The existentialist says at once that man is anguish.
quote by Jean-Paul Sartre
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In struggling against anguish one never produces serenity; the struggle against anguish only produces new forms of anguish.
quote by Simone Weil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pain, The Anguish, The Fear
Inside of me
raining down
its everywhere
hurting me
blinding me
to myself
the pain, the anguish, the fear
they smother me
blocking out all thought
breeding misery
my only will
is to end it all
to stop the pain
the anguish, the fear
of them
I live afraid
of their next move
out of fear
I build a wall
to block myself
from them
I give everyone the illusion
of being inside but it is only
smoke and mirrors
sometimes fooling myself
into thinking it as well
the pain, the anguish, the fear
seep through the cracks
smother me
in a blanket of hate, anger and fear
they are killing me
slowly but surely
the pain, the anguish, the fear
poem by Austin Jones
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Anger and Anguish
You leave these memories you don't need,
To fade away.
Who wants to remember...
People so driven with their no hiding hate.
Who wants to remember...
When truth became for us outdated.
And deceit became the bait,
That was related and we ate it.
Who wants to remember...
This.
Who wants to remember...
Anger and anguish.
Who wants to remember...
This.
Who wants to remember...
Anger and anguish.
You leave these memories you don't need,
To fade away.
Who wants to remember...
People so driven with their no hiding hate.
Who wants to remember...
When truth became for us outdated.
And deceit became the bait,
That was related and we ate it.
Who wants to remember...
This.
Who wants to remember...
Anger and anguish.
Who wants to remember...
This.
Who wants to remember...
Anger and anguish.
Who wants to remember...
This.
Who wants to remember...
Anger and anguish.
Who wants to remember...
This.
Who wants to remember...
Anger and anguish.
Who wants to remember...
This.
Who wants to remember...
People in anguish and bitter.
Who wants to remember...
Anger and anguish.
Who wants to remember...
This.
Who wants to remember...
Anger and anguish.
Who wants to remember...
Anger and anguish.
Who wants to remember...
This.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Anguish, pain, misery, sorrow and retribution
Some say life is full of anguish,
old man once sang that life is full of pain
some even preach that life comes fully laced with misery and sorrow,
and some believe that life offers no retribution
ideas clearly instilled in the hearts and souls of many a man,
but the truth of the matter is,
life is anguish,
life is pain,
life is misery and sorrow,
in the same way as rain is water
and water is rain
for where can one get one`s own share of anguish,
who`d we ever have known pain if we never had life
without life, would we live through misery and sorrow
life in itself is retribution,
for he who has life can stand ground against
anguish, pain, misery and sorrow
and live to see brighter days seemingly unscathed
but woo to he who loses his life
in anguish, or pain, or misery , or sorrow
for he will receive no further retribution
and he will depart this earth with nothing but
anguish, pain, misery, sorrow
and retribution lost
poem by Tinashe Severa
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The Consuming Anguish
true,
the anguish is always found in the need
that is not always satisfied
the useless anguish
that consumes us
if we do not mind what to really do
and rightly so
in our next moves...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Every anguish passes except the anguish of hunger.
D.M.V. - Department of Muddled Verses -or- My Mother Is The Only One Who Will Read It Without Curses
Like a door, I'm poor at metaphor, and very bad with simile.
I'm more than just a little off on my rhymability.
My mother, the existentialist, has never cared for meaning.
So I've been a little short on plot, ever since my weaning.
My poetry would be aetheric,
if the Muses weren't so esoteric.
It's clearly only clear to MY sense;
'cause I poet without a poet's license.
poem by Steven Silent Wolf
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Pain With An Anguish
A pain with an anguish,
Comes to be delivered...
And no matter what the language.
A pain with an anguish,
To be extinguished...
Comes!
Choices given to make decisions,
Have been thoroughly observed.
And...
Witnessed to conflict with wishes,
To have a peace on Earth.
As this Earth was created to serve.
But...
Many believed their greeding,
Was just for them this creation made.
And with an isolating themselves away,
Few have realized their mistakes.
People talk about entitlements.
With a choice to choose their own interests.
But their own interests just don't sit well...
With THAT passing judgements from a greater realm.
A pain and anguish,
Comes to those evils done.
Oh yes a...
Pain with an anguish,
Comes to undo what those demons done.
Producing as a reason to sell.
Pain and anguish,
Comes to those evils done.
No one living doing things to others...
Can hide what they've done and run.
A pain and anguish,
Comes to those evils done.
Oh yes a...
Pain with an anguish,
Comes to undo what those demons done.
Producing as a reason to sell.
Pain with an anguish,
Produced as a reason to sell.
Will soon...
Have no market or a need,
As minds begin to heal from a hell.
A pain with an anguish...
Produced as a reason to sell.
Will soon...
Have no market or a need,
As minds begin to heal from a hell.
Pray!
To deliver your mind from a living hell.
Pray!
To...
Deliver your mind from a living hell.
Pray!
To deliver your mind from a living hell.
Pray!
To...
Deliver your mind from a living hell.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What you made me be
Anguish for success is the life I see
I would lament, yet my passion is gone
And this, dear friends, is what you made me be
Optimistic consent was my one fee
For then I become an automaton
Anguish for success is the life I see
A Crimson pill held the new soul of me
Consumed, laden me steel hide, broken dawn
And this, dear friends, is what you made me be
Old indolent self brought down to its knee
Obsolete it was made, a useless pawn
Anguish for success is the life I see
Only once, the now meek self sighs in glee
Released from the torturous mental brawn
And this, dear friends, is what you made me be
A required evil, never to be free
My protests, therefore, from my mind well sawn
Anguish for success is the life I see
And this, dear friends, is what you made me be
poem by Paul O'Brien
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Your Anguish Looks More Like a Smirk
'Sir...
