Pathetically Poems

The Power of Great Art

When in the presence of great art 
I feel pathetically diminished
whereas I hoped it might impart
some little power of its greatness
into my ever diminishing existence, 
so that I walk away quite famished –
or worse, vanquished!

My Body Is My Friend

I stare timidly into the softly lit mirror,
Its gaze staring back at me unrecognizable.
I've been told this person is my friend,
But its reflection paints a different picture.
Its mixture mixes a mess of colors I never thought go together anyway.
A bit ghostly.
I trace its outline carefully -
A bump here, a dent there, extra padding everywhere -
So pathetically unfamiliar to me.
So frightening
   to me....
    To me
       to me
         to me
           to me
Why does no one else seem to see
What I see?
   What I see...
I've been told is my friend.
But friendliness bodes forbidden,
Foreign between the eyes of those destined to be one.
When will I learn my body is my friend?
Who honestly teaches that anyway?
I say honestly purposefully.
   Lies, all lies.
You see it, don't you?
I don't even need to explain for you to know.
That's how low this show has gone.
I need help unmasking and redefining
this 
 festering, 
  fatal 
   phenomenon.

False Sense of Pride

nothing feels more pathetically empty
     than a false sense of pride. ha!...
                        as if bullies don't know!

gumball machine blues

There is an enormous gumball machine in this hair cutting place.
It was probably gleamingly shiny and beautiful once.
Possibly held three hundred thousand gumballs.
Yes, Virginia, it is that big.
This machine is pathetically empty now.
There are only enough gumballs to fill the bottom inch of her bowl.
I feel sorry for her.

Capitalism is Artificial Intelligence

Tonight I told ChatGPT that the refrigerator wouldn't shut the hell up.

The thing pathetically rumbles in the cheapness of creation in modernity, with constant muffled screams; brgggrr whrrrzzz brgggrrr, over and over again, haunting these apartment floors and walls, suffered by the corporal forms adorning them.

Obsolescence looms with an intended vacancy for contraptions and their users in the void of capitalism.

Constantly replaced by cheaper and cheaper specs of dust floating around the Sun, expanding and shrinking ever yet, until sucked into themselves by self-created event horizons.

After I told the AI the appliance wouldn't silence, it silenced.

I hope for we the same.

Sick

Tension Spread Thick 

Layering Quick 

Mental Health Sinking And Physically Sick

Sympathy Party

Wounds Pathetically Licked 

The Sores Of My Past, I So Dangerously Pick

Black Cloud I Cloak, It Unbearably Sits

My Outskirt Persona Convincingly Tricks

A soul Held Captive, Body Imprisonment pit

Happiness Rarely Appears Through The Grit 

Broken And Bruised, Shattered To Bits

Accepting, I'm Far Too Gone To Be Fixed 

Yet, I Face Each Day Pretending And Refusing To Quit 



 







someday ill be fixed

This Time Around

Let it go, 
let it flow -
cut it with your words.
Slash at every piece of it
until it finally hurts.

Tear and open up old wounds,
pouring in the salt.
Take aim at it and fire away,
pinning down the fault.

Yeah, all those little thing
that you pathetically hold
onto so desperately
as you continue to get old.

You’re like the dog the scripture says -
“to his vomit” it would seem.
Yeah, like a broken record
and you know just what I mean.

But this time you can pack it up
and take all of your .
Shove it right straight up your ass!
I am sick of it.

Cuz this time it is different,
I’ll no longer be the one
that you can still manipulate.
Baby I am done!

A Grave Sin

You fell on earth,
sinner!
you shall meet your demise.
No God will pity you,
your vessels shall wreck
through your body.
Agony is your punishment,
foe of your happiness. 

You pious little men 
hope no more!
Poison lingers even after death.
For having sinned you shall fade.
No God will weep for you. 
No Man will grieve for you.
Lapsing to life was wrong, 
pathetically cruel was
surviving.

Ennui

The ballast of our Thursday afternoon
in the countryside lays distilled in your face.
Yawning like a cow in pasture eating sweet grass
your words flatten the moment.
Having no capacity of knowing
what you might see in an endless sky
you have seemingly died from boredom.
Your small dreams have squandered the butterfly’s wings
pathetically flapping ‘us’ into a Prantic trance,
We lay like sleeping rabbits under an erroneous sun
that does not rise above the numbness
of your wintering heart.

