"fortunates" poems - Hello Poetry

i need this time of mine to think, to feel, to act (irrationally) intertwined between me and you and what we're destined to do am i a formidiable enemy? a legitimate opponent? or do you choose me to ruin me? is there up, is there out? having prowess no one doubts when circles bend to squares under the power of my stare

0

Dec 12, 2010

Dec 12, 2010 at 3:52 PM UTC

lavender-joy

Untold Fortunates

i need this time of mine to think, to feel, to act (irrationally) intertwined between me and you and what we're destined to do am i a formidiable enemy? a legitimate opponent? or do you choose me to ruin me? is there up, is there out? having prowess no one doubts when circles bend to squares under the power of my stare

12

Seven Scythed Fathers split this Growing Bond Yet befriended by Common Dives respect For Growth the Appled Fortunates abscond And reap your Good Harvest in circumspect Such Loyalty though Honest in its brew Hoping for his time may notice and drink I in my Honour base mixtures in stew Never up-polled to what he may re-think Bless, specially, the Welsh in Cat's Charm And slap my Donkey to walk-up and run I found the Barter; Whose tweet's harness farm Smiles of the Tanner and revive his fun. Although, it would be nice to just confess And sharpen your Profile to know at best.

0

Mar 20, 2013

Mar 20, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC

xavier-paolo-josh-mandreza

SONNET TRIBUTE: CLAYTON HAWKE

Seven Scythed Fathers split this Growing Bond Yet befriended by Common Dives respect For Growth the Appled Fortunates abscond And reap your Good Harvest in circumspect Such Loyalty though Honest in its brew Hoping for his time may notice and drink I in my Honour base mixtures in stew Never up-polled to what he may re-think Bless, specially, the Welsh in Cat's Charm And slap my Donkey to walk-up and run I found the Barter; Whose tweet's harness farm Smiles of the Tanner and revive his fun. Although, it would be nice to just confess And sharpen your Profile to know at best.

14

There, but for the grace of God, go I A girl with no name With a look of desolate embarrassed shame Laid on a makeshift bed in the quiet alley But tonight, it's not so quiet Crowds of well-to-do fortunates Are making their way to a Concert A small dog nestles down Onto a cwtch made of stone He's her only lively company On this hellish desolate journey Whatever is wrong Here, there is no beautiful song Society has failed The girl that's derailed How many turned to look away from her bed? How many quiet tears were shed? How many ignored? How many cringed? How many felt guilt seeing her ***** quilt? How many cared For the girl with no name With the look of desolate embarrassed shame? She's now adopted a blank stare as she asks "Any change spare?" So tonight when you turn in, say a little prayer Because, but for the grace of God, we could be lying there. Written by Kris Prevel June 2014

0

Jun 24, 2014

Jun 24, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC

kris-prevel

Homeless

There, but for the grace of God, go I A girl with no name With a look of desolate embarrassed shame Laid on a makeshift bed in the quiet alley But tonight, it's not so quiet Crowds of well-to-do fortunates Are making their way to a Concert A small dog nestles down Onto a cwtch made of stone He's her only lively company On this hellish desolate journey Whatever is wrong Here, there is no beautiful song Society has failed The girl that's derailed How many turned to look away from her bed? How many quiet tears were shed? How many ignored? How many cringed? How many felt guilt seeing her ***** quilt? How many cared For the girl with no name With the look of desolate embarrassed shame? She's now adopted a blank stare as she asks "Any change spare?" So tonight when you turn in, say a little prayer Because, but for the grace of God, we could be lying there. Written by Kris Prevel June 2014

29

you leave your home because of oppression and in your new country you flourish, doing well in this life generations on they have forgotten your struggles as they learned hate they have forgotten their origins as they learned what it is to be the xenophobe to be the oppressor to see your triumphs tarnished you begotten fortunates taking all you have for granted slanted views, courtesy of that you've been taught so some say it isn't your fault but we know better, eh? all your wealth could not stuff the gaping maw that your soul cries out to fill and so this is what you reap when seeds of suffering do you sow

0

Mar 17, 2021

Mar 17, 2021 at 11:33 AM UTC

manx-kronos-pragna

Begotten Fortunates

you leave your home because of oppression and in your new country you flourish, doing well in this life generations on they have forgotten your struggles as they learned hate they have forgotten their origins as they learned what it is to be the xenophobe to be the oppressor to see your triumphs tarnished you begotten fortunates taking all you have for granted slanted views, courtesy of that you've been taught so some say it isn't your fault but we know better, eh? all your wealth could not stuff the gaping maw that your soul cries out to fill and so this is what you reap when seeds of suffering do you sow

21

Excuse me if my words cut deep when the lines were meant to ***** the conscience sleeping down below slumbering while a world drowned I'll lean into the **** asking for the next few minutes long enough to read the text a poem's reflection of your soul. The slash draws red upon the skin this is the color shared by all reminder of the liquid shared crimson base below gold threads yet still the colors are confused gold leads to silver, then to green imagining reality where none should be if caring is for the fellow man. What is the measure for your charge dictation of what comes before? all things aligned, in their time done something's first, the highest goal expectations writ to book's pages the clink of coin in a purse comfort gained, never lost these are the gild some have lost. It's fine to stand on the tall hill until the winds carries the screams from the eddies below the perch writhe the sinners of your mind they are not lesser than your idols specifically yourself in mirror's frame blessed by a god you only see perhaps it's your image you embrace. Ivory towers with lone residents fortunates seek the frosty air with no taint by the lost drifting up from hell's domain the stench is scattered by money's breeze the hurricane that lifts the boats to a shore that few should see shared disaster seen as reprieve. When red is ocean's hue my words seek to disabuse those with skin too thick to feel with images from the other world when red is spilled at time's course no matter how remote a life became I hope my words found a place to be considered before the end. © 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170512.

