousers, T-shirts, a high-visibility vest, and safety gloves.
“But the trousers and T-shirts were hospitality style.” Yes. “Why?”
Because I worked in an agency. Make sure everything I kept was gloves and a vest.
Never know your next workplace.
“That’s right.”
“Then what happened in the church?” The lady saw the contents of my bag. And..
… and she never looked at me again. An elderly couple behind us smiled sympathetically at me.
“Hmm.”
Yes. She was a beautiful English lady. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Nice shape, legs.
Nice summer dress, skirt.
“Hmm.”
Hmm. Yes. This is the distance. I was well dressed. She saw me as rich.
“What is the lesson from this case?”
The mass
“Really?”
I am not lying
Read my poem
In the Saint Osmund Church
It feels misguided,
yet I do not feel misled,
to aspire to fame, measured in assets
and/or in power to influence others,
capital and social benefits
possibly acquiring famous
and infamous allies
in glorious success
and
ingloriously dramatic defeat
of naked front page stories.
It feels safer
and healthier
for resiliently wealthy outcomes
to aspire to unnoticed integrity
with other win/win healthy players--
neighbors earn extra safety points.
Finally,
or even partially, realizing
it is for this we are born
and yet belong already
sacred subjects more than secular objectives,
sympathetically with,
and compassionately of,
living Earth
Both humane naturally competitive interest
and divine spiritually cooperative
multicultural co-investment.
‘I was born with the meaning of home running through my veins.’ Lauren Eden
inside the back door of our house our laughter rang out
as we sat chit-chatting around the kitchen table
playing board games or telling silly stories
upstairs at night we giggled in our bedroom
snacking on treats we had sneaked into our room
when dad would yell up the stairs at us to go to sleep
not able to quell youthful exuberance
for we had ties bound by a forever sisterhood
born by fate – I don't know
but molded nevertheless by our time together
secrets whispered in the dark
and heartaches assuaged sympathetically
fighting at a minimum
the place where today
though it be no more a building made of brick
is but a phone call away
Pulling this wagon by the scruff of my neck,
is like relaxing cross-legged on feeble bike handles.
The gentle gusts of your hurricane dazzle me.
Humouring the limitless requests of an oxymoronic cloud that swoops over your vision,
second by hour,
are the 3 batteries connected through the flat sides, powering my crowd of maggots.
The pedagogy of every goddess' life without the gods;
the arthritic juddering of a pencil after snapping between one's fingers that fell off;
spurs that sympathetically pierce the apple after hearing of the triangles;
wide-brimmed umbrellas drunkenly spiralling down to the epitome of existence -
"Mercy!" screams the provided resolve to them all, rekindling its might and willpower with its insecurity.
"What is the bread but flowers?
If the orchid and the rose would through the solemn winter implore,
Would we lie here in fantastical distrust?
And when the clock is returned unscathed, will you cower in it's presence?
What will it whisper to you, should such words of passion ever exist?"
The sake has been forsaken,
The sole has been consoled;
In which ethereal distrust should this fantasy subside?
For, in ours, I see a merely extinct world.
And the caterpillar has started its pledge across the tapestry again.
