Best Envying Poems
No one lives in a democracy opening word lie
Let's be frank for a moment we are all slaves
unto a taxpaying system none the less true
Graded by our salary in class distinction fact
poor lawless order is the ruling bodies ignorance
that takes under the table deals which turn tricks
Hidden from view by corruption shady characters
our role models to carry into the future light
Power generates a hungry source unyielding
That lusts with the endless need for more
constantly envying others happiness
chaos will follow unmoral government bodies
They who should be prosecuted where justice dwells
under high treason against the state and her children
I believe in truth and honestly not falsehoods
In the jingle of your bracelet,
In the kohl that lined your inquisitive eyes,
In the softness of your lips,
I see my love soothing.
In the changing colors of the sky,
In the delicate ensemble of the words,
In the early morning drizzle,
I see your acceptance of my love.
In the depth of the night sky,
In tequila sunsets,
In the shadows of dusk,
I see our love blossom.
In the tangerine mornings,
In the droplets of water hanging on your hair,
In the blush that rises on your cheeks,
I see our love shining.
In the base of our throat,
In the half-opened crayons box,
In the edge of the rose-tinted clouds
I see our love immortalized.
In the soft moonlight
In the paper boat merrily drifting
In the changing temperature
I see the world envying.
Reliving painful moments every single day
Envying other's fortune
Always wanting the love of another
Loving people who will never care
Inviting things into your life that you can't handle
Trying to forgive while dealing with more pain
Yearning for the perfect life that no one will ever have
For walking, by early morning sharp 6,
Parking my cycle by children’s park,
Started I, round the park.
Breeze severe, drizzle slow.
Rushing to shelter I see rain,
no welcome face in park.
happy inside I showed aversion
my surprise! Flowers smile, butterflies dance,
bloody some flies too joined the dance.
passion in me got triggered .
I wanted to dance with flies
try catching butterflies and flies .
I fear for, all in the shelter may laugh,
my dignity my respect I bother much.
envying the butterflies and flowers
Lucky fellows gifted to dance and smooch!
I saw a boy near me in my spirit.
tried sweet talk to make him dance in rain.
too smart this fellow, he wanted me to dance first.
I cursed the younger generation for not loving nature
I told him, “In our days we would dance the whole day”!
fellow said, “you country fellow, I have a date today”.
I cursed him “go hell. Dance with evil spirits”.
I became very nostalgic of my childhood days!
By school days ,I try all eccentric things .
Believe me,I even lay flat on the ground
and look at rain in all angles.
Even research on reflection of light on rain drops.
Today I could never imagine for that in all rain
probably I have to take a picnic for that.
But for sure, the sense of rain
always makes me nostalgic,
a great cure for many of my untold pains.
rain,you come often for, I would live sane……
15-11-2013. by Jenish Soosai anthony for
"Fragrance of rain" contest by nette onclaud.
What colour am I?
Am I red, like the ruby in a ring?
Or orange, burning bright, flickering from the fire?
What colour am I?
Am I yellow, sour as a lemon, piercing my tongue?
Or green, envying the beauty of others around?
What colour am I?
Am I blue, sunken deep into the ocean?
Or purple, reigning above all?
I am not just one,
and I need a REALLY good pun
for you to understand what I am.
For I am rare.
I come with rain and shine.
Maybe now you know my name.
Because I am happiness and joy.
I am hope and faith.
I am all. I am rainbow.
-Millie Cooper
Judge Mental People
throwing rocks at crippled dogs
torturing non-classroom frogs
wallowing in self made bogs
pure jealously – non-feral hogs
consuming nothing but the same
the daily slop, a little grain
the grayish mud a match for brain
an open gate too much a strain
peering from their darkened sty
envying the darting fly
suspicious of the black crows cry
entrenched in deep snouted lie
believing that their bloated shrieks
elevate such brutish freaks
to tops of clear sky bluish peaks
to trash the goals that others seek
warriors without a soul
fighting from deep in a hole
guarding the emptiness they stole
mocking the songs of bridgeless troll
©11/8/2017
submitted to – Judgmental People And Haters – Poetry Contest
The Most High way, Abba Father,
your hands are full, always a-bless,
never ending- your palms of grace.
