Sympathy Sayings » Sympathy Poems

Last Night I Had A Dream – Words of Sympathy

admin — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 08:41:05 +0000

Last night I had a dream that you really left me
In this dream I begged to please not ever forget me
I’ll tell you how it began, so this is how it starts
You sat on my bed with tears in your eyes and your hand over my heart
You asked me what I was thinking about at the same time I asked why you were crying
You looked at me and said The doctor says I’m dying
I asked you what you meant and how this could really be
That my father up above would take you away from me
I said NO, this isn’t real, just when I’ve found the one
Baby, Please, I’m sorry for everything I’ve done
Tears rolled from my eyes and landed on your hands
You said Sweetheart, Please, just try to understand
That no matter where I am, on earth or up above you
I’m here for you forever and I’ll always love you
I asked you how long you had left to live but you said you didn’t know
Exactly one week later I cried and watched you go

(by Lisa G. Rodriguez)

Noctambule – Sympathy Poems

admin — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 04:24:33 +0000

Zut! it’s two o’clock.
See! the lights are jumping.
Finish up your bock,
Time we all were humping.
Waiters stack the chairs,
Pile them on the tables;
Let us to our lairs
Underneath the gables.

Up the old Boul’ Mich’
Climb with steps erratic.
Steady . . . how I wish
I was in my attic!
Full am I with cheer;
In my heart the joy stirs;
Couldn’t be the beer,
Must have been the oysters.

In obscene array
Garbage cans spill over;
How I wish that they
Smelled as sweet as clover!
Charing women wait;
Cafes drop their shutters;
Rats perambulate
Up and down the gutters.

Down the darkened street
Market carts are creeping;
Horse with wary feet,
Red-faced driver sleeping.
Loads of vivid greens,
Carrots, leeks, potatoes,
Cabbages and beans,
Turnips and tomatoes.

Pair of dapper chaps,
Cigarettes and sashes,
Stare at me, perhaps
Desperate Apachès.

“Needn’t bother me,
Jolly well you know it;
Parceque je suis
Quartier Latin poet.

“Give you villanelles,
Madrigals and lyrics;
Ballades and rondels,
Odes and panegyrics.
Poet pinched and poor,
Pricked by cold and hunger;
Trouble’s troubadour,
Misery’s balladmonger.”

Think how queer it is!
Every move I’m making,
Cosmic gravity’s
Center I am shaking;
Oh, how droll to feel
(As I now am feeling),
Even as I reel,
All the world is reeling.

Reeling too the stars,
Neptune and Uranus,
Jupiter and Mars,
Mercury and Venus;
Suns and moons with me,
As I’m homeward straying,
All in sympathy
Swaying, swaying, swaying.

Lord! I’ve got a head.
Well, it’s not surprising.
I must gain my bed
Ere the sun be rising;
When the merry lark
In the sky is soaring,
I’ll refuse to hark,
I’ll be snoring, snoring.

Strike a sulphur match . . .
Ha! at last my garret.
Fumble at the latch,
Close the door and bar it.
Bed, you graciously
Wait, despite my scorning . . .
So, bibaciously
Mad old world, good morning.
(By Robert William Service)

Romance – Sympathy Poems

admin — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 02:48:51 +0000

In Paris on a morn of May
I sent a radio transalantic
To catch a steamer on the way,
But oh the postal fuss was frantic;
They sent me here, they sent me there,
They were so courteous yet so canny;
Then as I wilted in despair
A Frenchman flipped me on the fanny.

‘Twas only juts a gentle pat,
Yet oh what sympathy behind it!
I don’t let anyone do that,
But somehow then I didn’t mind it.
He seemed my worry to divine,
With kindly smile, that foreign mannie,
And as we stood in waiting line
With tender touch he tapped my fanny.

It brought a ripple of romance
Into that postal bureau dreary;
He gave me such a smiling glance
That somehow I felt gay and cheery.
For information on my case
The postal folk searched nook and cranny;
He gently tapped, with smiling face,
His reassurance on my fanny.

So I’ll go back to Tennessee,
And they will ask: “How have you spent your
Brief holiday in gay Paree?”
But I’ll not speak of my adventure.
Oh say I’m spectacled and grey,
Oh say I’m sixty and a grannie -
But say that morn of May
A Frenchman flipped me on the fanny!
(by Robert William Service)

The Elephant Is Slow To Mate – Sympathy Poem

admin — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 04:39:06 +0000

The elephant, the huge old beast,
is slow to mate;
he finds a female, they show no haste
they wait

for the sympathy in their vast shy hearts
slowly, slowly to rouse
as they loiter along the river-beds
and drink and browse

and dash in panic through the brake
of forest with the herd,
and sleep in massive silence, and wake
together, without a word.

So slowly the great hot elephant hearts
grow full of desire,
and the great beasts mate in secret at last,
hiding their fire.

Oldest they are and the wisest of beasts
so they know at last
how to wait for the loneliest of feasts
for the full repast.

They do not snatch, they do not tear;
their massive blood
moves as the moon-tides, near, more near
till they touch in flood.