I could
Have been nicer
Perhaps
I could
Have reacted kinder
Possibly
I could
Have catered to your moods
More sympathetically
I could have
Would have
Should have
What kind of friend were you
When my word glance or opinion
Were interpreted and judged
In the most derogatory way
With no leeway for justification
White and black no room for gray
No chance for discussion
No option to rephrase or explain
Judge and jury
Crass and fury
Short and simple
Abrupt and superficial
Cold and arrogant
Crude and ignorant
Really
Less and less time
For fake so called friends
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2022
One obnoxious orangutan ordered oysters
Staff sympathetically said such supplies sold
Constantly complaining confronting chasing customers
Barred because before being boisterously bold
Two timid tigers tragically trembled
While watching woeful weasels wrestle
Standing straight shaking subconsiously scared
Displaying discomfort dizzy dribbling dreadful
Three talented turkeys taught tricks
Creating courageous crazy circus clowns
Amazingly always attempting additional acts
Frolicking foolishly finally forgetting frowns
Four fabulous flamingos fixed fences
Gigantic glamorous gardens generously grew
Proud pedestrians passing praised perfection
Beautiful bouquets blissfully blended blue
Five fussy frogs found french fries
Every enchanting experience eagerly entertained
Loudly laughing licking lemon lollipops
Sharing sarcastic smirks showing shame
12 April 2016
We laid hands on your empty corpse
We stretched hands to touch your soul
We cried sympathetically looking through your grave
We cursed the provocation that sounded your death knell
But again we are here and mourning
Crying for our beloved friend
In the depths of sorrow, we find solace
In the darkness, we seek the light
The memories of you linger in our hearts
A reminder of a life once bright
A fate worse than death, a loss profound
But in our grief, we are bound
Bound by love and shared despair
Bound by the memories we all bear
So we mourn, we weep, we remember
For in our hearts, you will live forever
A fate worse than death, we survived
But in our love, you will always thrive.
Form:
How often do shadows cry
And if they do
This means like us
they feel to
How often do whereabouts
dispose of their founders
The emptied hands pivoted gruesome
To only expire before you lose them
This is why my eyes cry
Late night movies
Midnight hours, how do you spend them
When letters feel “ no need to reply”
To where do we send them
A curious mind in eye sight
A figure taunted
The difference in people is
“Don’t let your personality dye”
Flesh wounds appear the same
Determination’s found in change
Could you spare me some change
A course of new events
Hand prints on the face of cement
Try not to take life out of context
“I’ll be home soon”
Read his final text
History is somewhat of a vex
Sort of a temporary fix
A day, a age, that some of us miss
How do you become a person
Or exhibit the features of everyday people
Minus the wars, the battles, the ether
Trouble awaits
For those of us who refute
Similar choices brought
About in this place of being
Bloggers are subsequent to ignorance
Just the lack of reading
Express’s the true meaning of being for real
The objective to live and protect yourself
Minus the kill
Sometimes glory comes as a steal
Did you think love was beautiful
Black coffee, cigarette buds
A raspy voice
from a figurine with seductive cuticles
A slice of pie
Banana’s and caramel
On top of our lie
Apart of me is fiction
And some of you is true
A journal
Do you commit yourself to unfulfilled comments
Did you dust your hands off
Wash your face
and forget to accept the necessary compliments
If I’m shady
then you weren’t around
Too far gone, dancing in the sun
Musically
you love the violin
Sympathetically
you can’t sing without the gin
For me the world becomes a playground,
the gray concrete becomes the forgiving mulch
beneath the swing set. The clouds start to move slower
and they all start to look more like dinosaurs or cowboys
when I watch them saunter across the sky.
The birds start experimenting with different genres.
Have you ever heard birds sing pop-punk music?
I think you’d really be surprised at their range,
I don’t know why they stick to classical and the blues so often.
The swans at the lake near my house stop fighting
half so often which is an amazing feat because swans
are the strongest willed creatures that I’ve ever met.
No love in the world, not even your enigmatic smile,
is strong enough to keep them from fighting completely.
Anyway, I’ve noticed all the doors I open do so eagerly,
and without complaint, no more whining or creaking.
Now that I’m really thinking about it I can’t
remember the last time I stubbed my toe or if I did
I can’t remember the pain. Splinters are a thing of the past,
my allergies haven’t come around anytime recently either.
But the thing that really stands out to me when I fall
in love is that I start seeing your face everywhere:
you’re in the window of every coffeeshop downtown,
you’re every person I stand next to on the train who smiles
sympathetically when I lose my balance as the train
leaves Boulevard station, you’re the murmuration
of starlings that weave and carve their way through pink
and orange sunsets above a silhouetted city.
I’m not sure if that answers your question but it’s the closest
I can come to answering it without getting sentimental.