Long Sympathies Poems
Long Sympathies Poems. Below are the most popular long Sympathies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sympathies poems by poem length and keyword.
I-Robby
Robby had been married going on eight years,
2hen his Marie demanded a divorce,
whe had been planning, lawyering up,
and instantly dragged it into the court.
Poor Robby had not seen it coming,
he thought things had been going quite well,
he could barely deal with loosing his love,
much less navigating Family Court hell.
Worst still Marie had cleaned out their accounts,
so he had to borrow from his parents,
just to afford a junior lawyer,
in truth, Robby was unable to bear it.
Being separated from his two boys,
being along with no partner if life…
What could he have done to ever have earned
the enmity of his once loving wife?
The proceedings, they just kept dragging on,
and Robby faced insurmountable bills,
then one day Marie claimed that he’d hit her,
that his temper was always set to kill?!
Robby’s family gawked in disbelief,
their boy never even been in a fight,
they all tried to say the Marie had lied,
but she played the judge’s sympathies right.
Men don’t fare well in Family Courts,
in the end Rob lost near sixty percent,
add the that alimony, child support,
and no custody of his two children.
The young men felt his world crashing on down,
but the worst of it was yet to come,
Marie’s claims made their way up to his boss,
and within weeks, Rob’s position was gone.
When he told the judge he was out of work,
and his payments would have to be changed,
she said,”I’ll have to investigate this,
many dead-beats go to lengths to not pay.”
That dragged on for several long months,
and Robby was already long broke,
one morning a cop waited on his front door,
and with a sneer, glared at Robby and spoke:
“We have got a complaint that you have not
paid up on this month’s child support.
A warrant has been issued for your arrest,
I really hate dealing with your sort!”
He tried to explain his words with the judge,
but the officer really didn’t care,
dragged into court, Rob found the same judge,
glowering down at him from her chair.
“Your wife needs those payments to survive,
nut you seem to think this is a joke,
so you’re going to spend a week in jail,
and learn an important lesson, I hope.”
As to the judge’s biased nature,
Robby no longer had any doubts,
and none there knew that when he went away,
never more would he ever come out…
CONTINUES IN PART II.
There has been news about piracy in the high seas...
And here is news about a nefarious activity you don't see...
People go missing in action off the waters of Philippines...
And then the cat and mouse game of high stakes begins...
While some families agonise over their missing loved ones....
Going by the news, the border security patrol force was duly informed...
But this I wonder, looks like the sovereign security patrols fail once again...
With a dusk to dawn curfew in force, was there a lapse in security yet again...
Was it a case of lax security or was it a case of one attempt too many...
Border Patrol boasted it has thwarted double digits of attempts that were so many...
Is this latest affront to sovereign securty a reminder we cannot escape kidnap attempts...
When we have for our neighbours bandits who sees us not as human beings...
Catch some Malaysians, then began a hide and seek game in the jungles of Philippines..
Next is a couple of months of various seek n find missions involving the governments....
And negotiations in earnest then begins , builds up to a critical delicate point ...
For money in a few tens of millions, freedom and lives can be traded to a point...
Should negotiations fell through or deadlines are missed, death to the victims ...
Often it's slow death by beheading under the guise of fanatical religious belief...
Hoping for religious sympathies to condone a blatant cruel act against humanity..
When in essence it was all a well disguised despicable act of kidnapping...
Treating fellow humans as human cattle to be traded and prices haggled...
While playing God and pretending to be God's warriors when talks are bungled...
Claiming every unfortunate victim's life in the name of the Islam religion...
Thinking in their warped religious fervour they are on the pathway up to Heavens...
These terrorists, they can be no other, terrorise the international community...
With such blatant organised crimes of inhumanity with such impunity...
Maybe vigilante squads in the Philippines is the final solution....
Thousands of drug peddlars and merchants are dead by executions...
Looks like therein lies a possible solution, storm the dense jungles...
Cash rewards for vigilante squads killing terrorists in the jungles....?
In Memoriam Quietly Always Close
Are they whispers, then, settling
So gently upon that slightest breeze wending
Over the granite crosses and statues of cradling angels,
Which stand in their long cemetary rows?
Stating each name of the one passed on with
There-on etched, too, the noting of time alive
And telling of the beloved, who hum there their slow laments;
Who send up colorful balloons to celebrate their love and
Take far their silent greetings in the sky.
Are they lullaby heartsongs, which
Rise on sprigs of heaven-bound light,
So tunefully sweet for love’s addressed, aided
By a league of angellic composers
In their lyrical rounds from above our earthly sphere?
Are these the places of our hushed sympathies?
The places we lay over our dear ones
All the broken pieces of the grieving heart’s still longing
To stay in some way forever near, and, so, we linger thoughtfully
Criss-crossing the undulating final verdigris
Landscape, which embraces the last remains ~
Resting on in heaven’s wait for that further journey going on.