You are love…ing in a pow-er-ful way!
Hallelujahs forever born.
The light of sun, of color’s mirth.
The apt applause t’ward great I Am.
You are joy-ful, in a pow-er-ful way!
Heart’s rest, presence so calm - your wings
wrap around me, keep me so warm.
Your lullaby - a smile and hug.
You are so peace-ful, in a pow-er-ful way!
Til last minute, you cajoled them.
Ones that made it - happy and free.
Seeds’ elated…none belated.
You are so pa-tient, in a powerful way!
Milk and honey, sweeter the vine.
Filling coffer, eternal goods.
Every breath sets the table.
You are so ki-i-nd, in a pow-er-ful way!
Mercy, forgiveness, of His blood,
His heart a-glow in Father’s glance.
We wear Christ’s righteousness - a gift.
You are so goo-oo-ood, in a pow-er-ful way!
Your eye on our time and our space.
Each hair on our heads, you’ve counted,
and the cost was all worth it, Lord.
You are faith-ful, in a pow-er-ful way!
The palms of your hands were hammered.
Your heart was broken, your crown pierced.
Blood, sweat and tears in flawless pain.
You are gent-le, in a pow-er-ful way!
We are selfish, greedy, flesh-born.
Out for ourselves, but you O Lord
stretched out on the cross, gave your all.
You’re self re-strained, in a pow-er-ful way!
12/2/2022
Now the works of the flesh are obvious…But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.*
Proclaiming the word:
I belong to Jesus Christ.
My flesh is crucified
with its passions and pleasures
I keep in step with the Spirit,
not conceited
not provoking
not envying*
*Galatians 5 CSB
Am I hideous
So many years have drained,
slowly taking what was once mine
scattering it over endless thoughts and memories
and I wonder why, where has it all gone?
Silver finds locks once dark,
muscles speak in much louder tones
Sleep is something of youthful moments
and nightmares wrap me where once bloomed orchids
Coming down that mountain…stumbling,
gazing on the valley below, green and lush,
envying those who still smile,
holding hands and drinking of life
one happy sip at a time
from that half full glass held next to their hearts
Not a drop spilled on their dance floor,
mixing with saw dust and erratic footprint designs
A tear finds my cheek, lonely as it is
asking what did it mean, why has loved passed me by?
Nary a wave or a nod, eyes fixed elsewhere
Am I hideous……………………why did I just grin?
One more butterfly touches and I didn’t notice,
until now…perhaps
There’s that word again, perhaps…seems overused
though it hasn’t been spoken in ages
Entering that final path, winding…tiring so
but a spring in the old step, a bounce found in place of a crawl
“Sweet the fragrant air doth find me of you”
Why did I just say that, and in a voice I hadn’t heard in so long?
Seems to be singing…and it is me…me
and funny…I hear harmony
So it has come, the voices of my past belting out a few notes
into the mind of crab cake crumbles and starched socks
Yet it is not in my head, it is on the wind…a cool breeze of song
wafts along aged skin and tickles…and I laugh at the feeling
When she appears from a field of lavender, different yet perfect,
beautiful eyes, lips…I must be going insane…they said it would happen…madness
Then she smiles at me and I smile back, could this be….love…me?
Taking my hand we run…yes run…uphill…and I feel free
Reaching in my pocket I pull out the four leaf clover
I found when I was twelve and whisper…”Took you long enough”
If you should leave before I do
(and I pray that won't be the case),
precious things I'll recall about you.
The words you spoke
were sweet, gentle and kind.
I hold them with love on my mind.
Your voice was warm and silky soft,
it soothed every pain I knew
and healed me through and through.
Your eyes were a prize of brillant blue.
I melted when they focused on me
and marveled how they came to be.
Your hair was fragrant, rich, and fine.
How often I buried my face therein
and kissed your lips, cheek, and chin.
I remember oh so much more,
how heads turned at the sight of you
and how I relished that envying view.
But above all else, my precious love
I will forever recall and cherish
your goodness born above
and practiced throughout our marriage.
(Written in 2015.)
(Jodhpur is a beautiful, cultural, historical city in Rajasthan, India. This poem is all
about Jodhpur from her mouth as she told).
Left behind her beamish days of time of life, her days of girlhood…
Left behind her mother’s warmth and faced against frailties,
She left behind her father’s ires and raced against entelechies.
She brought with her those memories,
At once she wailed and bemused she smiled
She brought with her those glosses, palled in her eyes.
Left behind her rainbow and lived in blues
She smiles in low, her eliding Jodhpuri days.
Felled by griefs when thought of those kites at mackerel sky
Her heart yelled mutely at the Marwar soothed musical bliss fly.
There she drew by the Nagaur Turban and adorned faunae
Ceased by arts of jugglers, puppeteers and spread her wings with the winter newbie.
Revived with these memories she framed her ethnic hospitality
Multihued costumes and the aura of the folk dances attired by the society.
The copious finesse graced by palatable cuisine
Kachori, mirchibada and panchkuta are edible by.
Her blue eyes sobbed by her memories of palship
A walkover by the Balasammand lake
One will pass by the bird of Juno by the lush greenery.
The Sunset splashed with spectacular colours,
She enjoyed those days passing by the blue hills and envying canvas.
Retraced by the red sandstone and columnar, spire temples
She sketched her agone days with those prayers
Devoted towards the Shrine, deities and heroes of decades forgone.
Her heart thumped by her memories of gossips
Becharmed by the Forts and palaces,
The bygone era still reminds the battles fought
Witnesses still stand still by the chronicle held upon.
Lost by these memories colorful
She vivified in her vignettes
She brought up herself with the city
And she slept by the daydream known as Sun City.
Dated: 16/01/2010
Note: This poem is dedicated to my Jr. Miss Rajni
I should embrace the thought of Karma,
that positive aspect that could change me,
instead I rely on my irresistible Charisma
which sparks the friendlessness in me.
I'm more than a kind-hearted man when it
it comes to helping others by lending a hand;
I am the universal believer of honor and respect,
of diversity and equality; I can be anyone's friend.
These traits were instilled in me by kind people,
who had endless faith in God and smiled at life
even when they faced the most challenging struggle;
in the land of brotherhood and continuous strife,
my people preserved their identity and great culture
that the invaders envied them for their ampleness of wisdom,
for the richness of their land, so they usurped their kingdom.
Never being ashamed of what I am and being that light,
I have found my self-worth in loving and compassionate eyes;
and they deserve the right to abundance, and when it's scarce,
they compromise by singing from windows and balconies...
believing that those doing harm are punishing themselves
for envying what they possess: the extraordinary strength to fight.
I lament the decay of institutions, I revel the concept of a rebirth
of the Mezzogiorno* that can put real gold in their empty hands,
but this image is a deterrent to go forward and be productive;
perhaps in my lifetime, I will not see these changes, it's so elusive
to look away and not consider that this society deserves self-worth
and embark on a journey as their forefathers did in these rich lands.
* The Mezzogiorno ( Southern Italy ) is still a colony
of Northern Italy since the Unification of Italy
in 1861. King Vittorio Emanuele II ordered a genocide of all the rebels
who opposed his government and that included their families. They were called Briganti ( lawless ). The Italian President Napolitano refused to honor them
with A Remembrance Day, and yet he honored a king who ordered the massacre of thousands of innocent people including Neapolitan and Bourbon soldiers.
So you want to be a nurse?
You study until you vomit
You pass the exam with a “c.”
Staying up all night preparing
For clinicals, the next day
Scratching your way to the top
For a calling, that’s not you
Envying those, with titles
Drooling, to be through
Perhaps, you pass boards
And perhaps, you don’t
Maybe a wish granted
Don’t be so anxious lass
Your time on the floor will happen ~
So, pause: Soon, will come to pass
“Yes! Come in, we’re so happy to have you!”
They lie ~ You’re just a warm body
Don’t be deceived ‘Nurse Green’
You’re there to assume the absurd
No one can tend, to the masses
That are reaching, to you, for help
You’re one person, in a nursing pool
All to be, hung out to dry
Continues at link below
https://bonniegjennings.wordpress.com/2016/06/06/so-you-want-to-be-a-nurse/
(for Jon Accomando)
mine was the last generation to be spanked. sensuous and real, w/ corporal punishment— at
least you felt something.
sadly, it too has been corrupted.
in the new violence no one raises a hand— eyebrows and whispers, an errant son reclaimed?
“fr yr own good. for your own.”
i am somebody’s son.
no.
i am in the living room, barely. the remote in johnny’s hand, an extension? new american
phallus, contoured to fit your palm.
push the button. change the channel. roll over and fall asleep. it’s all been said, done.
it’s the weight of history that crushes us. maybe a.d.d. will cure us of our inertia. maybe.
maybe is democracy in ashes.
no.
the cat is sleeping, quietly by the fire. i remember envying him once; a quiet life, pins
and needles— i was born for.
the cat is neutered. he spends more time licking himself now, and he’s grown fat.
we’re not so different really.
i am willing the embers from the fire in his direction.
i asked johnny once, “if you could make the world anew, shinny and perfect...”
his face lights up in anticipation. a million abstractions, he’s been waiting all his life.
“what would you keep the same?”
he doesn’t know.
“Television. I would keep Television.”
my face is gently bashed in.
oh, mild america...
one day, when the oil runs out and the apartment buildings reach the sky things will
change, they have to.
where there was silence—whispers. a fast talker now a lisper. whisper down the cities.
shudder down the buildings.
man’s love, man’s work- is made worthless. we’ve been pissing and moaning so long that
it’s coming out screams and yawns.
no.
blessed! we are blessed!
w/ suffering and desire.
w/ big macs and rubbing thighs.
w/ quiet eyes and shaky hands.
w/ heartache and lone.
w/ genitals in my coffee.
w/ 10,000 thoughts in my pockets.
the simulacra of the ‘good life’ is a pacifier. i’ve had enough.
no.
no. no. no. no. no.
in the living room i am empowered. i have willed an ember from the fire onto the cat.
kindly he remains asleep.
i told johnny “the cat is on fire.”
johnny nodded.
the cat continued to burn.
Literature was pursued
by the greatest individuals who ever lived,
and they left us works of unsurpassable wisdom;
human emotions have always been the same,
and this can't attest to the fact that they will not change anytime soon,
but the freer we are, the further we go up in our balloon.
The richest heritage of Humankind
is found in the written word, which is heard often and not really understood;
where would we be today without the plays and sonnets of Shakespeare that were quite sad,
or Dante's famous canto, not excluding superb works by modern writers?...
During the dark ages, monks translated books from Greek and Latin into common languages;
as the barbarians destroyed everything found in their path, civilization did not end.
Tragedies of famous people attracted the lucrative minds of poets who had heard of them,
thus embellishing them with their vivid imagination and present actual facts...I follow in
their poetic footsteps, writing down stories that have recently happened, or occurred
before I was born; and with ideas as interesting as theirs, I continue in that tradition
without envying their unaging expressions and distinguished style, but by aggrandizing them.
Literature has finally found its merited place in History, unlikely a hundred years ago,
more people are voraciously reading, and keeping the writers busy by admiring
their sensational works, making comments of encouragement to boost up their optimism;
and to theaters they go and spent an entire night to listen to drama and satire...to scoff,
laugh, or cry when emotions intensify by the sconces of the electric lights; and cheering,
they applaud the richest heritage of Humankind on stage, and are captivated by its scenario.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Winter
Black cloud enshroud blue horizon while migrating birds tweet their last goodbye
Arctic winds weigh down bare naked branches watching blinding storms streak by
Above forsaken lodge tower sequoias like sentinels safeguarding an empty citadel
Hungry bison scrapes damp earth for green grass then uncovers a nourishing well
Immaculate summits shed kaleidoscopic colors pondering the splendor of next fall
Snowflake encrusted serpentine rivers inside the path of an imminent frigid squall
Taking agile steps shivering wolves defend lives at stake to outfox predacious gun
Aging leaves tumble toward battered ground envying the sky waiting for the sun
Penned:
01/10/2018
12:37 P.M.
West Palm Beach, Florida