Weepy
Weepy, weepy
sometimes I'm weepy
and I don't even know why?
The tears just come.
Where are they from?
I don't even know why I cry.
Too sensitive,
too intuitive
I seem to feel other's sorrow.
I'd beg, steal or borrow
to stop all my tears
that seem to flow easier
as I go through the years.
Compassion's contagious.
I find it outrageous
to cry at the dropp of a hat.
Why can't I be stoic
and keep it inside?
I'm weepy and so I have cried
a river of tears,
an ocean of emotion,
especially when friends have died.
Weepy, weepy
sometimes I'm weepy
and the tears that come
I can't hide.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Related quotes
Sighing
bending on the bank
of a winsome river
a weepy willow
sighed:
'Oh for the day
that I my tears
again may find...'
.
poem by Frederick Kesner
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Lullaby Of Birdland
Oh, lullaby of birdland whisper low
Always here, when you sigh,
Never in my woodland could there be words to reveal
In a phrase how I feel.
Have you ever heard two turtle doves
Bill and coo when they love?
Thats the kind of magic music we get from our lips
When we kiss
And theres a weepy old willow
He really knows how to cry
Thats how Id cry in my pillow
If you should tell me farewell and goodbye
Lullaby of birdland whisper low
Kiss me sweet, then well go
Flying high in birdland, high in the sky up above
All because were in love
Lullaby, lullaby
Have you ever heard two turtle doves
Bill and coo when they love?
Thats the kind of magic music we get from our lips
When we kiss
And theres a weepy old willow
He really knows how to cry
Thats how Id cry in my pillow
If you should tell me farewell and goodbye
Lullaby of birdland whisper low
Kiss me sweet, then well go
Flying high in birdland, high in the sky up above
And its all because were in love
Transcription by lindsey smith
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hurtful Hours
So many hurtful hours
until I'll hear your voice.
Just seconds, just seconds
that would be my choice.
The wait is long. The wait is hard.
It's so very tough.
And when I finally hear from you
the minutes are not enough.
I sit on pins and needles
and let the time go by.
Sometimes I get weepy.
I try hard not to cry.
'Cause crying is a hurtful thing
and is no help to me.
So I dry my tears and wait for the phone
to bring sweet peace to me.
Speak to me. Speak to me.
Tell me what I want to hear,
that those hurtful, hurtful hours
are the same for you, my dear.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Leaving
Tears on flushed cheeks,
stomping on the floor!
Her little hands are clenched as fists
her eyes are looking sore.
Mother's making sandwiches,
adds delicious filling
little blobs of salad cream,
these are really winning.
"So your going, " mother says,
"Have you any money?
I've made a lovely lunch
there's cake with fruit and honey"
Little girl is silent
takes the sandwiches
then goes out the front way,
still with rolling tears.
Sitting on the front step
she eats her picnic there
with teardrops in her eyes
and dirty fingernails,
then creeps around the back,
waits by the back door
asks mum very sheepishly,
"is there anymore? "
"You'd better come back in
and dry those weepy eyes,
there's fish and chips for supper
and the pudding will be nice."
poem by Ruth Walters
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Sailing The Sea Of Love
and so tired of the weepy willows,
ironic about the daily news of love
abandoned, lovers abscond,
about a love lost, lover betrayed,
you heave a sigh and for once
agree with your feet to stroll the
shores of love: the hermit
crabs finally exchanging
shells for love beds, the worms
giggling for new partners
setting aside hermaproditic
decisions, the seagulls mating
on air and on top of the roofs
of boats moving out to sea
wave after wave of love
you sail out to sea all alone still
wishing that on the other island
you shall meet your best find.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sniffle
In spite of her sniffle
Isabel's chiffle.
Some girls with a sniffle
Would be weepy and tiffle;
They would look awful,
Like a rained-on waffle,
But Isabel's chiffle
In spite of her sniffle.
Her nose is more red
With a cold in her head,
But then, to be sure,
Her eyes are bluer.
Some girls with a snuffle,
Their tempers are uffle.
But when Isabel's snivelly
She's snivelly civilly,
And when she's snuffly
She's perfectly luffly.
poem by Ogden Nash
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Inspiration
Inspiration can't be seen.
I mean…you can only feel it.
