"pitiable" poems
‘We live with forest’ and ‘forest live with us’!
Tallest tree of the forest is the symbol of our hope,
The Python is our messenger of past,
Blossoming flower of grassland are our depiction of smile,
Birds are the our fortune teller,
Earthworms are our marker,
Butterflies are our messenger of worship,
We design our life with them,
They are our image of clan and family,
We can’t live without them,
Our aspiration is tuned with their respiration,
We are cheerful with them!
***
Now, out of the blue, you arrived
and say we are poor!
So, you will build industry for us and give job to us!
But for that,
You occupy our land, our forest, our friends and respiration,
We never thought!
‘You are such a pitiable’
That you can’t build anything without our forest,
But you say, ‘we are poor’!
****
Please, go away from our blessed place
Don’t wipe out our friend!
We are rich and happy with the blessing of our friend
There is no need of your industry,
Please go away
Leave us alone we will design our destination.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
So you think you are a master of techniques of persuasion?
You shallow pips-squeak, mediocrity is your mastery
the obsequious hoi polloi that surround you are the pitiable averageness of conciliation
Sophistry and subterfuge are your game of compromised facts
syllogistic arithmetic conceptualizing doesn't make anything so
your addition is flawed by your bungled bombast of banality and guile
fortunately for you, your crowd will never study logic
fortunately for you semi-literacy is de rigueur
You pompous swollen grandiose mass of hyperbolic gas
Fear is what you offer, lies are what you sell
your rhetorical flourish is as the stench of a waste dump
fetid, corpulent, fallow and febrile
toxic
half-truths, innuendos, ambiguities, conjecture and asinine aspersions comprise your specious fare,
fostering rumours, manipulating facts, you are the purported Biblical brood of vipers so extensively reviled against
Your relevancy is attributable to the dull stupidity so profusely prevalent today
Your "success" is the stuff of taint and treachery
You'll probably choke to death on a stuck piece of poorly masticated flesh
so appropriate and befitting the demise of a professional liar
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
High-mindedness, a jealousy for good,
A loving-kindness for the great man's fame,
Dwells here and there with people of no name,
In noisome alley, and in pathless wood:
And where we think the truth least understood,
Oft may be found a "singleness of aim,"
That ought to frighten into hooded shame
A money-mongering, pitiable brood.
How glorious this affection for the cause
Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!
What when a stout unbending champion awes
Envy and malice to their native sty?
Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country's eye.
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Alone with this desk,
And a notebook chock-fulled with paper;
Endless.. he chomp everything away.
Things truly aren’t easy,
The silence makes it harder.
Hey music, fill the air;
For not all truths,
But laughs of frauds may break out.
Just like the old days.
Just like the lady boss,
Just..maybe.
There should be dancing all around,
Where crowds should chip in
And take things in stern.
Errands were not decors –
Trespass! Like mini ciphers,
Digits, letters, they knock the drill out.
Only a couple more days left,
But in ignominy,
This generation may fall;
How pitiable..
With such marks and inkblots,
The source remains unrecognized.
They’re used to seize papers like that,
Although such are committing theft already.
Left were words,
Can’t spell it unerringly;
Yet the hearsays divulged its address,
So now, it’s time to slam this tome;
End the toil that has always been the crook!
Go outside,
For the sun’s rays are there!
Goodbye to this aged chair,
And to this notebook full of nicks,
With new freedom,
We shall embrace..
Everything.. “Ciao” to what’s new,
‘Coz this is the real world!
Oh college days!