You have made the people angry.'
How?
And why are they angry?
'Well...
It seems as though,
They want you to notice they've ignored you.
And you are acting as if you could care less.'
I don't!
And I'm caring less about this by the hour.
I enjoy the privacy and the quietness,
Of their ostracism.
'But sir...
This has made them angry.
They prefer you showed emotional anguish.'
Here...
Take this camera.
Give me a moment and I'll show you anguish.
'That's not going to work.'
Why?
'Your anguish looks more like a smirk!
Put your Sunglasses on.
Your eyes are twinkling.
And that will upset them.
Engaging them to become outraged.
Put more emphasis on the frown.
Turn your lips down and I'll snap the picture.
Sir...
This is going to be more difficult than I thought.
Try not to hold your frown down with your fingers.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Our religion is itself profoundly sad - a religion of universal anguish, and one which, because of its very catholicity, grants full liberty to the individual and asks no better than to be celebrated in each man's own language - so long as he knows anguish and is a painter.
quote by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Faces Of Winter~
Anguish put on it's Winter face-
It's icy story embroidered into the snow
A brocade of cold that chilled to ones bone
A compassionless season where the sorrow just grows;
Falling through it's window pane of time...
Anguish laid down it's blanket of white
No sleet-only the harsh sting of cold
You know-that cutting winter bite?
You'd swear that it was slicing into you...
Through the darkest of the skies Winter grey-
Anguish put on it's Winter face
And brought a blizzard of sheer despair my way! ;
By: Theodora Onken
June 29,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
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Don’t test the egg’s hatching
To tell or not to tell is my anguish.
What I shall, you should lead me to tell.
If I tell, I fear, it may dropp a shell.
If not to tell, my love is in the well.
If you are hit or I am hit, both are hit.
To tell or not to tell is my anguish.
To tell and not to lose is my wish.
If I tell, still I fear you may banish.
I shall not risk playing and losing.
Let me be not to tell you of my love.
16.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I shall know why—when Time is over
193
I shall know why—when Time is over—
And I have ceased to wonder why—
Christ will explain each separate anguish
In the fair schoolroom of the sky—
He will tell me what "Peter" promised—
And I—for wonder at his woe—
I shall forget the drop of Anguish
That scalds me now—that scalds me now!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Life, senseless, short of meaning...
it is senseless,
that is true, you exclaim
life is senseless
you write it on the board
pure existentialist leaning
an afternoon
without tea
sunshine beneath a storm,
guitars behaving
as accordions but more of
the piano,
this is the house
and there is this door
you permanently close it and then you keep on going and going
to places where there are no more houses
no doors,
this is your heart
your home
this is your hand
your feet,
your eyes, some tears, some scars,
blood dripping
earth sipping
you like another cup of cold
coffee....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Arch
one longs
to be at the middle of
the arch
door,
arch hands falling
on the side of the
hips,
gaze maps out
the other leg of the
arch
door, and finds ultimately
the source
of restlessness
the air is the
suspect
why the room is
confused
it thinks that it is
a boat at sea and there is
a storm
that causes its
vertigo
the nauseous philosophy
of the lost
existentialist
embracing pain hoping to
find the window
a frame of reference
a space between
where the jump has to
be made
at last...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Anguish of mind has driven thousands to suicide; anguish of body, none. This proves that the health of the mind is of far more consequence to our happiness, than the health of the body, although both are deserving of much more attention than either of them receive.
quote by Charles Caleb Colton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You'll Get Over It
I seem to be less concerned about your anguish?
I tell you what...
Take twenty years off of my life.
Put one hundred thousand dollars cash in my hand.
Tell me things are going to smell like 'Begonias'
For the rest of my life.
And I'll even make you a batch of my homemade pancakes,
To throw in on the side.
Until further notice...
If you do not see me doing a foxtrot,
With the sounds of a polka.
You can bet...
I am experiencing a happiness shortage.
And your anguish,
Somehow...
Has lost a few beats with my rhythm.
You'll Get over it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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She acts behind the stage
She couldn't get at least a dumb role yet,
And the rehearsal goes on, the rest do their parts
Go back for refreshment.
The dumb girl makes tasty coffee & tea for them
And sips her broken handle coffee mug in a corner.
Nobody's attention for her
And I read the janitor's soft heart;
'She deserves the best supporting actress award in her life -drama.'
For
*Jean-Paul Charles Aymard Sartre.Who was a French existentialist philosopher, playwright, novelist, screenwriter, political activist, biographer, and literary..................................et cetera.,
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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What Do I Really Feel?
this is the most important
question that i ask to myself
in everything that i do
in everything that happens to me.
that is never your question.
Yours had always been a different
version.
In your philosophy you are more
of a practical person
and you take pride in the
usefulness of each
a bucket, a wheel, a plate
a car, not that kite,
nor that mural, they are not
necessary for the movement
of things to progress.
You are the opposite of what i own.
I own nothing, you claim that everything
is yours. To hold, to have title.
what do i really feel?
you laugh. What is the relevance of that
question to your profits?
You are like my doctor
Who does not mind my pain
but minds his fees.
When a man gets cured
There is no place for sympathy.
It is the money
stupid. You grin.
here we are at the junction of feelings.
I go this way, You go that way.
I will not look for you
You will not look for me.
We then say
How long did we realize that we are
still making a beginning
to this long pretentious affair?
I am an existentialist
but i have never wished you dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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