Best Jealousy Poems
It’s almost time and I must run
to watch/read Poetry Soap for fun.
It comes on every day at this time
and I don’t want to miss a single rhyme.
Some are about a long-lost lover
written by a secret poet undercover.
Some are about jealousy and some about trust
with rhyming lines filled with lust.
Competition is part of their game
with bards and musicians hiding their name.
They covet a prize and praise galore
laid at their feet and virtual door.
But when Poet A falls in love with Poet B
you can bet there’ll be flaming words from Poet C.
Or when Poet D gets Poem of the Day
Poet E will have something to say.
Sometimes it’s fun to read the rhymes of hate
whenever I can’t sleep and stay up late.
Battles of wits,
Poets who have fits,
Some who sing,
Some who sting.
Magical flights to lands of old
written with passion and pens of gold.
But it’s the humble ones I adore
whose words are pure, their egos left at the door.
Each episode an unending story
with poets and their pets seeking glory.
It’s addicting like dope.
I don’t want to miss today’s episode of Poetry Soap.
By: Carole O’Terry Duet
Copyright: 9/26/2017
“All Rights Reserved”
Is it a crime
To pry apart rhyme
Stitch lines, unhitched
From native consequence
To warily marry
Unmetered time
By forced remorse
Unrehearsed
In patchwork verse
In my malaise
My daydreams ablaze
I long for eloquence...
to drip, untripped
From my lips
The devil rides
my prideful hide
Chastise with whip and spur
Damning the span
Between who I am
And who I wish I were.
3/6/20
~It's Out There~
Green colored field
A flower without the sun
Wilts from distrust
now washed away
by the man storm
~*~
Envious Ivy was her name
I’d buy something new – she’d put me to shame
My designer coat in a shade of emerald green
Ivy bought an identical one just to be mean
She was the most terrible copycat
See your purchase and say ‘oh I fancy one like that’
If I got a new car you could guarantee
Ivy would get the same just to copy me
She was like a shadow that just wouldn’t leave
If I had a great idea then Ivy would thieve
The copying went on for many many years
I got so fed up with it I'd end up in tears
Imitation is said to be a great form of flattery
Ivy was so jealous she should have lived in a cattery
I recently heard that Ivy had passed away
Do I have plans to copy her … NO WAY!
Contest:It’s Spring – Show Me Green – Francine Roberts
03~25~15
She calls on me, intermittently
In fickle favor, in spotty dictionaries
My demure, distracted destiny
She is the unrequited lover, the absent mother
She is Santa, granting wishes
Upon orphan dinner dishes
Then, flitting through my mind's back door
Leaving me her messy, unfinished chores
She is sly mischief's mocking whim
She is moonlight's pull, waxing and dim
She arrives on trumpet's fanfare glory
To bestow in my beggar's palms, a story
I am too poor to pass her by
Too thirsty, her nectar to deny
I am the third string, the second select
Her stepchild of benign neglect
She is my bitter pleasure, my inconvenient pride
My every frustration, my only tribe
I am a poet on part time pay
As full time runs a five second delay.
6/28/19
Somethings are best
said through blank
scriptures in sheer
silence, but pulling the
violin strings of
a poet strumming
to personify pain,
with tempests of
torment rushing
through thin veins,
would only widen
twisted tunnels for
ink to bleed in
vermilion lines of
broken thunder.
For these lungs have
long thickened
from scraps of
pretend promises,
to dress them
with mountains
of flawed flowers,
oblivious to the colors
that suffocate,
black hearted devils
hovering above
treetops of tainted roots.
And when the
angel of death
descends to steal
the steel within my
mind,
I question the vampire
grey hearts that kneel,
to raven midnights
beating tunes
of truth across
glacial valleys
of mourners.
Why is living a
gruesome terror?
Where artless spirits
sleepwalk along
olive lawns,
as grass snakes
sing deceptive
schemes-
with the reaper
that strolls through
a funeral of fairies,
collecting weathered
wings
and bleached skeletons
buried six feet under the
graphite soils of salvation,
confined within garden
graves of deception,
designed In unearthly
roses dipped in poison.
If only the sun would rise
and see,
how I am no longer
plagued by the vision
of you destroying peace
within your kingdom
of hypocrisy.
I am not your puppet
pirouetting through
hellfires ignited
by the thorny knuckle
of a megalomaniac—
chanting manipulative
mantras of a destiny,
devised from disorientation.
I will always sing my own stars
amidst suppressed scars,
until the moon trembles
and falls
into the heavy depths
of grieving seas
streaming in salty sapphires.
Why oh Why
A Collaboration between Seren Roberts, Tim Smith and Arthur Vaso
Poem inspired by Seren Roberts
Each poem written from a different view
The Murderer
The Murdered
The Mannequins who witnesses the crime
Why of Why
Lovers Die
Mannequins Cry
Sat, with his head in his hands
Remembering how love had once been,
Now, because of his stupidity
He was on his own, solitary again
Remembering, how love had been,
Behind the bars he now calls home
He was on his own as before and again,
Realizing, he was such a petty bitter fool
Behind the bars he now calls home
His mind, aflame with tears of regret
Realizing he was an utter fool,
To have stabbed her to death in a bloody pool
His mind aflame, with deep regret
Why... did he buy a knife that day...why?