Your wit won't help a bit
So that to convey the feelings,
To create a real art
That comes straight from the heart,
Like a holy writ recommit
God's gift and revelation.
How do I feel my inspiration?
It's not a certain motivation,
But only my emotions
And certain commotions.
Just the same in other words:
Inspiration is like birds or …
It is something very crazy,
Something very lazy,
Something weepy,
Something very sleepy,
Something very heavy
Or impossibly high.
This something
Becomes suddenly light,
Light as a cloud, and flies,
Flies, flies, flies, flies…
Up to the moment it dies.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 8th of September,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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AuTuMn TiMe
Autumn breeze frigidly touches ailing dreadful lives
Harshly darkness quietly surrounds the broken souls
Mellow serenades that once played between hearts
Pathetically have transformed into bitter sad songs
Somewhere beyond the flossy clouds
Cupid has lost his romancing arrows
Plays sad sonorous tunes on his bow
Dedicated to all weepy lonely hearts
Howling chilly wind blows through the mist
Sounds of sorrow spread all over the place
Fuzzy humid air submerges the inner lust
Lives decay slowly as the autumn leaves fall...
poem by lil'emo'kid BwOkEnHeArT
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Angeleaka
My name is Angelleaka
I pee and cry
And pee and cry
I was made in Hong Kong
I am plastic
With squeaky leaky legs
My name is Angeleaka
My bladder does not exist
Don't ask me why
I'm just a doll
So I'm not being droll
I have a drink
Then pee and cry
No nappy change for me
No kind word or advice
Once I was a top dollar doll
Now they've downsized the brand reducedthe price,
No turning back!
Caroleaka squeaker has been flown in from Japan
She squeals and laughs and FARTS and CRAPS!
ORGANIC CRAP
my days are numbered
looking forward to the slumber
OF dry days and weeks
Without a weepy tear or sudden leak
poem by Yvette Smith
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Cheng Beng
yesterday was cheng beng
the chinese all souls' day
i was struck by
late grandma's friends
for the first time
they are all so young
at the right
was a cheerful young boy -
the picture was ingratiating
and great
at the left
some young women
churchly type.
well lucky grandma,
has always had
young friends
for companion,
selfishly i told myself.
a brood of us
eleven in all
to call grandchildren
and she was always close to
church - grew up with catholic nuns.
so it should be heavenly
at the cemetery
in the other world
so many young friends
to cheer up day and night.
the woman at
the boy's resting place
coincidentally came
at the same time as us
with weepy eyes
she busied herself
at the bright mosaic;
to and fro, to and fro
wiping out last year's tears
last year's pain and longing
till the little mansion glittered in the sun.
her withheld tears too.
her husband in
a tense reflective mood
lighted and relighted
windblown white candles
as he tried to contain a storm.
the realisation that
they would eventually
black out
to leave him again
in a storm
face to face with
his smiling child
whose voice still echoes
in an empty chamber
in his heart
day and night.
the raging storm
spilt over to this side.
as birds twitter
under the clear blue sky
i pray to the holy spirit
to bless us all -
those standing
as well as those
in their peaceful chambers -
without making any difference.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Death' is when 'You' milk 'It
'Death' is when 'You' milk 'It' and milk it, milked
and you drive it, forever and ever,
upward and upward and never down ward, insane.
Death is two silky hands covered in hot burning oil,
that start at the base and death loves to covers each lamp.
While the flame burns inside the brown paper bag exposed.
Pushing death deep without compassion through the pale
full moon, as death walks around, ignoring your cries.
Heaven for death and coming so close to death you find.
Death makes you come over to your friends house once
again, in your mind while those pearls in the bag,
are laid up on the shelf that you share, with deaths pink pig.
Death moves both horns closer, driven unforgiving together,
one here and one there, ever closer, untiring you are laid out as art.
Death knows when the sky is on fire, say it again and again.
Death and truth, death is like an epileptic seizure,
when more than those silky soft hands,
never moved all the way down,
and a river of hot molten 'death' sprays,
in your hair each black day.
Death is as proud..and as proud of you, Death is,
as you splash it around, all about town,
Death and 'Death's' protein mask so tight, you peel it off.
Death was just the tip of the ice burg and death melted it,
with death's thick and full, red buried, unyielding lips.