Gridlocked like a dog’s nose to the ground
on the scent of somewhere on a wall of many stains,
you hunt the missing birds sitting
on rainbows just out of reach,
then bait your hook to lure in the cold silver fish
reflected in diluted ponds of your resentment.

I wait…for a word never to be spoken while
you set your watch tightly
winding clock hands that spin in circles within your eyes
on a face of numbers that never leaves
its constant bemusement of wilted flowers.

Weak

Tomorrow I will wake up and work out just a half hour,
And yet I find myself weak. 
Today I will limit myself on the sweets I devour, 
And yet I find myself weak. 
Now I will get up and actually do something and clean, 
Yet I find myself weak. 
I will read today! Instead of stare at a screen, 
Yet, I am lazy and weak. 
I will hold my tongue, be less mean and obscene, 
And yet my soft lips turn to a sharp beak. 

I sail on, a captain ignoring a leak, 
Not taking steps to fix the wheel that squeaks. 
I promise myself hollowly to improve week after week, 
As I sit at the bottom just wishing for the peak. 
I can do it, I can make steps, have it be more than what I speak, 
If only if only…I weren’t so pathetically weak.

Same Time Next Week

Let’s try ballerina school she said.
She was convincing, but I was leery.
I have the largest feet in this bed
my hazel eyes are far-sighted and blurry.

It will be great fun, she assured me. This cousin of mine.
I wondered about it, but she is a convincing feline.
My best efforts were pathetically pathetic at best.
I was glad to get home to my cookies and take a well-deserved rest.

Same time next week, my cousin said optimistically.
I hope she is talking to my brother, certainly not me.

He Is the Prettiest Rooster

He is the prettiest rooster I have ever seen.
Handsome too, she said. She was the chicken hawk queen.
We had heard rumors about them both, some of them mean.
She was an ugly hen, kind of pathetically drably and green.

He is the talk of the barnyard, she told us. For sure!
If she was in love, he was possibly her sights-set-on-cure.
We watched him crowing, he was standing so near.
I think she would like him to call her “my dear”.

Drop the Ruse Continue Abuse

Evidently beyond your control
they must be less
for you to be more

A drive beyond
Your governess
to belittle,discard,abhor

declaring self hero or victim
Simultaneously
Acting so mean

Needing to reduce 
All others to
the smoothest satiny sheen

Worn by your abrasive ways
Chip,chip,
Chipping away

As you bolster and fluff
Bluster enough
to keep inner critics at bay

Pathetically parading your lack
for any
and all to see

News flash!
Never will the likes of you
decimate the likes of me

Get on with it
without pretense,with relish
As the hot dog with chips

P.s. Don't forget 
Send us postcards
From your endless ego trips

In closing may I offer
 this final savory bit 
In life those doing the smelling also as well dealt it

Seathed Conflicts

Seathed Conflicts

Devastatingly ignited  fire of riot for a decade, 
A bundle of clean rags of thoughts catches,
Through a baptism by flames of accidental  occurrence ,
 In a certain place causing damage and stress,
A strong wind fans the my inner strength,
Seedlings of my new themes on empty landscape,
Self-exposure of the war camarilla of my vision,
Outbreak sliders effectively against right-handers,
Of my hidden chestnut tree of foresight,
Adrift of the peacemaking weaver takes deep insight,
Unvoiced desires and pitiful vulnerability,
Push up the  bliss of revealed emotions on costs,
Of my scope of my measure of domained land,
To restore the life of broken stabilized  feeling,
Escape by recrossing of hovering of thoughts,
Away from the tides of time destiny,
Great pillars of my determined decision,
Prison  the warder of white rose flames,
A war broken host may drive them before,
An ardent mind pathetically shelves himself,
When phantoms of battle burst in mist.
Sajid Hussain Pakistan ©

Obsolete

We have a feeling
my love and I
that it's time to leave.
It is the passing
of an earlier time
for which we grieve.

Then, right was right,
hope was bright,
and civility was ever in sight.
We were free our minds to speak
no need for games of hide and seek
or to be pathetically weak.

Without a clap of thunder
that world  is dead down under,
making us wonder and perceive
that it's time for us to leave.

• Short Pathetically Poems
• Famous Pathetically Poems
• Best Pathetically Poems
• Read Pathetically Poems
• Long Pathetically Poems
• Pathetically Quotes