Are these faint mists surrounding
So many hours of our own remaining days —
Which are spent summoning back the stories, the touches,
The eyes that happily cast their glance into our own —
Not truly our tears
Being turned to magnifying memories,
Prayerfully appearing with each
Dusk’s close of day and placid rise of the radiant moon?
Do see that the soundless falling is our aching?
Is a furor — burst of pure, white snow:
A flash of a blizzard, looking nearly weightless,
Landing in silence, but
Incongruously, falling heavily down, into those forming crystalline layers
To dress a seeming lace-like çover over all the stone markers
With a luminous beauty, revealing a metaphor, ineffable
~ Blessed markers of life itself set here before us
Within reach of meeting the Divine.
—————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 6/5/2023
(Written for Jennifer Wilson & Maggie Hopkins in loving
Memory of James Hopkins, spouse, father, & friend) Also written with the inspiring power of images of the 9,000 marking gravestone crosses in Normandy, France, and sights of Arlington Cemetary, Washington, D.C.
Written to unaccompanied cello Suite 1 in G major, perfomer Yo Yo Ma
Thanks be to God…
Of all old friends, those we have of old are best;
These the souls we travel with by preference,
Theirs the spirits to whom we grant all deference.
Their hopes are ours, ours their own;
All victories shared, from like ambitions grown.
Their years match step with ours,
Show like passage of the hours,
Silent steps of Time with which our lives are sown.
They are moved as we are moved;
Troubled and pleased by like turns of Fate,
We pass through one another's gates
Into rooms where loyalty is proved
By ties of woven sympathies,
By bonds no outsider sees.
By bonds no outsider sees
We tie ourselves to those who share
The pithy heart of all unspoken cares,
The shadows that would dim our days
If no one shared our private ways,
If none there were to let us know
The fitness of the face we dare not show;
The old friend nods and quietly stays
Close by our side when mere acquaintance leaves,
Unashamed to share our darkest inner night;
Awaits with us the slow return of light.
The old friend trusts and faithfully believes
The tales we tell ourselves of joy or sorrow,
Looks to yesterday and forward to tomorrow.
Looking back to yesterday. forward to tomorrow,
We walk with them through the wilderness of living
Thankful for their presence and forgiving,
As do we, the flaws that mark our human bounds
Ignoring discordant notes that sound
From time to time in all the narrative
We build to define our days and give
Form and substance to the constant rounds
Of night to day and day to night,
Our mutual progress towards Eternity,
The approaching dark we do not wish to see
Unless in company with the comforting light
Of well-earned close companionship,
Of sympathetic souls who join us on the trip.
Seeking truths wherein the brave heart delves,
We guide each other through dwindling days
To face the world, to learn its ways,
Its cruelties and its beauties shared
Both the better for each time we dared
To question this, our common Lot:
To Be, awhile, and then to Not.
So we share all we have got
To fill our time, to weave our lives.
Without old friends, the path is drear and long,
Where goes but one to compose the song
To tell of what we were, and how we strived
To rescue Sense from Folly, all the rest;
Of all friends, those we have of old are best.
Death Via Boredom: A Dragon's Demise
Stamping forth from his lair,
Preceded by billows of smoke
The great dragon's murderous red-eyed glare
Penetrated the gloom as he wrathfully spoke.
"Who dares disturb my thoughtful repose?"
Thundered the Worm, rocking back on his heels.
"'Tis another fool knight, I suppose,
Come to discover how a broiled lobster feels."
'Twas no powerful knight come to attack,
But a mere magician's apprentice who met his fell gaze.
The boy humbly bowed, the beast was taken aback;
This lad was scarce worthy of setting ablaze.
"Oh Great and Glorious Worm!"
The child addressed him humbly.
"I have traveled to see you through sun, through storm."
The dragon, amazed, regarded him dumbly.
This pilgrim went on: "Your wisdom is spoken of
Through lands far and wide. From you I fain would learn.
For men are foolish, learning's my love,
So to your edification I turn."
The dragon smiled, full of reptilian pride,
Decided to grant the youth's noble whim
Certain his wisdom was known far and wide,
He would teach the fool something, before torching him.
"What shall we discuss?" asked the Worm, settling down.
"Why, things of importance, of course", said the lad.
"Tell me of things that make the wise frown.
With but a pinch of your knowledge I shall go away glad."
"You are, Noble Worm, mighty, learned and old;
Many have perished in your fell breath.
I dread and respect you, not being so bold,
But be warned: we academics may talk one to death."
The beast laughed long at such a preposterous thought,
And engaged his guest in conversation.
The young pup argued well, and soon he was caught,
Entangled in deep meditations.
They spoke about natural sympathies,
Of the merits of wealth and self-isolation.