(7/25/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
meadows that stays so green at spring
and so bared in autumn
magically white in winter
scorching and gold in the air of summers
perennial.
how do they do that?
to stay the same on the foundation
yet ever-changing on the surface.
what difference does it make really?
what kinds?
of the surcoats of hazel and acorns
or the blankets of snow on the slender branches
of trees?
don't they, even once
feel weary of all the undercurrents,
of shifting shapes of shadows?
and stand their ground
and shouted their demands
and push at intractable walls?
and flop down
and sift like flour
and grate like mozzarella?
to toss the gauntlet
say
'enough!'
doesn't anyone ever muses then
of whether the slideshows of nature
being flagrantly displayed and paraded
before their soon indifferent eyes
would feel of their performance.
but oh,
those poor meadows,
those poor meadows,
those pitiable meadows.
continue with your acts and scenes
that shall never pauses nor halt
oh no, no.
for you are impressive actors
on the forested stage
and the eyes, belligerent
yes, they are
will be watching the other way
never straight to your eyes
your artic, chilled
encasing a turbulent, melting, whirling
hot caramel core
yeap, right there on your irises and pupils.
so go on
go on
my delectable
my neglected
my pushover
my poor meadows.
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
Sit by a river,
Inquiry about flow!
Look at sky
Think about infinity!
Travel in a forest
Look at the relationship!
Reveals, how tiny and pitiable we are
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
So close, yet so far
trying to relive through the moments that will never come back,
Going distant, and distant and distant
like the milestones along the road growing small…
I am gazing through the back seat of a car,
and slowly forgetting where the milestones are…
it’s not fair,
these images in my head,
some existing and some diminishing
transforming into the vivid images of a beautiful dream I will soon forget,
it hurts when memories exist,
it hurts even more when they slowly fade away;
My brain in a pitiable auto format mode,
only so much of Terabytes it can accommodate!
but son! We can go to the front seat and drive!
Look out for the milestones that will grow big instead of small,
We will make note of each one of them
until we pass by and again forget them all,
but don’t worry the road won’t end,
maybe the never ending journey won’t make sense,
maybe the past will haunt again,
maybe the future won’t seem bright
especially with beautiful images of the trail behind splashed all over inside,
maybe chaos will forever be chaos,
maybe the noise will never turn into symphony,
So what, son, so what?
come to the front seat,
don’t be seated at the back,
your reasons to stay are good,
and I have nothing better to argue,
but don’t waste too much time connecting the dots,
it will never make sense when you will want it to,
come at the front, we will have fun,
We will never talk about the dots!
We will never talk about the road!
And trails shall become a map, and dots an image,
One day, one day out of nowhere…
when you would have forgotten that you ever cared.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 5:53 AM UTC
They came in search of incredible sun,
seduced by cicadas and an easy time;
extraneous baggage with nothing to declare.
Two days in:
Sister Rose shrivels on her browning stem;
survives on lettuce leaves and cheap wine.
Pitiable by design, knowing perfectly
she's past her beauty max.
At her feet:
The blue pool cups cured hide
of idle heat-crazed beast
unleashed from his computer belt-
a doughboy moulded to his insubstantial boat-
afloat for fourteen days!
Entwined-
my crazy brother reclines with his latest lover
to share 'delightful' elderflower champagne
through a single straw,
****** together by their eyes.
And in the shade:
mother sits it out in floral silk,
sustained by seventy deniers
and her would-have-liked ideals-
the shadow of a lattice grill tatooed across her brow.
Then as the just deserts arrive,
and darted looks are handed round,
I glower at the heat - crazed ground
and muse- 'it's time to go,'
........but they would never forgive me..
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 5:10 AM UTC
his mate fancied himself
Dr. Watson, or even Holmes,
in a past life, but with the name,
Jamsheed Razavizadeh, his friends,
who chopped the proud pronunciation
to J-Razz, laughed at such
a great notion
not Phillip, whose one brother
had drowned only last Hallows Eve,
which made Phillip a believer
in all things
from school, his mates walked the same lane
past the spot, where his mother still lay wreaths
every Monday morn, the vicar giving her
the tired ones each Sabbath
Monday Phillip took the long way home
not wanting to see the flowers, on their own
eve of wilting, a pitiable reminder
fresh things don't last
J-Razz was the only one who walked
the long route with him, his own brother
in the loam near Tehran, drowned himself
by fire, not water
each week, the wreath lay
but a day, and the two from different mothers
would again take the shorter path, where
they would find slight solace in silence,
their journey home often
in merciful miasma
near river's edge
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
Carrying the fever and heat
Of love’s first flame
I set out on a journey
Expectant and anxious,
Sealed and tight lipped
All emotions bottled.
