lack of empathy poems

The Poor | J.K. Durick

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Of course, they’re always with us
inevitable parts of that puzzle
we’re in, the games we’re playing
but, if we look around for a day
select where we walk, the shows
we watch, the people we listen to
it will almost seem like they’re no
longer with us, like lucky Houdinis
we’ve disappeared them; it’s all
just selecting and organizing things
thinking good thoughts about our-
selves, our exceptional selves, folks
who so easily solve problems they
spent a few centuries griping about
trying this and that, till they ended
up inevitable, without a solution
till now, of course, wave our wand
and they are gone as easily as that
– it’s so good to be that great again.

Conjoined Twins | Langley Shazor

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I look at you with disgust
Because of what you have
You look at me with disdain
Because of what I lack
In this battle for supremacy
A paradoxical war of attrition
Bystanders see us as equal
Our actions garner mutual attention
We cannot be distinguished
Such reflections of each other
Might as well be joined at the hip
In this sack race of entitlement
We stumble over one another
Both looking like fools
And yet
We swear we are different
I guess it does take one to know one

Confused and Confused | Diane Woodward Dorff

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How did we get here?
How did our people
Come to believe
That down is up
And up is down?
That kindness is defeat,
And hatred is strength,
And understanding is wrong?
Is this the nation whose establishment
Used to be full of war and money
and decisions made over and over again?
Whose establishment is now
Regard for differences,
Careful thinking,
Examination thought by thought
And gun by gun.
Who would have thought
Our highest ideals would become
Meanness and ignorance?
That salvation would come
By letting go of one another’s hands?

Cash Grab | JD DeHart

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They sell what they
can, what is not
bolted down.
When troubles come,
they loot neighbors
and friends.
Eyes full of dollar signs.
I know it is cliché,
but what about the old
saying about giving
and receiving?

Flotsam and Jetsam | Colin McCandless

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Tossed ashore like driftwood on a beach
Unable to steer a course, your humanity they beseech
Stripped bare, they crawl forth naked, newly born
Will you draw them to your breast, or will leave them forlorn?
The old familiar fears creep in as you clutch your pockets
And turn away from imploring faces and sunken sockets
This is a time for casting judgments aside
For moving forward with arms open wide
But instead the gates are locked and the entrance barred
While the castaways desperation grows, their psyches scarred
No short memory deprivation, your conscience laid clear,
Never will it be forgotten, the events that transpired here

Zoos in Action | Ananya S. Guha

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Have I followed the rules
to be human,
artful enough, skilled
to walk roads on water,
smell the ether?
Have I
detonated a bomb
meant to kill me and the rest,
stored explosives
in rooms for the next revolution,
wept for people flayed alive?
Mourned enough in polka-dotted shirts or cars?
In streets lined with hyenas
mocking revolution — of
zoos in action.

Knowing You | Ananya S. Guha

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Knowing you I feel only
that the stubble on my chin
will keep growing like those
endless subaltern dreams.
Wishes are, are not dreams.
The child next door grins
with his dirty face. Smudges. Let my stubble grow into a beard of
delight, passions. A beard that measures time in between tiny fingers.
A beard turning grey, white. Knowing you I know you will not listen to dreams. They cannot happen. We must improve
our condition, not others’.

White Fragility with #BlackLivesMatter | Daniel Klawitter

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Maybe reading into a slogan
Your own exclusion
Is a way to avoid
A real reckoning?
To deflect with semantics
The black & white
Sheets of statistics
And lived experience,
All the while saying:
“Me too! Me too!
All Lives Matter!”
Well, of course they do.
And some, apparently,
Matter much more
Than others.
There is a difference
Between affirmation,
Negation & erasure.
I can’t help but wonder:
If you were as aware
Of institutional racism
As you are with grammar
And linguistic aggravation,
Well, maybe… just maybe…
We wouldn’t need to be having
This conversation
Over and over again.

Trompe L’Esprit | Stan Morrison

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what do psychopaths dream about
as REM sleep takes over their sleep
they have no conflicts on parade
they might dream about adoring fans
they’re never tired of being admired
howz about vengeance over enemies
that’s an insatiable lifetime pursuit
maybe about being a stable genius
charming sycophants into submission
that’s certainly a most noble ambition
for the rest, cursed with a moral compass
who respond to some code of ethics
and are deluded by the virtues of empathy
psychopathy is a TROMPE D’ESPRIT

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