They pondered metaphysical antipathies;
Fine points of etiquette; philosophy's consolations.
No telling how long the scholarly prattle
Dragged on, 'til sleep stole over a bored beastie's eyes.
His guest then slew him without the trouble of battle
With poison tipped daggers jammed into his soft inner thighs.
Taking leave later, laden with valuable dragon parts,
He was heard to mumble wearily to himself:
"How the proud love to hold forth on others' arts,
Though to stray from the known can be bad for the health."
Learning when/how to close seat then...
flush... the toilet with good frisson!
(alternately titled long windedly
using lower case letters:
no matter tidily bowled over based
upon real events, perhaps subject devoid
of literary merit and/or taste
no embarrassment, cuz
I got nothing to cover
despite precious time going to waste).
Analogous to constipation,
constitutes full term pregnancy,
perhaps umpteenth or first,
which former offal bodily function I durst
mention, said subject doth stink,
yet... exercising bowel
applicative, constrictive, effective,
exhaustive, gesticulative, instinctive,
massive, oppressive, qualitative,
quantitative, significative and unitive
(beg to differ if ye think me perverse)
both scenarios prone to stress and strain,
difficulties can arise evacuating bowels
gluteus maximus muscles severely pursed,
radiating sharp stabbing sensations
behind junk in trunk quarters felt
until bulging temple veins ready to burst,
where piles of hemorrhoids
foul rectum tortured and accursed
necessitating Judas Priest well versed
to issue last rites while
appropriate official dull livers worst
news to missus, whose
inconsolable sympathies nursed,
nevertheless bit torrent of sorrow
honor alone time with grateful dead
subsequently finds medical personnel disbursed,
privately newly minted widow mourning
tears for fears immersed
bemoaning sudden permanent absence
gone fore e'er foremost farter figure first
instance obliterated, when posterior
uproariously (actually not funny)
inflicted hemorrhage emergency,
die hard ludicrous poet (me) experienced
all expense chauffeured ride in hearst
aforementioned purportedly roughly comparable,
courtesy hearsay, when
hypothetical woman with child,
(here, I metaphorically paraphrase)
as maven ready to take aim giving birth
(nine months after satiating
hankering call of the wild
buzzfeeding miracle worker whipped thirst,
and temporarily appeased
inherent maternal yearning
to beget offspring, then... off to races
sprinting at greased lightning speed
amazingly enough slightly protruded womb,
(among other fledgling
and/or practiced moms avid runners
all touted as winners relay race crossing
finish line simultaneously
comprising distance measuring more'n verst.
Our son wanted to do his duty so into the military he went.
Working hard and trying not to worry are how our days are spent.
We're very proud of our son in this there is no doubt
But we're really looking forward - to the day that he gets out!
We received a letter from him just the other day.
The fighting picked up and from his unit he did not stray.
Even though he was doing his duty - in his heart we do abide.
In his letter to us - his fears and worries he did confide.
People are dying all around me is what to us he said.
It's hard to turn our minds off when it is time for bed.
What can we do for him from here when we're so far away.
We'll give him words of courage to overcome what may.
Picked up the newspaper to see that soldiers we had lost.
When will people learn that for war - this is the cost?
Wait here just a minute there is a knock upon our door.
We were not yet prepared for what fate had in store.
Two people from the military waited patiently to be let in.
Still in shock and disbelief we went into the den.
Mam we're here to tell you that your son is dead.
He fought very valiantly, and saved his friend instead.
In his pocket was a letter addressed to you.
It may hold words of comfort for you alone to view.
The next few days were busy - as we laid our son to rest.
The letter was forgotten, this war we do detest!
I stumbled upon it in my latest cleaning spree.
He expressed that he was homesick and wanted to be with me.
But he knew he had to finish what he did start.
Even if he was the next to die - knowing this would break our heart.
To all who are listening - know that some must take a stand.
So that we may enjoy the many freedoms of this land.
Know that our kin and loved ones did not die in vain.
And sincerely hope that one day our children - will never know this pain!
Footnote: I wrote this as loosing a son but there are many females in the military and I am sure we have lost many of them as well - just change the pronouns and gender in this poem if it is a daughter you have lost. And my deepest sympathies to all of the parents, families and friends of the families who have actually experienced this type of loss.
5/06/16
Through my eyes
I see a world laid before me.
A world of color
where many is looked at
but less is seen.
My “eyes” would see the world,
but the world would see only “me”.
I wonder what the world would see
if they looked in my eyes instead…
Would it be the same image they see in “me”?
I maybe in pain,
but I may cast a smile
to the world outside.
They will see only my laughter,
but not the fire of agony
burning in my eyes.
I may have committed crime,
and maybe helpless though I regret it.
I may play an act of innocence
trying to believe it never happened,
in the effort of starting a new life.
