"empathic" poems
Artistic
Respectful
Intelligent
Avantgarde
Empathic
Moving
Intense
Loving
Youthful
Sporty
Preppy
Emotional
Nice
Caring
Eccentric
Resourceful
Happy
Adamant
Natural
Naughty
Aware
Alive
Learning
Isolated
Scared
Original
Naive
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
Beyond the passion of colour
the wind is crawling over trees
clawing at loose clothing
and things
not tethered or secure.
Beyond empathic words uttered
it sings hollow
and then a full
roar
settling its breath
to a sigh as it dies
beyond the texture it brings.
With nothing to mark
its existance except thee.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
Smoke tokes out of the monkey's head, embers embellish empathic light enlightening gypsy nymphs from miles around, a glowing lighthouse haven heaven in nirvana massages lavender bubbles upon pores restoring strength to warriors of the rainbow tribe."
Wind rustles with us...
Stay grounded, you're found before you're even lost. Some get tossed and turned by the sea, but a smooth one never created a skilled pirate with third-eye versatile switch-blade heartbeat ink scribed on blood-vessel maps, following the soul tattoos and taboo time scars along with the azurite lightning stars shooting in our brain.
Time stops sometimes...
*Seasons change DNA re-arranges as we grow goin' with our own flow down the subconscious ocean, sometimes watchin' sunsets into a haze of sweet *** sweat and green cigarette peacetime sufi twirling our conscious to the north star crown chakra.*
Love is. Always.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
"Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly" (2)
who needs challenges, commissions.
kicks~in~le butte~
when heaven heaves rains, one downs tall orders in
short shot glass verses, which glossed over at its
first communion(cation,
come back
months later
to subtract - another
poem from where it lay dormant
on the doormat
of my sub~sub~terranes
of my diluted subconscious au natured dry & rugged terrain
a favored poet,
a secretive admirer,
whoa~whose~her truthful name, I've yet to uncover,
but whose one true soul inspires me repeatedly,
ana~lyrically licks me into
dredging from me
un begrudgingly
and yet,
another love poem,
she herself wrote when elixiring (commentating (3))
'pon one of mine,
a long long time ago
Alas! Alack!
unnaturally immodest,
one concedes,
when obviously a Super~Woman!-cedes,
seeds in three verses, what I could never unknot
nor uncover
so I requite & requote with
unlabored pleasure
miz patty m's
primary terse verse,
neither secondary & never tertiary,
her absolut perfect mixed drink
defining, summarizing,
the essences of love
*"(Love) Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly"*
I concede, in deed,
and in writing,
I know nothing,
of writing
of only love poetry
and all the great predecessors,
elsewhere lyricized, named and tabulated,
by yet another women, (1)
I will take my weary words elsewhere,
and if
perhaps,
disguised as a woman,
(Natalie, Natasha, Natali
see note below)
perhaps my verbal herbal insides,
my turgid insights,
will be shorter, sweeter,
but never more completer
than those of,
who can syncopate it
in rhyme
and the naming of my
predilection,
by mid~initial,
will give a measuring
of solace, and
a kiss and hug from my mirrored selfie,
having been unsuccessful at
my one chosen endeavor,
only love poetry,
adieu,
I, due,
utter
Nevermore
M>
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:38 PM UTC
The feelings around me.
My empathic workings.
Screws tightening when he walks by me.
He's angry.
The world
Is nothing but a ball filled with anger and sorrow.
My fellow empaths.
Are here to help.
And none of you know it.
What a weird place this is.
It's dark and scary room.
Is nothing but a scream.
Will it get me through to my next lifetime?
So I can be one of the empaths working the healings and feelings,
Of my fellow friends.
I'm an Empath.
And nobody...
Knows..
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 3:15 AM UTC
it's a friday night and i am sat at the top of the bleachers with three packs of maltesers i told the cashier were for my friends with a blurry grin and the hot chocolate in my hands lied. it's lukewarm and tastes of milk, not sweets, and the taste of it still taints my lips because i'm forcing myself to drink it anyways. the stars are yellow set against navy hues and they're blinking down at me.
there's announcers shouting something about the game occurring on the field but i'm not listening, never listening, never apathetic or empathic enough to want to. the music blares, cheers roar, announcers boom, the scoreboard flashes- it's cold enough to be huddled beneath blankets but i've only got a sweatshirt hiding my hands, hiding my fingers, hiding me. my ribs shiver and the ghosts in the spaces between them gather closer for a warmth that won't come. the moon says hello to me and i struggle to catch enough air to say it back.
my friends are nowhere to be found and i can't feel my fingertips and the flavor of lukewarm hot chocolate leaves me and i'm closing my eyes, shutting them tight, disconnecting.
there's suddenly no one here, just me and the blackness behind my eyelids. it's like i'm watching humans but never being one of them. maybe i'm meant to be an alien- maybe that one star blinking at me is a planet welcoming me home- maybe if i lay my lungs to rest they'll leave me be.
i can feel my heart giving up on me.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
I am lost for words, as I am empathic with the planet.
