I freely admit and hereby disclaim
when writ 'twas a pitiful rhyme
and all those moments
will be lost in time
like tears in rain
in Spain
they stay
mainly in the plain
or so they say
and yet are washed away
down the drain
never to be shed
or seen again
Flowers are pretty
Only if they get their necessities
If they don't, they look ty
Like they just had pity parties
Just like flowers
We need showers
If we aren't responsible
We'll end up pitiful
The poor pitiful boy
The one who thinks he can always get his way
Poor pitiful boy
Who thinks crying is the answer
When you disregard what I’m saying
The poor pitiful boy
Who thinks he can walk all over me
Poor boy
You do not realize the fire in my belly
And the blade on my tongue
I was not made to be put out
And I sure as hell
Was not made for my words to be easy to swallow
You poor thing
You think you’re hurting me
But in the end, you're hurting your own pitiful heart
It will be hard at the start
Getting used to not feeling my touch
But there will come the day when that pitiful heart breaks
And you come running back to your first-aid
Though I’ll no longer be there
Waiting with needle and thread in hand
I will be growing
Fixing myself from the damage you caused
I’m as delicate as a rose
But my thorns will touch you before the petals
Because at the end of the day
My guard will be high
And the Poor Pitiful boy
Will be on the ground, shattered again
Summer Winds
Amidst strong winds, John was treading the road
Carrying on his back a heavy load,
It was a pitiful sight
To brave the wind in such plight:
When load fell down, it showed a bag of toads!
Do you have a poetic licence
to park your pitiful purple prose
(alliteratively he wrote)
it even puts my poor feet to sleep
and gives me painful coma toes
(literally did he quote)
And have you paid your syn tax
to persist in paltry poetry
(a non sequitur perhaps)
as dabbling in sad scribbling
is how your paean 'ppears to me
(no storied scripts mere scraps)
Before paper and pen you pick up
or possibly parchment and quill
(pheasant not porcupine)
please procrastinate perchance to ponder
prior to putting out pig in a poke swill
(pearls of wisdom before swine)
Give me one moment to reflect
On wonted scenery once erect
The steel, glass and wood all made
A home for birds, and those who trade
From here, there, all did see (unless
housed in a cave) Hollywood on TV
Land of the free, Home of the brave
Brandishing banners with God's Holy Name
Pitiful shadows dance when we stir
Given voice from the Puppeteer
Those towers stand in our mind's eye
Etched in retro, the old New York skyline
A warning? God forbid some say
Unsung heroes receive their just acclaim
Poetic justice? Verdict delayed
The sun rose again, the Eagle soared frayed
Our savior trod to Golgotha
We too will walk the road anathema
Remembering when. looking forward to
(Nothing borrowed, blue or old) something new
Danny Diver is no belly-flopper
Only this time his dive came a-cropper
Danny started out fine
But he’d drunk too much wine
He's motionless in the rescue-copter
eating again, glutton of cost
he crawled to embrace
the concept of everything, all
hugged to a chest spilling,
kissing vacuous stomach
slid up the slender flesh,
saliva made slugs
a viscous downpour of greed
it could only emanate from he
the glutton of cost
he gnawed at the presence of
all that is near
nothing was sacred in
the space placed between his ears
it is capsized by fear
it is desperate, with agony clear
a glint in his eye
the last star falls from his sky
vomit coated fingertips
cut between despondent lips
pity not the glutton of cost
whomst does not know to
cut his loss
he is the pitiful orphan
of his hopeless cause
oh glutton of cost
you are to blame
for all you have lost
Spit fire and spin honey,
the target-a wealthy man and his money.
She has no other talent that qualifies,
just the sum of what quantifies.
She's got cause and family ties,
under the guise of friendship and lies.
Depending on time to line her pockets,
she waits like a spider to sign the dockets.
The honey it dries,
the old man dies.
It evokes such pain and indifference,
targets of especial sentimental significance".
You dig
pit
after
pit
after
pit.
Then wonder why nobody comes around.
The few that tiptoe into your eggshell world
are only there to use you...
In greener years you were just another cutter
graduating to just another pit digger...
Blood or not, I won't dance in your self-inflicted pits.
I'll just sidestep the "hole" mess and say happy digging.
The Pitiful Reality Of Time And Infinite Sorrows
green pastures, dawn's glow
future scenes of lonely night
pale moon, shadows fall
Robert J. Lindley,
haiku, ( Wherein A Battle Rages On )
This very short poem is all that I can muster now of my dedication to my lifelong writings...
Sad....
Whereas once many centuries ago, writing could ease my pains and help heal me- now it seems to be a negated exercise and thus not so...
Do I have to scold you and remind
you that time is too precious
to be wasted on silly games?
Laugh pitiful, fool, laugh...
not a single line of any attempted
conquest can change this awareness!
Do I ever get annoyed and top my ears
not listening, just pitting your silliness,
but being the center of attention...
you find it hard to be let down!
Laugh, pitiful fool, laugh...nothing
can change your perspective on life
and the insincerity you hide;
laugh, pitiful fool, laugh...everything
has consequences and losses,
and this chance you toss for pride!
Scorpio and Aquarius aren't a match,
there are no beautiful stars to catch;
one extremely quiet, the other too wild...
one very warm, the other completely cold!
Laugh, pitiful fool, laugh...nobody
can do evil and not be punished;
laugh, pitiful fool, laugh...everybody
is aware of your craft to be deceived
and not be loved with sincerity!
Never smile and hold hands or run wild,
never listen to the pelting rhythm of the rain,
never hear the loud cry of the howling wind;
isn't it better to be on a getaway train?
Pitiful illusions
I've had spectral visions, haunt me in my dreams
Spinning my meditations, into nightmarish schemes
My pitiful illusions, scatter in depth of night
Mourning has broken...darkness conquers daylight
John Derek Hamilton
December 18,2019
Excerpt taken from my poem
Mourning has broken
written October 10,2019
Propped open, perched up
Placed in place on your pedestal
Pondering if your position on top is permanent, your premeditated perverse becomes paranoia
Protracting your path of prideful propulsion while we pause, preoccupied by the propaganda polluting our vision
To the public your punctual, full of purpose
Pitiful, people cannot perceive the true purpose in your perception
This prison you have placed us in painted as a palace, a paradise for the pensive person
Persistent on pushing politics with a personal preference and no proof of positive effects
A private and profound plan to purge a percentage of the populace
And you are just a piece to the puzzle
Purely a puppet
To ponder is a principal of the people not yet punishable
The paralyzed population still has pupils, piercing through your puny pompous perspective you call protection
I am beautiful, so stop being pitiful, you can't change me, I'm God's creation you see, I may not have the looks in all the pictures I took, but I've got bass that I can't replace. My personality is wild and weird, but I don't care, cause normal doesn't compare. Your fist and your words will hurt, but you cannot stop me from getting back up from the dirt, I may be short, but my standards are tall, there's nothing more you can do to make me feel more small, so go ahead and keep putting others down, they will rise, and you will still be on the ground. So are you mad or not? Cause it seems like your salty that's all!
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