But, the guilt in my eyes
would give the final verdict
which the world would not know
unless they seek the truth in my eyes.
I may sympathies.
But, my words may express
very little to be heard.
But, the world will not see
the kindness in my eyes.
Since, the words spoken by the eyes
are meant to be felt,
not to be heard.
They; the world may look at my eyes
But, may fail to look into my eyes.
Amongst them all
you and I may have passed by a many times,
but, the moment our eyes meet –
what is it that I see?
Not a world of color
like I have been looking at before..
But, if not for color, how can I see?
Now I come to realize
that what I see is a world beyond my sight;
a world of thought and imagination.
What is it I see in your eyes?
Trust? love? hatred? sympathy? or depression?
You may wonder the same.
But, this moment of eye contact
would unknowingly provide the answer,
taking us away from this world
to the deepest depth of the world of thought
behind our eyes.
But, with one blink
we shall come down to earth again-
We have not spoken a word,
but have communicated a silent message
of a million words.
As the eyes express suppressed words
which are longed to be spoken.
After this moment
I shall look back and walk away,
taking with me the memory
of the look in your eyes.
I know not whether we shall meet again.
But, we share a moment that will last till the end;
a journey to a world beyond our sight…
- Kushalee Jayawickreme -
The Words I haven't spoken... have held me back for many years,
And thoughts of blame and worry... for to many times I've tasted tears,
For a preacher tries to guild his flock... so many times i failed,
For i have looked up at an empty sky... to bring him back oh how I've wailed,
And now three days and counting... until Herman ratcliff lands on solid ground,
Should I become the man i set out for... 15 yrs ago that's still not found,
Am I lost in the abyss of misery , will this mind ever reach it's peace,
Or for this minds sake and principle with this man just reach for a peice,
Will i get mashed up like potatoes...even 2nd in command he got it wrong,
I just did the best I could...just out of reach reach to get it right he wished for solid
ground,
It's not racial or racist to many eyes it seems to be...it's just the make up and break up
of a fictitious family to be,
But Herman you messed up when you crossed Bennett and olive and fate struck my brother
down...for I will smile upon the day they toss you corpse inside the ground,
I hope that right before you die that you see and remember me...that i'm the boy that
became a man in spite of what your young self has done to me,
Say kiss my butt to my mom one more time and see what happens to your seed...I'll erase
from the history books...and they won't remember nothing but me,
The east side Earegood boogie man will creep all through your life...down ever broken
corner you rome...the word irrelevant will personify your life,
I'm the man that's still a boy that tasted tears all through his life...that messed up a
million times in this messed up thing we called life,
I got my sympathies for you that I've seen that side of change...you didn't do anything
but get caught up you say your actions to you were strange,
No degree, no trade, just some years to degrade, your mind and soul you try to keep up but
inside you die...Oh how I wish you'd see these eyes,
No apologizing..no way to get out...what the fates have lined up for us theres no one to
hear you scream and shout....Michael Earegood II
The Tramp Persona
Who was this boy, a pauper born?
Existing in despair and continual forlorn
Scandalized, accused of communist sympathies
Encompassing both adulation, and social controversies
Charlie Chaplin how can I take you seriously?
Chucklesome slapstick injecting tragedy
Awkward, little mime tugging at the heartstrings
A cathodic empathy he brings
of all those around him, a famous clown
A wiggled walk, a cane, a grin, a frown
The Great Dictator, as plain as black and white
In the struggles against misfortune, the tramp persona typified
A virtuoso kid he found at a hall by chance
A four-year-old child, he saw him dance
A gift he gave to us, a sharing alliance
The Tramp who mastered the power of silence
I was hardly aware of a crisis because we lived in a continual crisis; and, being a boy, I dismissed our troubles with gracious forgetfulness. —Charlie Chaplin, on his childhood
Marylin Monroe “She was a tramp.”
Without her contracts at 20th Century Fox and Columbia (which had both been dropped) who were hungry for denial and headlines. Instead, Marilyn said this:
“I was broke and needed the money.
Why deny it? Tom Kelly’s racy nudes of me
You can get one [a calendar] anyplace.
Besides, I’m not ashamed of it, I’ve done nothing wrong
I was a week behind on the rent and it’s here where I belong
I’d never have done it if I’d known things would happen so fast in Hollywood for me.”
Her candor and honesty charmed everybody
You have this sense of having met a wounded little canary not a peacock. Only when you pick it up in your hand to comfort it … beneath the wounds, vulnerability, and innocence, you find raw strength, and a big heart—I Am Anaya
Lady And The Tramp
A warm and loving story
For dog lovers, in the sense of humor
A carefully nurtured cocker spaniel, Lady
Born in New York City a Baby boomer
Natural beauty overwhelming, a pedigree no vamp
And a rakish, debonair, freedom-loving wanderer
of a dog who wares no man's collar, Tramp