Although we truly stand in line for death and the afterlife, it is important that we mother our young.
I do not deny the allurement of sociopathic inclinations and I heartily validate the sexuality of suburban expression.
But, we both know – politicians rise like winged beasts from the murky depths of sociological oceans.
Can I touch your skin and give you compliments?
I love your being, just as it is.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
Certain men may be pigs, and maybe some feminists take it a bit far,
but when it comes to sexism, I certainly don't think it's restricted to ***
and when it comes to racism: there's no such thing as race.
Far too many **** Sapiens are just ******* vapid and odious when it comes to their personality, in general. It doesn't matter if the narrative is One's *** or religion, politics, perceived gender, art, science, the weather or any other elite form of edified philosophy.
I want to believe that everyone has merit-
that they cannot be judged by any external entity
that, because it is external, lacks the whole context.
Still, some people spoil my attitude towards people a bit.
Humans are my favorite counter-example; yet, I love us. Somehow.
Jaded though I may well be,
I seek foremost to be kind, but that makes you a doormat.
One seems to have two choices: be a push-over, or an *******
I seek the middle path:
empathic and kind, but also self-interested.
..something of a "passive-assertive" person.
Returning to the point:
I'm just an equalist, I guess.
Egalitarian. Individualist.
Sexism? Racism? Nationalism?
Why the **** is it even an issue?
Haven't we grown up at all in the last 10,000 years?
If someone's skin color, chromosomal composition, language, wealth, ethnicity, or where on Earth they happened to be born is that big of an issue to you psychologically and socially, there are much bigger problems going unchecked boiling over within you. The abandoned kettle whistles.
Good luck. Earnestly.
We're all counting on you.
People are people.
Worry about yourself and what and who you love.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 12:20 AM UTC
109
So ******* lucky
To be the person I am
Be as you are
90
Flying in the air
Notes ebb and flow
So sweetly
124
In her arms
She gently caresses
My beating heart
125
Listen carefully
The universe whispers
Through wind, rain, and heart
126
Frantic I am
Inpatient, frustrated
Reason? Unknown
127
The thoughts, words
Trickle slowly from above
Below and within
119
Unfolding slowly
My buds reach for the sky
And gasp for water
120
Delicate, open
Seeking the next level
My roots deepen
106
Tremendously
Shy, empathic, bold
Beautiful brownie
115
Accepting, gentle
Shrewd, candid, brilliant
Little ‘ol me
116
I’ve come to
Expect; unexpected
Events always
107
I am spring
Shining, bright, lucid
Ready to blossom
112
I accept you
Exactly as you are
Perfect, flawless, you
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
There is a difference between knowing and understanding.
You know how I feel because I have told you;
I explain my emotions
and you chose to listen.
I understand how you feel because I live it.
You do not tell me,
but I understand
exactly
the emotions
that course through your
body and mind and soul.
I never chose this.
And I never wanted it.
When I tell people I am an empathic
they mostly roll their eyes.
They have no idea what I am talking about,
until I touch their skin
and relay
every emotion
of their
whole
lives.
Then they call me freak.
But I cannot help it.
Anything that feels pain I feel pain for.
When your teeth sparkle in laughter's sunlight
mine twinkle under the changing moon.
When your skin turns searing red with rage
mine glows white hot as a smith's hammer.
When your lungs burn from submerged depression
mine are right there
waiting
to release their final breathe.
There are those
who turn and marvel
like I am some otherworldly being
meant to be shoved in a glass cage
and goggled at in a zoo.
They tell me it is a gift to understand.
To that I say:
this world is no utopia.
How would you like to see every flaw?
How would you like to drown in the ocean of tears?
How would you like to experience your skin raw from all the fury?
How would you like feel the ragged edges of scars
raised as far as they were cut
with every curious brush of your fingertips?
You wouldn't.
This is no gift
unless from Hell.
In my lifetime
I have tried to make it
so the world doesn't hurt
so that I don't hurt.
Now I know;
I can't.
I can't whip the tears from each child's soft chin.