From port to port I journeyed
Travelling in a little love vessel
What a heavy cargo of dreams I carried
With the scent of memories perfumed
Did a black cat cross my path?
Behind all veils of cloud
Hope lingered
My spirit….
Pulsating inside
My senses….
Waiting for the moment of beatitude!
Skyward I flew
Floating through the air to land
Finally in your trembling hands
Dreaming of a nameless delight
Bursting open at the earliest moment
With my heart beats rising hoarse
You slit my mouth,
Pulled my soul out.
But,
Gnarling at my face
Mercilessly you tore me into bits
And threw me into the bin
In the Westerly wind
Slivers of me flew about
Like ghosts unable to get back to their graves
After whirling naked in the gust of wind
Pieces of me fell down one by one
To lie inert on the ground
Gasping for the final breath
Did the firmament tattooed by stars
Mock at my pitiable plight?
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 8:03 AM UTC
Every abrasion
Is a souvenir from the edge
Forever pairing the glass of red
With melancholy
Place the pitiable ruins of this ephemeral vivacity
Through the shredder
Go forth and breeze through life
Never mind the dagger
In my back
Cast a shadow on my existence
Crucify me, captain.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
[and scarcely worth the trouble, at that]
The same to me are somber days and gay.
Though Joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright,
Because my dearest love is gone away
Within my heart is melancholy night.
My heart beats low in loneliness, despite
That riotous Summer holds the earth in sway.
In cerements my spirit is bedight;
The same to me are somber days and gay.
Though breezes in the rippling grasses play,
And waves dash high and far in glorious might,
I thrill no longer to the sparkling day,
Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright.
Ungraceful seems to me the swallow's flight;
As well might heaven's blue be sullen gray;
My soul discerns no beauty in their sight
Because my dearest love is gone away.
Let roses fling afar their crimson spray,
And ****** daisies splash the fields with white,
Let bloom the poppy hotly as it may,
Within my heart is melancholy night.
And this, O love, my pitiable plight
Whenever from my circling arms you stray;
This little world of mine has lost its light....
I hope to God, my dear, that you can say
The same to me.
1.4k
The same to me are sombre days and gay.
Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright,
Because my dearest love is gone away
Within my heart is melancholy night.
My heart beats low in loneliness, despite
That riotous Summer holds the earth in sway.
In cerements my spirit is bedight;
The same to me are sombre days and gay.
Though breezes in the rippling grasses play,
And waves dash high and far in glorious might,
I thrill no longer to the sparkling day,
Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright.
Ungraceful seems to me the swallow's flight;
As well might Heaven's blue be sullen gray;
My soul discerns no beauty in their sight
Because my dearest love is gone away.
Let roses fling afar their crimson spray,
And ****** daisies splash the fields with white,
Let bloom the poppy hotly as it may,
Within my heart is melancholy night.
And this, oh love, my pitiable plight
Whenever from my circling arms you stray;
This little world of mine has lost its light ...
I hope to God, my dear, that you can say
The same to me.
1.4k
Great Britain, fantastic Britain, incredible Britain
You're making me sad
How many lives in the name, and religion how do you fare
When parliament crumbles, like fantastic hash
And the heroes are on ******
Dying in the street
But are they heroes?
Poor Britain, lonely Britain, disparaging Britain
Your lights are all dim
Atheist populace, defending Christian beliefs
and shaming Islam with wild generalisations
The BNP are a joke or a Greek tragedy
and I laugh through acerbic tears
It's pitiable
Bleak Britain, brisk Britain, despairing Britain
Are you happy with yourself?