(by David Herbert Lawrence)

She Hides Her Face – Sympathy Poems

admin — Sun, 02 Aug 2009 02:31:11 +0000

She hides her face
when shes not alone
she wears a mask,
but its not her own

It’s everyone else
she wants to be
Be just like them
supposedly free

Free from the troubles
the troubles of life
free from sin
and worries and strife

But when night time falls
and she climbs into bed
her mask falls apart
and her heart fills with dread

She screams and she cries
but no one can here
she wants them to know
know all her fear

Her fear of facing
a world with no mask
afraid they wont like her
afraid they wont ask

So she waits for the day
with hope in her heart
when she’ll wear her own face
and make her new start
(by Melantha Abraham)

Suicide Room – Sympathy Poems

admin — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 01:57:13 +0000

I sit on the white cot, gently I slide my fingers across the gentle baby blue material of a blanket that drapes across my lap.

I look across the room and see a white toilet and sink, I see a steel chair and table. Atop the table I see flowers’ from my mother.

Red and yellow with lively green leaves. Slowly I push aside the blanket and rise letting my bare feet patter across the stone floor.

Standing next to the table I lean down and let myself breath in the sweet fumes of a red flower, thinking of my mother and her kind ways.

Then I remembered how she let them take me, to this awful place.

Anger surges through my veins. I pick up the vase and let it glide through the air to the stone wall.

The glass breaks and the memories take me back. I fall to the ground sobbing, the memories hurt.

I think back to my first day in this room. I remember looking at the guard, I remember his words, Welcome to your suicide room. I pick up a large piece of glass and easily slide the glass across my wrist, nothing happens its not deep enough.

Then I stop and think, is it worth it? I’ll never know. I press the glass deep into my wrist, the words Welcome to your suicide room echo in my head. Then darkness overcomes me

(by Amber C. Shields)

Oh, Troubled Soul – Sympathy Poems

admin — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 14:02:11 +0000

OH look at you, you troubled soul,
your mind so heavy, so dim.
The bonds that held you then, still hold you now,
and your heart grows cold and grim.
The sadness I see in your eyes
will not, cannot pass on.
So your soul cannot survive
and soon it will be gone.
This is a burden I cannot carry
and you cannot pass on.
This is a burden you must carry trudging on all alone.
I fear for you, oh troubled soul.
The weight, i fear, is to great.
I fear for you, oh troubled soul.
For you, now, it is too late.
(by Heidi R. Stinemetz)

How Could You – Sympathy Poems

admin — Sat, 27 Sep 2008 13:24:01 +0000

All I can do
Is sit alone in my room
Thinking of you
How could this be you are not here with me
When I gave you the best of me
I face each day without a smile
And life seems so unfair
I feel like I want to die
Cause you didn’t give me a last good-bye
I’ve waited weeks for your call
I’ve waited here by the phone
But when the silence grew long
I knew something was wrong
Right then I knew it
How could you do it, tear my heart in two
There is no more blue in my sky
Only cloudy mornings
And these tears like rain you left behind
All of those memories in the corners of my mind
I start looking at us
At a picture of us in a frame
And I start to cry
Cause I can’t see us apart
Oh God, can you help me with the pain I’m feeling deep down inside
Tell me it’s not true
Will I have to spend
The rest of my life without you
How can I get through this pain of losing you
(by Amberr DeCent)

Divine Device – Sympathy Poems

admin — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 05:03:26 +0000

To hapless human-kind
If we could feel no pain
Of body or of mind?
Would it be for our good
If we were calloused so,
And God in mercy should
End all our woe?

I wonder and I doubt:
It is my bright belief
We should be poor without
The gift of grief.
For suffering may be
A blessing, not a bane,
And though we sorrow we
Should praise for Pain.

Aye, it’s my brave belief
That grateful we should be,
Since in the heart of grief
Is love and sympathy,
We do not weep in vain,
So let us kiss the rod,
And see in purging Pain
The Grace of God.
(by Robert William Service)

The God Of Common-Sense – Sympathy Poems

admin — Sat, 13 Sep 2008 05:01:43 +0000

My Daddy used to wallop me for every small offense:
“Its takes a hair-brush back,” said he, “to teach kids common-sense.”
And still to-day I scarce can look a hair-brush in the face.
Without I want in sympathy to pat a tender place.
For Dad declared with unction: “Spare the brush and spoil the brat.”
The dear old man! What e’er his faults he never did do that;
And though a score of years have gone since he departed hence,
I still revere his deity, The God of Common-sense.

How often I have played the ass (Man’s universal fate),
Yet always I have saved myself before it was too late;
How often tangled with a dame – you know how these things are,
Yet always had the gumption not to carry on too far;
Remembering that fancy skirts, however high they go,
Are not to be stacked up against a bunch of hard-earned dough;
And sentiment has little weight compared with pounds and pence,
According to the gospel of the God of Common-sense.

Oh blessing on that old hair-brush my Daddy used to whack
With such benign precision on the basement of my back.
Oh blessings on his wisdom, saying: “Son, don’t play the fool,
Let prudence be your counselor and reason be your rule.
Don’t get romantic notions, always act with judgment calm,
Poetical emotions ain’t in practice worth a damn/
let solid comfort be your goal, self-interest your guide. . . .”
Then just as if to emphasize, whack! whack! the brush he plied.
And so I often wonder if my luck is Providence,
or just my humble tribute to the God of Common-sense.
(by Robert William Service)