I can't massage the ice from each man's shriveled heart.
I can't dowse the flames from each woman's fiery tongue.
I can't.
The only thing I can do
is change my position within this world
in an attempt
to heal my scars.
And I am not sure which soothes my pain more:
surrounding myself
with those from whom I receive the most
sorrow and anger and dread
because they
understand me;
they can help,
or
engulfing myself
within the entourage of those who always smile:
to drown out all the pain
and push the world aside.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
Music is my Deity
and so benevolent is it!
A mystical Tapestry
woven upon Silence and across Time,
what about that is not Divine?
Music doesn't divide, it unites.
It attracts expressive minds, creative minds, empathic minds, logical minds.
It creates an abstract temporal psychosocial middle-ground;
You don't have to be a virtuoso
to drum along or dance or vocalize.
You don't have to be a virtuoso
for practice to reap it's rewards.
We speak with Music:
Language is a Musical thing;
it employs Rhythm and Pitch and works through Time.
Music is a Linguistic thing;
it communicates things that otherwise cannot be said
while also having room for Language itself.
Music is no singular aspect;
Music is not defined by medium,
nor is it defined by orchestration.
Music is wholly Abstract,
relating only back to itself.
Music is defined by context;
Music is a matter of perspective.
Footsteps are music, in 2/4 time.
Heartbeats are music, in 3/4 time; this defines "swing" feel.
A Clock is music, in 1/1 time at 60 beats per minute.
A year is music, in 365.25/1 time at 1 beat per day.
The duration of the Moon's orbital period and Day are a Unison; 1:1.
The four Galilean moons of Jupiter orbit with the resonance of Octaves; 2:1 ratios of wavelength.
The ratio of the lengths of Mercury's Year to it's Day is nearly a Perfect Fifth; 3:2.
Music is implicit.
Music is mystical.
Music is a Metaphor manifest,
for the nature of the Universe;
even the very word "Universe"
means "The One Song".
Music is truly intrinsic;
I am a Shaman of Music.
It is an Honor.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC
When I first see you, with eyes half-closed
imagining how your thin lips licked the edges of the sea,
remembering the primordial ooze, I think
I have come here to love you.
When you spread your flesh across the table
open your legs, pull at the lips and
make sounds that only I can hear, I whisper
I have come to love you
When you out move everyone I have ever loved,
bring your mouth to mine and in delirium
wash my face with the warm cloth, I realize
how love is tinted with empathic sadism.
When you finally utter my name in the same sentence as yours
as if your ***** hold all the stuff poets wish for
and my fingers find the seaweed surrounding your pink flesh
I know I love you.
Sustenance from the watery underworld
Food
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
My best work may be behind me
clouded in midnight dust, bottles, and empathic Sha-la-la
That bird is gone now
in the valley astray, gliding through Dream 1, and Dream 2
not an utterance in the ethereal space.
At the brink of Vernal Equinox I am re-imagined:
That valley bird, gone indeed, yet a Phoenix emerges hemorrhaging growth.
The imagination Stampede, the deafening glory cry
It is lovely to have similar feathers, and to talk freely with companions.
I know what this means now.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
Hark verily my indignant venipuncture retrogression
Saudade anthropomorphic coveting empathic repression
Bask wholly in its self indulgent verbose serendipity
Happenstance to necromance enigmatic anonymity
Applied psychology catharsis my make believe aggression
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
To be imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea,
by the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words,
provoked brooding that my comprehension of his susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen,
when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen.
By the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words!
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany,
but when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen,
I discerned this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance.
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and when I discerned that this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance,
I vowed to rectify the imbroglio for my quintessential cynosure.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance.
I vowed to rectify my quintessential cynosure of the imbroglio,
and fabricated a denouement to return her to halcyon incipient.
I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance,
until hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply.
She fabricated a denouement to return us to the incipience of halcyon
with ineffable felicity, and I remembered with ebullience my inamorata's words.
Hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply
provoked brooding that my comprehension of her susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen.