'You' love to have your fun with death, as you milk it over
and over, the milk never expires, death never tires,
and many,
many are deaths executions from death's weepy milked eye.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Precious
The ebb and flow of the tide
Will carry me forth into your arms
And though Ill miss you tonight
The thought of your love keeps me warm
As the moon comes out over the water
Precious and too sweet
I shall pray love your soul to keep
The river sleeping sound
I shall be dreaming deep of you
Soul will keep thee, rife and weepy, calling out to you
The dip and roar of the crowd
Will dizzy me forth into your arms
And if we pass it all around
Well be of the same point of view
As the world spins round, here everafter
Precious and too sweet
I shall pray love your soul to keep
The river sleeping sound
I shall be dreaming deep of you
On a bed of silver sand
Ill take you lightly by the hand
And well dance on by the moon
I shall be dreaming deep of you
Shattered, dreamy, calm and sweetly, fool enough for two
When the stars play hide and seek
I shall be dreaming deep of you (I shall be dreaming)
Precious and too sweet
I shall pray love your soul to keep (I shall be praying)
On a bed of silver sand
Ill take you lightly by the hand (I shall be dreaming)
And well dance on by the moon
I shall be dreaming deep of you (I shall be praying)
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What's IN and What AINT Cool
To be considerate of others.
That's IN.
To be disrespectful on a daily basis?
That AINT cool.
Being there and caring with empathy expressed.
That's IN.
Self-centered people feeding greedy needs?
That AINT cool.
Calling someone or emailing, texting...
Or downloading a picture to send via computer.
That's IN.
Jealousy, envy, backstabbing...
And character assassinations?
That AINT cool.
In fact,
All that crap should be frozen!
What's IN and What AINT Cool,
Should be analyzed...
For the picking up of the good,
And the ditching that which is bad.
With a skipping over to a chapter of life,
That is lived for the harmony and joy of it!
What's IN and What AINT Cool?
Step and glide to the right side,
With the getting over of yourself.
Dry weepy eyes,
And leap into the light of a new dawn!
That's what's happening.
That's what's going on.
That's what's UP.
Leave that Down stuff on the ground,
And move!
Get up off your BUTT.
You 'feel' me?
You oughta.
Doin-The Sad Is My Life-Woe Is Me Shuffle,
Should be buckled up and muffled.
Locked to be blocked and stored to rust.
And blown away when it turns to dust.
Shutting lips with movement.
Now that's what's Hip.
You got it?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Drought
My tears my tears which water my mind
My tears my tears which make me strong
Tears of joy, tears of every kind
Tears of my sorrow, in my sorrowful song
Weeping tears never more
It is gone, it is gone my hearts manifestation
My tears, my tears my eyes adore
The tears of my soul, my only consolation
But never more, will my eyes leak
I can cry no more, for death did steal
The tears of me, forever dry and weak
My tears, my joy, my life's zeal…
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Tears We Cry
Tears we cry, tears we cry
Sometimes tears Kalahari dry
Tears we cry, tears we cry
For others many tears
In us for us many fears
For us we haven't tears
Their aches hurt so
But our heartaches hurt too
Why then do we for theirs cry so?
Mine tears don't for me flow
Tears for they my mind blow
Like a virgin turn whore
Went to a funeral
Of a relation to my fellow
How my heart felt hollow
In my gran'pa's requiem
I cried, but not a single scream
Friends spiced my cry like cream
We have wells for their tears
And deserts for our fears' tears
Tears we cry, for they that we cry
poem by David Munene wa Kimberly
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Hanibal B.
It was round about the third century B.C.
In Carthage by the sea,
That General Hamilcar Barca's son grew up
By the name of Hanibal B.
And this boy lived with no other thought
Than elephant husbandry.
I was a calf and he was a child,
In Carthage by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was frowned upon by some
I and my Hanibal B.
With such love, that the elephant god Ganesh
Fancied him and me.
And this was the reason that in 218 B.C.
In Saguntum by the sea,
The double-dealing Romans played up, upsetting
My sensitive Hanibal B.
So that his relatives said,
‘For Baal's sake, let the elephants be!
And cross the Alps and sort Rome out
For Carthage by the sea'.