0

May 12, 2017

May 12, 2017 at 5:21 AM UTC

poetryaccident

The Other World

Excuse me if my words cut deep when the lines were meant to ***** the conscience sleeping down below slumbering while a world drowned I'll lean into the **** asking for the next few minutes long enough to read the text a poem's reflection of your soul. The slash draws red upon the skin this is the color shared by all reminder of the liquid shared crimson base below gold threads yet still the colors are confused gold leads to silver, then to green imagining reality where none should be if caring is for the fellow man. What is the measure for your charge dictation of what comes before? all things aligned, in their time done something's first, the highest goal expectations writ to book's pages the clink of coin in a purse comfort gained, never lost these are the gild some have lost. It's fine to stand on the tall hill until the winds carries the screams from the eddies below the perch writhe the sinners of your mind they are not lesser than your idols specifically yourself in mirror's frame blessed by a god you only see perhaps it's your image you embrace. Ivory towers with lone residents fortunates seek the frosty air with no taint by the lost drifting up from hell's domain the stench is scattered by money's breeze the hurricane that lifts the boats to a shore that few should see shared disaster seen as reprieve. When red is ocean's hue my words seek to disabuse those with skin too thick to feel with images from the other world when red is spilled at time's course no matter how remote a life became I hope my words found a place to be considered before the end. © 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170512.

49

Teach your children to give and share to less fortunates on their birthdays, Not take or expect expensive wishes to be fulfilled.

0

Oct 19, 2021

Oct 19, 2021 at 1:53 PM UTC

salmabanu-hatim

Parents

Teach your children to give and share to less fortunates on their birthdays, Not take or expect expensive wishes to be fulfilled.

2

I'm meant to hold your hand-- the way it curls over mine with such a tenderness that's enough to make me smile and leak tears onto the bundled scarf. The wind sweeps them away, I blink up at you and know the warmth your smile pours-- liquid amber honey that holds me steady in your gaze, and yet-- this is a new place. We have been here for days, Rushing around on trains and buses and cabs and subways to all the places humanity treasures-- and I want to experience every moment with You. The culture in new places always feels like a theoretical until it's experienced...like an outline, a sketch, a diagram even-- but diagrams don't reflect the life in your eyes when you quietly whisper a pun while the tour guide is guiding and I have to cover my mouth or risk the ire of a librarian stare from whomever might be offended by a little burst of joy being born. It started raining on the cobblestone as we were walking to brunch, but you brought an umbrella and sheltered us from being soaked as some less fortunates skittered through the streets like animals seeking shelter... but we are in no rush; We enjoy the rain, the sound, the smell, as it melts the scene that should be painted in watercolor. I don't imagine I would-- Or even that I could forget all the little things. I collect them like seashells or shiny little rocks, and I put them in my pockets and they lift me up as if they weren't little rocks at all but balloons not letting my feet ever touch the ground floating forever in this love we've found.

0

Apr 12, 2025

Apr 12, 2025 at 6:03 PM UTC

miss-masque

Pocket Treasures

I'm meant to hold your hand-- the way it curls over mine with such a tenderness that's enough to make me smile and leak tears onto the bundled scarf. The wind sweeps them away, I blink up at you and know the warmth your smile pours-- liquid amber honey that holds me steady in your gaze, and yet-- this is a new place. We have been here for days, Rushing around on trains and buses and cabs and subways to all the places humanity treasures-- and I want to experience every moment with You. The culture in new places always feels like a theoretical until it's experienced...like an outline, a sketch, a diagram even-- but diagrams don't reflect the life in your eyes when you quietly whisper a pun while the tour guide is guiding and I have to cover my mouth or risk the ire of a librarian stare from whomever might be offended by a little burst of joy being born. It started raining on the cobblestone as we were walking to brunch, but you brought an umbrella and sheltered us from being soaked as some less fortunates skittered through the streets like animals seeking shelter... but we are in no rush; We enjoy the rain, the sound, the smell, as it melts the scene that should be painted in watercolor. I don't imagine I would-- Or even that I could forget all the little things. I collect them like seashells or shiny little rocks, and I put them in my pockets and they lift me up as if they weren't little rocks at all but balloons not letting my feet ever touch the ground floating forever in this love we've found.

54

As Friday’s sun descends A manic grip takes hold of the city. Shoreditch on Shabbat like A holy land for revellers. Here the city ignites, the senses Are at once dulled and overworked Suits pull suitcases. Weekend trips Coincide with business meets Filling hotel lobby bars The Ace, card dealt on payments. Shaven bleached heads Sidestep less fortunates Begging for more, more, more As night turns to morning And mourning the nighttime Bodies dance through As sun ascends - bleaching the eye but beholden because it let’s us go.

0

Feb 2, 2018

Feb 2, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC

ciankennedy

Friday

As Friday’s sun descends A manic grip takes hold of the city. Shoreditch on Shabbat like A holy land for revellers. Here the city ignites, the senses Are at once dulled and overworked Suits pull suitcases. Weekend trips Coincide with business meets Filling hotel lobby bars The Ace, card dealt on payments. Shaven bleached heads Sidestep less fortunates Begging for more, more, more As night turns to morning And mourning the nighttime Bodies dance through As sun ascends - bleaching the eye but beholden because it let’s us go.

18