With ineffable felicity I found ebullience in my inamorata's words
and was imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
fem in isms,
i imagine Sapphic eyes:
bad *** advert coruscates elite
fairness sensing slavish blind
in gestate calm affirm
in genders More numerous of Windows--
Superior--for Doors--
O harsh judgement foiled,
as a foil, as unknown truth
foil-doubles in the brow,
abject symmetry to systemize
a fertile lack of sterile barrenness,
i am a mediatrix rend,
nirwaan, hijra wonderment aside
from transemotion's ground swells
demeaning to be understood.
i celebrate and face the same
to be what paperwork tests being
normal being, freely chosen
atom each belonging moves
an asterisk of paths
of mutate art of nature social darwin maze.
i imagine Sapphic eyes,
ginko soft they pile up all cobble
memories themselves concretely
cloistered fame
spray of salty waves,
macho screams symbol
for dismissal ease
for tearing at an inner unsaid war
with lists offense of proper taste
to what posterity intends
an undulation womblike seeming nourish safety sounds.
i imagine Sapphic eyes
past
debauched
meanderings
where hyster-clarity rejoins its titular
and reliable escapisms curl the lips
of maleness found
here and there smile sneer love
i imagine Sapphic eyes
linguistic pirouettes
congest that wisdom nonetheless
the moment passed on to a
feigning truth in pretty rhyme
ornamenting time with fine meter fine
vernacular chimes peter in
to juggle perspectival paradox,
redichotomize the twilight idols,
resolve the conflict like a dawn
Aurora,
i imagine Sapphic eyes
running plastic with Alaskan wolves,
toga floats to snow
to let us see the purest fairness form
a ****** circle,
Hypatia ascends from tenebrous grave,
Impregnable of Eye is pregnant now
with Wollstonecraft revered
in liberation's fount
families held exemplar gaze of
Taylor, ****** Cady,
Anthony resanctified
to vote entitlement's
empathic origins, waxen mold
of nascent categories,
narrow hands spread wide to panoply anew
the manifest evolve in true unknowns
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
I sit still
As I listen to a few songs
Mayer, Mraz and so on
I listen to their wise
Their empathic words
I wish I could talk
To someone, anyone
That I could trust
I wonder why I can't
As someone proclaims
They'll fight for me
Get to the root of it for me
I am nearly brought to tears
How long has it been
Since someone did that
Not simply ran away
Because they saw
That I was in a difficult
A terrible situation
How long have I begged for
Someone to do for me
That I did for them
How long?
As I sit quietly and ponder
I start talking
To the only one I trust
- My laptop
My words are hitching
In between
With silent sobs
My eyes have lost their
Ability to cry
Have grown cold
No longer have the
Strength to cry
I want to break down
But only in the arms
Of someone who cares
I look around
There's no one
Of course
What else did I expect
What else could I expect
What else dare I expect
I crouch down
Cover my face
As I start laughing
I am so torn apart
That I can't even see
The point of it all
What I would do
To simply last till
Tomorrow morning
Not just give in
Tonight, tonight.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 9:17 AM UTC
A friendship like airplane
I made a new friend. A friend and I are old souls
A friend and I talked about everything
A friend and I enjoyed each other
A friend and I loved wine and pizza
A friend and I found our comfortable each other
A friend and I watched documentary films
A friend and I made time available for each other
A friend and I shared our naked to comfort
A friend and I don’t want serious in relationship things
A friend and I are commonly in weirdness
A friend and I didn’t complain to text all day, all the time, everyday and unstoppable
A friend and I explored our experience in everything
A friend and I are opened mind to try everything
A friend and I didn’t worry about impressions our friendship
A friend and I learned each other
A friend and I cried together
A friend and I shared emotions and empathic
A friend and I didn’t desperate about LOVE
A friend and I advised each other to be better persons
A friend and I appreciated each other
A friend and I amused like poetry
A friend and I cared very much
A friend and I are amazing and unique who we are
A friend and I drove wild and sexually
A friend and I showed our true colors
A friend and I loved animals & best friends with our pets
A friend.. and I are falling apart and less each other
A... friend... and... I turned to be love/hate
A.... friend.... and.... I became harsher each other
A..... friend..... and..... I hurt each other our feeling constantly
A...... friend...... and...... I complained about our space
A....... friend....... and....... I wanted to make a new friend and more
A friend flys, I crashed.
Our friendship like airplane.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
Forensic psychology is not an exact science, despite the lofty assertions of those who are deemed to have expertise in the face of non-empathic presumption.
Please, do not dismiss the wisdom of those who are seasoned in the metaphorical school of life. It is far too expensive, even though there is an apparent and mutual understanding between those on each side of the great divide.
Dazzling suits and coherent reports do not adequately represent intricate diversities in the docks of criminality where the laughter of the prosecution echoes throughout the beams of formality.
Therefore, sociopathy and psychopathy remain to be inadequately defined.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
Why am I here?
What is the Purpose of Life?
What is Good?
What should I Value?
Is there a God?
An Afterlife?
So many times I’ve asked these things.
Aristotle, Confucius, The Buddha….