Fight in foreign lands, maim those trivial children
and keep that payola rolling, we depend on death
Complex industry, the military it is, and we follow
Always follow, follow follow, follow
Britain, Britain, Britain
Blindly patriotic
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
The Platypus
(a limerick for adults, teens and older children)
by Michael R. Burch
The platypus, myopic,
is ungainly, not ******
His feet for bed
are over-webbed,
and what of his proboscis?
The platypus, though, is eager
although his means are meager.
His sight is poor;
perhaps he’ll score
with a passing duck or ******
Keywords/Tags: limerick, double limerick, humor, light verse, nonsense verse, platypus, ****** duck, proboscis, nose, beak, feet, webbed, flippers, eyes, eyesight, sight, vision, myopia, myopic, animal, nature, ****** erotica
The Mallard
by Michael R. Burch
The mallard is a fellow
whose lips are long and yellow
with which he, honking, kisses
his ***** boisterous mistress:
my pond’s their loud bordello!
Dot Spotted
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a leopardess, Dot,
who indignantly answered: "I'll not!
The gents are impressed
with the way that I'm dressed.
I wouldn't change even one spot."
Stage Craft-y
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a dromedary
who befriended a crafty canary.
Budgie said, "You can’t sing,
but now, here’s the thing—
just think of the tunes you can carry!"
Ballade of the Bicameral Camel
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a camel who loved to ****
Please get your lewd minds out of their slump!
He loved to give RIDES on his large, lordly lump!
Clyde Lied!
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a mockingbird, Clyde,
who bragged of his prowess, but lied.
To his new wife he sighed,
"When again, gentle bride?"
"Nevermore!" bright-eyed Raven replied.
Other Limericks
The Better Man
by Michael R. Burch
Dear Ed: I don't understand why
you will publish this other guy—
when I'm brilliant, devoted,
one hell of a poet!
Yet you publish Anonymous. Fie!
Fie! A pox on your head if you favor
this poet who's dubious, unsavor
y, inconsistent in texts,
no address (I checked!) :
since he's plagiarized Unknown, I'll wager!
"Of Tetley's and V-2's" or "Why Not to Bomb the Brits"
by Michael R. Burch
The English are very hospitable,
but tea-less, alas, they grow pitiable...
or pitiless, rather,
and quite in a lather!
O bother, they're more than formidable.
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 11:22 PM UTC
I hoped to become an eagle
soaring above amber waves of grain
seeking perch in rarefied air
a red-tailed hawk,
or even a garden warbler
would have sufficed
instead I metamorphosed
into a mosquito and found myself
skulking on a fine lady's arm
I could only hope
she wouldn't swat me
before I drank my red full
and took flight into dusk
or returned
to my pitiable simian self,
lice laced and homeless, hunkering
in a cold corner, wishing
I could fly
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 8:50 PM UTC
Mermaid, the moon in my cloudy sky on dark nights,
I treated you like the most precious gift from the Ameer,
in my ****** life, though I spent just one night with you and fell in love,
I adore you more then my sweetheart of long years,
I remained loyal to you, a dancing girl, more than to my dear wife,
in lonely nights my heart pined for just you, nobody else
I wept bitter tears hoping that you'd somehow hear my sobs,
most hardened stone, your heart was, you never reacted
I heaped praises on you, bought you expensive gifts
lavished perfumes from the most exclusive perfumeries
I waited in the most breathtaking oasis,days on with camels
to take you far and be with you ditching all other loves of my life
my heart on embers, I forgot how respected I was, what was my status,
I became a lowly beggar of your love, in your presence
my eyes lost their glow, got sunken in the cavities making
me look pitiable, my dress was shredded in many places,
my body became emaciated, I made a living only by singing
paeans to women of easy virtue, just to buy as much things
that pleases you, make you jump up in joy, as soon as you see it.
You drink the best wine, would wear the rarest of lingeries
that peeped out of the muslin dress, I gifted you
still my love, you weren't pleased you looked daggers at me
without any regret, and asked to bring more gold and silver,
it's the life of a slave I happily lived, I know so well
I composed poems on voluptuous mistresses of men of royal linage,
and collected pieces of gold and silver for my labor
with that I made bejeweled ornaments for your lovely body.