Ganesh, tiring of affairs on the sub-continent,
Trumped up some nasty weather in the Pyrenees-
Yes! - that was why my poor boy came down with a sniffle
And was a bit weepy,
That the soldiers teased him because he was talking through his nose,
Chiding, deriding, saying 'Hanibal, you're so twee! '
But our love was more interesting than the love
Of those who weren't at all twee-
Of many who were ever so twee-
And when push came to shove
No puny punic soldier draftee
Could ever convince me it was droll
To mock loving minorities.
For I, one-tusked Surus, narrating these reams
Of the beautiful Hanibal B.
Say, though we shared many rumbles and sighs,
There was never any bestiality;
And yet all the night-time, I lay by his side
Warming my darling- his skin on my hide,
In the Alps, encamped past treacherous scree,
Inscribed in my heart and my memory.
poem by Diane Hine
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Tears You Cant Hide
Now I see tears you cant hide
Carry the world on your back
Heavy weights tear you apart
Now I see tears you cant hide
Feel in a rage cant speak up for yourself
All that you try to do its no good anyway
Now I see tears you cant hide
No use saying its a crime
Voices surround me but they lie, lie
Hold out your hand together make your stand
You may be alone you may feel scared inside
Now I see tears you cant hide
No use saying its a crime
Voices surround me but they lie, lie
(just hit me with your saxophone, lee)
Now I see tears you cant hide
Now I see tears you cant hide
Now I see tears you cant
Tears you cant tears you cant hide
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mass Confusion
[Jed]
Focussed eyes they stare but yet they still just don't see,
Darkness spills it's shadows over into you & me,
The skies look sort of hazy it must be my weepy eyes,
No purchase necessary we just won second prize,
Smoking causes cancer so I guess I'll just inhale,
Don't collect minimum wage you're going straight to jail,
Deductions from your salary that don't make perfect sense,
At the companies discretion you just lost those extra pence.
(Chorus:)
The mass confusion,
Of life's illusions,
Is it just a game?
Global warming,
Without no warning,
Who's gonna take the blame?
Vaccine is the virus intimacy spreads disease,
Passion always burns out some people just can't be pleased,
Just a splash in the ocean it will still will spread its ripples,
They call it a news paper but page 3 is just nipples,
Prime time television thinks it's got us in it's hands,
Even that won't help us to restore to greener lands,
(Chorus) (Bridge) (Solo)
Feet are sore & blistered searching for a local park,
No matter how far I look there's always advertising sharks,
Watch the people sneer at the tramp who has no shoes,
But he don't have to worry 'cos he's got nothing left to loose
(Chorus) x2
song performed by by Urban Clearway
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Weepy
A weepy movie.
I have been watching a movie on TV, a love story about a girl named Sabrina. I fall for
it every time; yes, I know the technicality of filming but still believe the story. Yes,
I know it is about upper class love, the chauffeur’s daughter, and the son of the house.
They end up in Paris, where else? Nothing mundane about the film, like, can I afford
a flight ticket to Paris? Money problem kills love. Last year my wife and I took a coach
to Paris 36 hours– we are divorced now-. We spent so much time finding a place to
eat and sleep we had little time to see the sights. Saw the Eiffel tower though, you
could build a ship with all that iron. It disturbed me, the Unknown Soldier’s grave;
eternal flame. Soldiers died for business interests and the lust for power. Wish this
was the only truth, fact is young men like killing each other, they just need someone
to say it’s legal. In Paris I read poetry in defense of the Palestinians, for an audience
of Jewish people, but since they didn’t understand Norwegian they applauded.
For a moment I was a star on the firmament of vanity. I will not be back to Paris again,
less I can afford to drink a bottle of expensive wine.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Years of Tears
Years of tears for no ears to hear, lonely for years am I
Years of tears for no ears to hear in silence they dropp and die
Years of tears, hidden deep, I cannot weep, nor cry.
Years of tears, for many fears of dying alone, I sigh.
Years of tears which no one hears as many years go by.
Years of tears in the lonely sky, my tears grow wings and fly.
Years of tears, my smile shines, through its little lines, I lie.
Years of tears, my somber peers through my melancholy eye
Tears of tears, Years of Years, in my soul, I tie.
Years of tears for no ears to hear my tears weep goodbye….
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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