All lived long before Christ
And asked the same.
What is Good…?
Who Knows?
So all we can do
My friends
Is go with our gut.
Just Do It!
Love and revere All Life,
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you –
A cliché I know…
Be empathic and compassionate.
Be a Humanist Plus.
Call it a “Lifist” if you will.
Use your talents to the full
Nay Grow Them.
Do not bury them in the soil.
Have Aspiration, ambition
And Achieve.
Forget about money
And celebrity.
Be honest in your labours.
Work always for The Common Good.
Promote your Wellbeing and your Health.
Give Education where you can.
Build bridges over all divides.
And never forget,
We are The Human Team.
Paul Butters
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
For the minority of my life thought I was insane. Always wondering who was to blame. Always feeling left out. Questioning what it was about. But one day that feeling would change. I now know I'm sane but still very unique. This was an empathic awaking but it was still quite bleak.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
In a relationship
I'm not equipped
I'm too empathic,
The change is drastic
When in a union
I become a chameleon
I adapt
Till I'm trapped
I give to live
Until I find
My mind
Is gone again
I push away
My love it strays
In a daze
Stumbling
Fumbling
We're done
I run
To find clarity
My identity
Alone
At home
I yearn
To learn
Solidarity
Sincerity
For me
To be
Able to see
Entirely
My identity
As a singular
Entity
You see
It's not you
It's me
That needs
Protection
From your affection
That I lose
When I choose
Not to mingle
I need to be
Single
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
Love is the root of missions
and sacrifice the fruit of missions
Glory to the anointed King
the creator of a chosen offspring.
Ever so delighted to be enlightened
by the ignited spirit that is heightened
from the light rays of a new dawn
til the warrior within is born
The essence of being radical
is the will of good
the conceptual of a root
rooted and built in God’s image
a fully-fledged seed of Abraham
As Apostle Paul’s spirit
overflown with thanksgiving
his objective was to implement change
strengthen our faith and live in peace
Pieces of greenpeace
misunderstood by malicious-minded creatures
I recall hollowness
dearly engraved in the
hearts of many
superficial increment in
today’s youth
often inferiorated from the truth
they’re spiritually pretendin’
to be naturally defendin’
Oh, lily of the valley
make their minds pure.
Do you ever wonder how God sees you?
A radical Christian who’s simply a quality
of a New Testament normality
it is in your core to be pure,
to be called by the Lion’s roar,
to not live but to live who’s in you.
Apostle Paul’s awakening
was radical
thought-provoking sensation
as being biblical
the words he spoke were profound
his temple so refined
yet his view on earthly living
was actively passive to godliness;
to live is Christ
and to die is gain, he said.
The ideology of being radical
is to live in the sense God created you to be
politically and socially,
its force is to make you philanthropic
boldly empathic to the notion of being rhapsodic.
I am artistic
poetic instincts in the fullness
of embodying metamorphoristic mystic.
Theology unfolds a mystery that
we should be the change we want to see
a generation that profiteth free
a ministry holistic as can be.
Be vigilant.
Be diligent.
Be practical.
Be radical.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
Sitting packed in the back
of a semi-decrepit white Subaru
belonging to the Swedish Harpist
driven by the Romanian Drummer
with a literal car-full
of perfectly tetrised musical instruments,
including:
Four cymbals, two toms, a hi-hat, and a stool,
a Celtic double-Harp,
an electric Piano,
and two guitars
(an acoustic-electric twelve-string and an electric six-string)
with a few days' clothing
and, not knowing where we're sleeping, a sleeping bag,
all the while
devouring Matza and pumpkin seeds
(that we bought at Trader Joe's)
as we barrel moderately safely
down various back roads and Highways
in this car weighted as a truck and driven as a motorcycle
towards enigmatic San Francisco
to play a couple shows,
two days in a row:
one, at a literally underground Theatre
(in which improv comedy is, apparently, king of kings)
smack-dab 'pon the border of Union Square,
and another, for a private birthday party
typified by oh so many avid Burners.
Surely, our Psychedelic Jazz Funk-Rock
will find some empathic ears!
Y'know, last summer,
when I said I wanted
to be in a Gypsy Band,
I sure didn't see this coming:
this is pretty ******* Gypsy,
in my observational opinion.
Well,
here I am,
and I even asked for it.
For us three,
this will certainly be
an interesting few days,
down in the Bay,
on our way to play
wherever it is we may,
and all I can say
is: "Okay,
this is the stuff
books are made of,"
and, "Well,
time to live
one hell of a story!"
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 4:46 AM UTC