Mermaid, you are a wonder, you walk on two legs,
yet swim in deep waters with others, whom you don't even mention,
I only dream of you and wait endlessly here, all the same contented.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
How disconcerting…
Brace for a fight
Lace up the gloves
Vaseline the soft spots
Turn corners on two wheels
Arrive and
Kick in the doors
To find that
The Enemy
Is no longer in existence
Already vanquished
By an even greater enemy
Leaving in its wake
A pitiable thing
Arousing in a decent soul
Compassion…and
Prayers...
For one’s self--
Strength
And for the other--
Mercy…
Nothing honorably left to do
BUT pray
For one ’s self---
Only that God notices
This quiet sacrifice
Cuz there will be no
Forgive-me’s… or
Thank-you’s…or
I-love-you’s… or even
Closure
When one unlaces the gloves
Washes the face
Rolls up the sleeves
And returns
For cruelty
Compassion
For ill will
Tenderness
For Indifference
Clemency
And for Unkindness
Humanity…
And pray
For the other---
Only
Mercy…
Have Mercy…
Have Mercy Lord…
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 3:34 PM UTC
Once, there was a girl
Who was pitiable,
Poisoned by the demons
Of the nightshade.
Unable to cope with
The fact that the world
Was against
Her tiny broken heart
She plummeted
From the tree that once
Touched the Round Moon.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
I'm again in a transition,
A non-medical scientist by my schooling,
A writer, singer-poet, and author by passion,
These days I'm at Gorakhpur to join a new job,
For another new opportunity that I grabbed,
One of the many exams I cracked,
This job is that of an Assistant Audit Officer.
I marvel at what life has shown me,
Educated at school in non-medical sciences,
Physics, Chemistry, Math, English & Physical Education.
Then I undertook the first paradigm career shift,
Started my Bachelor degree in Biotechnology
Met with the unfortunate cataclysmic road accident,
Survived the 23-day coma against all odds.
Oh the odds, do you remember, oh life?
200+ beats per minute heart rate in the coma,
104°F+ fever accompanied the ****** injuries,
Fractured cheekbone just below the left eye.
Brain stem injuries sent the global doctors in a Tizzy,
Nobody was certain about my survival or the recovery,
But I survived.
The second paradigm shift here was my survival.
They had said at the hospital,
"Only the most serious cases come to ICU #2,
And the lost cases come to HDU #7."
BUT I DIDN'T DIE.
I survived everything that you threw at me,
Everything, even negative people,
Who made weird recommendations.
What did they recommend to my parents after the accident?
— to make me join an easier degree course,
— to make me train for weaving baskets,
— to set up a toffee shop for me to earn bread,
— and what not to discourage my family,
— my parents had dreams for their only child,
— all the whilst I was in the uncertain coma,
— and the pitiable vegetative state for 30 more weeks,
— where I endured immense pains.
Oh life, you've been so hard!
You gave me COVID-SARS in 2012,
I didn't die,
I completed my B.Tech in Biotechnology.
More loneliness followed,
I still didn't give up on life,
Completed my M.Tech in Animal Biotechnology.
The third paradigm shift was next,
When I cleared 4 recruitment exams,
And joined as a Probationary Officer
With the State Bank of India.
The fourth paradigm shift now comes,
I have shifted to the job of an Assistant Audit Officer,
With the Comptroller & Auditor General of India.
I defeated death,
But I seem to be fighting a lost battle
Against loneliness in my life.