To have stabbed her to death
Cause she had given love another try.
Oh how he wishes, its he that had died
Lovers Die
I linger with the scent of flowers
cascading over what was once spring showers
Your red hands drip passion
long since cooled
darkness surrounding you has lifted
and only I can see the light
Why couldn't you leave
a girl clamoring to be free
dressed in a burnt orange skirt
driven to the stake with your hurt
Words were written on the wall
but all you did was erase it all
Twisted as the knife turns
in a cell your hell burns
Mannequins Cry
We have no faces
We have no voices
You think we have no feelings
You see us as objects in commercial spaces
We saw the hidden knife unfold
We saw the young ones stabbed so bold
Pain is the emotion that frightens us all
Mannequins crying, tears running as we see her crawl
When the blood flowed
When the redness of hate showed
We with no faces
Shed tears at the human disgraces
Such young love so brutally robbed
By the jealous and lonely one, made us all sob
He regrets I am sure the hate that overflowed
Life's so torn it can't be sown
There’s the tightrope for you to walk, wire walker —
defying the gravity of reality and the reality of gravity
you know damn well he won't catch you when you fall
as your sticky grip on the star’s razor edge slips
back away from the black back-alley -
use the street’s angles and curves to your advantage
run! from the rouse of his lure
as the lore is as sordid as it is euphoric -
ruined as you are by the ruse of his rune
fade to disappearance with distance
ride the rift of spindrift; a smoke screen
as if you were never here
but the territorial she-wolf knows…
she dreams of pouring rain pooling on a blurry beach
though she may choose not to open sand-puddled eyes
intuition is not blind and instincts are hackled —
for she’s downwind of dual deception
and her elegant nose is one with the yellow-rose winds
her howls now haunt your hurricane
passion’s kite - once blissfully lost in windy swagger
brash in its stellar flash amidst a hazy starlit pinwheel -
has returned a stormy petrel
dark and hovering over self-inflicted wounds feeding on strife —
incised by the rapier side-eye of your conscience
you seek to stem the red flow of guilt washing up in waves
knowing you can’t dye scarlet heartbeats white
there’s the tightrope for you to walk, wire walker;
the bloodline — that which binds
a sinful sister’s envies to the sinless sister
and divides loaves of husband-lies for the bronze bloodless sinner.
With Divining Heart I Could Have Foreseen
With true divining heart I could have seen
little ripples of thy deep discontent.
My heart a meadow, once lush and bright green
now aching from lost days so sadly spent.
If thy heart sought the truth instead of lies
thee would have held, fast and firm loving vows.
These tears would not splash down from dark skies
as I seek anew, fertile fields to plow.
Blame I, ignorance of deception's wiles
trusting in our dear love and happy bliss.
Pray I, for miracle that reconciles
this distance, preventing thy soft-lips kiss.
With divining heart I could have foreseen
how thy lost heart would fail us, sweet Colleen.
R.J. Lindley
4-23 -1977
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 108
Note: My ignorance of a friend and his lies once cost me ever so dearly.
Lesson learned in youth, sad but one I suspect a great many others may have learned as well.
[A Pleiades consists of 7 lines, each having 6 syllables.
The title consists of ONE word only (and that word will NOT
be used again in the poem itself). The first word in each line
begins with the same letter as the title.]
Obsessed by jealousy
Overwhelmed to the point
Of no return, I reach
Out to you for comfort
Ousting repulsive thoughts
Opting to replenish
Our parched and arid love.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Pleiades “O” Contest
Sponsor: Kim Merryman
Placed 5th
==================================
The widow, dressed in glossy black,
glides from the shadows at the back.
A veil lies slack across her face
to mask the grief her features lack.
Possessed of an insectile grace,
she sidles to the open case
and like the reptile smile she bares,
this too, serves to defile the place.
Since jealousy insures she cares
less for his death than for her shares,
obsession next finds her engrossed
in leaving with the gold he wears.
A parasite, she'll man her post
and feed from this depleted host
'til she believes she's bled the most
she can from his departed ghost.
==========================
It is not fair, it is not just,
That you have things that I don't!
Do I suffer with envy and jealousy,
Coiling like a noose in my chest?
Or do I strive to improve myself?
Or do I accept you as you are,
Or love me for who I am?
Should I detest our differing destinies,
Or must I strive to enhance my stance?
Should I seek your praise or scorn,
Or must I be happy and calm?
I think I am the master of my fate,
Loving myself for who I am...?
But who am I, but a reflection of you,
A mirror of your virtues and flaws?
Admire or abhor?
Accept you, as you are,
Or love myself for who I am?
Wait—what makes you luckier?
When life's a gamble of cards and chance?
Should I grieve your destiny or mine,
Or must I strive to move my groove?
You are the image of my soul,
Reflecting light and dark.
Should I admire your charm or… loathe your faults,
Or must I cherish you as you are?
I should be the master of my fate,
Loving myself for who I am.
Should I seek your praise or scorn,
Or must I be happy and calm?
Your world stretches like a sun-drenched meadow,
While mine feels like a cramped, dimly lit room.
While I grasp a mere crumb,
Scales teetering, balance trembling.
Do I wallow in spite and self-pity?
Do I envy you, my perceived foe?
Blame the hand I'm dealt,
Crave your approval, loathe your scorn?
You have the sun, I have the moon,
This disparity throws me into a state of…
Despair threatening to swallow me whole,
Pulling me into its icy depths.
Envy you as a formidable adversary?
Chase your allure of glory or scandalous shame,
Curse your lot or perhaps my name,
Crave your radiant smile or icy chill frown?
What makes you luckier than me?
Life's a gamble of destiny and decree,
Drown in green-eyed sorrow?
I Should, I SHould, I SHOULD… I Must, I MUst, I MUST…
…Perhaps…
Just Do!
Navigate my inner world,
Chart my own course, set sail,
Embrace my authentic self.
Today, I choose to cherish us both for who we are.
Towards a future yet unwritten.
The.isolated moon in far arc of her epogee,
As she searches Earth's surface in cold winter's hemisphere,
She bites her tongue of protest of what she will never be,
And throws sharp knives of jealousy into the atmosphere.
In the cold moon's distant musings, her echoes can't be heard,
And but for the crunch of snow, silence waits for morning sun.
A blizzard has filled a reservoir, and so needs prepared,
Yet moon added sparkly diamonds to selfish pleasure's run.
The winter moon shivers with knowledge that her days will end,
And a yellow moon will rise during six months of the year.
The anguished, tormented moon whose dark murmurs now portend,
She will vanquish the yellow moon, and once more reappear.
She storms into the room
there is fire in her eyes
and thunder in her step
rage rumbling reckless
She's livid
a live wire of fire
charged
She's on the move
To punish
Is it a rumor or reality?
He has explaining to do...
She rushes at him
Pounding on his chest
words pent up all day
rush out in deluge
drenching him
he tries to pin her hands down
to make her understand
to undo this "misunderstand"
but she pushes him
her pride scorching him
her eyes sparking
passion raging
~~~R*A*G*I*N*G~~~
He pushes her against the wall
pins her hands above her head
"Listen to me!
You got it all wrong!!!"
she pushes against him
breasts heaving
legs kicking
and he's inflamed
her passion burns him
combusts in his mind
and he crushes her with his body
she bites his lips
as they close over hers
he loses his grip
her fingernails dig into his bare chest
trails of red
Growling in pain
He forces her....
kicking and screaming...
down to the floor
Pins her again
"Listen! WOMAN!"
She looks up into his face
breathless
and he goes for her mouth again
Taking her lips into his mouth
sucking fiercely
his tongue tames
fierce...his need to possess
to claim
She fights to free her hands
and they are on his neck
Pulling him in...in
Her lips respond in like
his hand finds her hair
leverage...a grasp
he pulls to expose her neck
And he attacks
kisses...bites...His revenge
His innocence turned to intensity's indignation
she sighs...she moans...
the sounds goading him on
As he loses himself in her cleavage
licking up her perfume
His favorite scent...
sensuous sexy sweet
the storm is fever pitch
in a flash of lightning speed
He lies her bare
and thunders in the thighs
she opens for him...wide
eyes closed
she bites her lower lip
to muffle her cries
as he rides....rides
His victory ride of righteous pride
and she's left
breathless...spent
in a storm of tears
released...repentant
of her insane jealousy
the storm passes over
and in the stillness
he speaks...
his voice shattered...weak
in her presence now calm
meek
"Your anger is beautiful
your rage my relish...
but now...come,"
His voice a whisper
as he pulls her in to him
"Come into my arms
and know the truth....
You're my one and only
My Passion STORM
Is YOU....YOU
Serenity...is overrated."
Death to the mockingbird with one shot to the heart,
Crushing wings with desperation sings sorrow worlds apart.
Concrete tears from wasted eyes fall on a mossy burial ground,
Taste the regret as it is yet to expel a gasping sound.
And rise oh symphonic sun in my mourning put rest to the moon,
Dehydrate this skin from deep within that I may die at noon.
Searching for stars to blanket this despairs shroud of living,
Pinpricks of celestial poison judgmental eyes are giving.
Blood upon my hands stains jealousy in deep wrinkled crease,
Saliva soiled dirt leaves an after taste that will never cease.
Breaking the joints of folded frozen wings opening like a book,
Laid before the novel ends I search for the heart that I took.
Oh mockingbird you brought this battle a war I inhale victory,
Would the devil rise with golden stained eyes celebrating with me.
With weighted flesh, holding her heart, he examines my deed,
Silently I beg come with me, success demands fulfilling my greed.
The devil he does make his choice, strong cradled hands receive
Welcoming the mockingbird, even in death does she deceive.
Breathing to life from lips I longed to love, the mockingbird awakes,
Flapping wings, resentment it stings, the ground under me shakes.
The mockingbird laughs for she mocks me no longer,
She has taken everything from me, and now she is stronger.