Mar 12, 2024
Mar 12, 2024 at 11:46 PM UTC
As I tossed you in your carboard coffin
Pieces of you I loved too often
Now shelves for dust and feelings softened
By time and intrusion
And lack of exclusion
Of the wickedness in you
I marveled at each fragment laid to rest
Photographs that caught you at your best
The scent I breathed while on your chest
Now I see your smile is lopsided
And the cologne you once prided
Yourself upon now reeks of decay
An imitation engagement ring
A crass, tinfoil, pitiable thing
Your last bid to try and cling
To a disenchanted free ride
Exhibit A to say you tried
To be half of what I deserved
A love letter in invisible ink
Clear for a moment till the words sink
Like a stricken ship upon the brink
So worn and frail from frequent view
Shoddy proof that you loved me too
A poor Exhibit B
Your faded tee I found comfort in
When doubts crept in of where you'd been
Now the costume of a man of tin
There is no road for you to follow
You have a heart, metal and hollow
For you, there is no place called home
For someone who seemed so central
This tiny box makes you seem incidental
Perspective for the seemingly monumental
You would fit nicely in the attic
A burial I cannot find tragic
I won't even need my black dress
Theres nothing worth embalming to preserve
Two strips of tape and to the curb
A resting place undisturbed
Till the grave robbers haul you away
You're no ones treasure, just trash today
A garbage truck is a proper hearse
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
Their names will not be on the Wall.
It’s of the ghost patrol I sing.
Veterans of an unloved war.
Men from the age of Kennedy and King.
They’re dying now by their own hand,
by opioids or shotgun shell.
Some are dying by the glass-
As alcohol kills just as well.
They are victims of their memories,
deprived of sleep that will not come.
Post-traumatic stress some claim
Is the reason they have come undone.
See them sleeping on the streets-
a half drunk bottle in their hand.
The members of the ghost Patrol,
the pitiable legion of the dammed.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
Often time’s girls will be flocked around me; bubbly and bright
Babbling on about whatever ‘adorable’ antics
The various boys they’ve been stringing along
Have cooked up to impress them
And I just think to myself
(Silently)
About how half baked these dates and plans are
The pathetic plans to go to ****** little fast food joints
Every other idiot hormonal teenage boy
In the midst of wooing with his current consumer
And I just think to myself
(Silently)
That oh my stars, I could do so much better
If it weren’t for the blind eyes of these lovely girls
I could be a chef of a million stars
Compared to the pitiable plans they’ve been spoon fed for oh so long
Aug 26, 2011
Aug 26, 2011 at 5:45 PM UTC
PART ONE OF THREE
"I know your works; you are
neither cold nor hot, I am about to
spit you out of my mouth.
For you say, "I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing."
You do not realize that you are
wretched, pitiable, poor, blind,
and naked. Therefore I council you
to buy from me gold refined by fire
so that you may be rich; and white
robes to clothe you to keep the shame of your nakedness from being seen; and salve to annoint your eyes that you may see. I reprove and discipline those whom I love. Be earnest, therefore, and repent."
Revelation 3:14-19
NRSV
Most of what I hear preached from the pulpit today in the US (and indeed around the world) is this,
"When the tribulation comes, the church ("saved") will be raptured out and the lost will be "Left Behind" to endure God's wrath. So don't worry church! The "saints" will go into the clouds to be with Jesus!"
***Bleeeeeep! Wrong answer!!!
Lies!*** From the PULPIT!!!
That's not what JESUS CHRIST said above. Those who are not fit for the Kingdom will have to endure Satan's wrath! God's wrath comes later! To punish the wicked.
And, yep. There is JUDGEMENT.
*R E P R O O F
C H A S T I Z E M E N T
P U N I S H M E N T*
Where in the Bible does it say God is a softie? That HE can be MOCKED?
That He's a Santa Claus in the sky come to give lotto winnings to his "good" little kids?
I'm talking to the CHURCH.
We are preaching
FALSE DOCTIRINE. PERIOD,
IF THE CHURCH DOESN'T
R E P E N T
in sackcloth and ASHES
FAST and PRAY
like there's no
TOMORROW
(which there literally isn't)
they will take the brunt of
SATAN'S WRATH
For those who are found worthy there will be PROTECTION.
Read Psalm 91.
Thank you for reading all of this.
There will be three parts to this sermon. Please read them ALL.
THANK YOU!
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC