Best Vindictiveness Poems
terza rima
Years of experience, a discovery -
I can speak without making use of my jaws.
Prudence and patience are rudimentary.
Some folks get their kicks using scuttlebutt claws.
Their tongues' crude vitality comes with closed eyes;
emotional blindness - the probable cause.
Starting with prejudice, they out and out lie.
When asked, I stand silent, comments I refuse.
To their third-degree grilling I can't reply.
Some fake aggravation, crying through tissues.
But demurring to speak, objection I raise.
Honesty is one of many dead issues.
Bidding no farewell, I leave, making my case,
which makes me their next target, no hesitance.
My objection overruled, noise fills the place.
Turning my back on verbal vindictiveness,
this fugitive from gossip needs no redress.
13 March 2016
As in crystal methamphetamine, the mind becomes cold.
Anxiety, paranoia, and schizophrenia
Creep in, like snakes and deathstalker scorpions, uncontrolled
Are bones, veins, flesh, and blood affected by asthenia?
The body begs for calm composure; the moody mind mulls.
Midst fires of optimism, the ice of pessimism melts.
Restlessness and rebelliousness resemble spineless skulls
Vandalism of vindictiveness vitiates vague vents
The feeling of freedom to fly and fervently flutter
Fill and flow flawlessly, like fine floral fluorescence.
Mild melodies of memories musically mutter
Constant conscious conscience has come to be the quintessence.
When the ice of hateful, heinous, hideous hurdles heaps
May passions of compassion flare from the depths of the deeps!
Hey girl, what's up?
just called to check on you,
Cuz when you're part of the sisterhood ,
that's what sisters do!
Be times good, or be times bad,
rather you woke up happy,
or rather you woke up mad,
A sister will listen,
she doesn't always give advice,
she's thoughtful in her responses,
thinking it over twice.
Night or day,
it really doesn't matter,
she'll say girl, let's have some ice cream ,
and get a little fatter.
Be it the kids, the husband,
the job, or another issue,
sisters sit down and grab a box of tissue.
What I have is yours,
and what you have is mine.
Have you ever seen three sisters,
share a single dime?
Well as sisters, that's what we do,
I wouldn't say it ,
If I knew it were not true.
In the sisterhood,
We leave the crabbing, the backstabbing, and
vindictiveness behind.
For it takes too much effort,
and we have too little time!
So sisters,
Let's build each other up,
not tear each other down,
Let's greet one another with a smile,
and forego the nasty frown.
Each one teach one,
is what I say,
let's make empowerment the word of the day!
Let's promote the positive,
or say nothing at all.
Let's lift each other up,
not make each other fall.
Let's be truthful, thoughtful,
and prayerful of each other.
Let's strive to take each other,
just a little bit further.
I'm brown, your tan, she's dark, she's light,
One sister is Puerto Rican,
and the other sister is white.
Our complexion, our race, doesn't play a part,
because the sisterhood, cares not about color,
or status, it's all about your heart!
We won't always see eye to eye,
or always agree,
but I've got you girl,
and I know you've got me!
Storms may come,
but we weather them together,
trying to stay dry,
beneath one umbrella!
So ladies,
When things are bad,
and you can find no good,
there is always comfort to be found ,
in the sisterhood!
As women, we are often misunderstood,
So ladies,
I thank you, for promoting sisterhood!
Can anybody tell me how they get over that synonym,
Missing.
I am unable to regulate my soul,
It doomed my thoughts, defeated
my entity, dictated the pleasure's
off me, to feel the Moment.
Missing, is my unique enemy,
has haunted me since my
children left our home,
dominated my shadow,
conditioned my brain,
provoked my tears,
drowned my vitality,
created my vindictiveness,
refusing to be optimistic,
allowing it to torment my
darkness, dictated my pain,
captivated by this unique
synonym, I sense it's tantrum
everywhere, how can I omit it?
anyone can help me? it was always
there, but I was not helpless,
I am today. Now
I was born with a heart, I cannot find it,
I am a bought slave with my own purchases,
how weak have I gone down the ladder lately,
how desperate have I allowed to be taken
for granted by the word Missing, why?
is aging doing all that? have I become
so wounded by giving up my strength.
When I was younger, I had ways to accept,
to understand, to not allow it to take over
my few remaining years, I was healthy,
strong, had aims, was in love, made love,
I used to go out, now left alone.
Deserted.
I used to visit my children, I felt alive,
healthy, even old it did not affect me
the way it does those days, loosing hope
of wanting to survive, it engulfs all my
existence, become so much stronger than
I am.
Missing, I am its slave, worst, intentionally,
allowing it to stab me, it blocks all my doors,
it imprisons me. I am in prison. Now.
Can someone come and get me?
I am not drinking, cooking, put make up,
dress or go out, paralyzed, under its feet,
no life, I beg like a beggar, I get no answer,
it destroyed my brain, my thoughts, my surreal,
destroyed all my tissues,
negative thoughts are born nowadays,
weakened my system, my strength
is drained.
I am a mother, Oh universe, it leaves me
breathless, weak, make me strong, I am hungry,
feed me, I am judgmental, forgive me, no patience,
angry, I am destroying myself, carry me to the ocean,
drown me intentionally before I become selfish,
I stopped being there for my children, I am helpless,
I need help.
It destroyed who I was, made me despise who I am,
Now.
Therese Bacha
31/5/2013
Where everyone is foot loose,
Where all are their own ruler,
Where no one is chained,
That’s my dream world.
Where dreams always come true,
Where there are no heartbreaks,
Where none ditch the other,
That’s my dream world.
Where, in heart of hearts, all love all,
Where only brotherhood persists and no hatred,
Where there is no anguish, no jealousy,
That’s my dream world.
Where one’s weakness is their strength,
Where none commit mistake, yet,
Where all are experienced,
That’s my dream world.
Where impossible is no word,
Where vindictiveness does not exist,
Where verve is in the air,
That’s my dream world.
Where all animals are loved,
Where every woman is respected,
Where each man is honored,
That’s my dream world.
Where no work is looked down on,
Where never comes The Great Depression,
Where there is no work yet all earn,
That’s my dream world.
Where studying doesn't define your sincerity,
Where your dress doesn't define your character,
Where dreaming your dream world is no fault,
That’s my dream world.
A Penn Valley phantom appears to haunt and lurk
premises at 1148 Greentree Lane
his youngest daughter (Abby) I pledged my troth and, natch won my Zison’s
Dunkirk
ire and vindictiveness akin to rivalry of Abel versus Cain
now breeds and festers hallucinations that make me go berserk
also brings to mind myth of another named King Canute, a Great Dane
whose battle cry and hymn of the Republic made manifest with ease of dirk
visitations with ethereal sprite pushes me to madness and makes me go
insane
torture treatment mangles mental management amidst mire and murk!
The rattle of chains heard despite noiseless apparition and wraith, which curse
and bain
from dark and sinister shadows make me feel like a jerk
at such fallacious belief in preternatural imaginative creations ranked as inane
by this skeptic whose vulnerable acuteness to otherworldly visages does perk
especially during wee hours of morning when superstition runs amuck and
seems to gain
upper hand and let spiral out of rational control thought of afterlife quirk
yet confession must be made that long dead father of wife does wag finger of
disdain
and utter silent disapproval and near ruination by marrying a bum of a guy who
lacks for work!
A Penn Valley phantom appears to haunt and lurk
premises at 1148 Greentree Lane
his youngest daughter (Abby) I pledged my troth and, natch won my Zison’s
Dunkirk
ire and vindictiveness akin to rivalry of Abel versus Cain
now breeds and festers hallucinations that make me go berserk
also brings to mind myth of another named King Canute, a Great Dane
whose battle cry and hymn of the Republic made manifest with ease of dirk
visitations with ethereal sprite pushes me to madness and makes me go
insane
torture treatment mangles mental management amidst mire and murk!
The rattle of chains heard despite noiseless apparition and wraith, which curse
and bain
from dark and sinister shadows make me feel like a jerk
at such fallacious belief in preternatural imaginative creations ranked as inane
by this skeptic whose vulnerable acuteness to otherworldly visages does perk
especially during wee hours of morning when superstition runs amuck and
seems to gain
upper hand and let spiral out of rational control thought of afterlife quirk
yet confession must be made that long dead father of wife does wag finger of
disdain
and utter silent disapproval and near ruination by marrying a bum of a guy who
lacks for work!
You work so hard, seven days a week
Our lives are separate. They have to be.
You're up in the morning and out by five
I'm just coming in and barely alive
I want to be with you but there's never the time
So I just have to miss you, pretend that I'm fine
I remember way back when you just couldn't wait
To get home and see me just like a date
Romance and passion were all that we knew
I cared what I looked like and dressed up for you
Well, at least I put make up on...what did you do?
Ooops there I go, the unconscious slip
This poem of love just turned into shi
My hidden agenda, the anger and hate
Projected on you like something I ate
That wouldn't stay down, digest and vacate
The vicious vindictiveness of love vs hate
We're arguing again because you took the bait
Karen M Feist
It’s such season. Even during those long and gray rainy days,
in the drought under the scorching sun, and in the storm that visited with the great flood; the bad seed sown in the springtime holds out till his hour has come with teeth clenched, it took the root in the ground deeply and clutched the high wind with its body, limbs, and twigs. But now, time has grown, and it has turned into red to ripen. And fallen onto earth with decay.
It’s the time of end with so much in need of need. For a flag of evil
torn by an abandoned wind has lost its way, and importunate vindictiveness
fades with the fallen leaves which were writhing on earth that grows harder
with the last breath to find a place to dig, nevertheless, there is not even
a drop of water to wet the chapped lips; nevertheless, no one comes
to help close the eyes which are out of focus.
It’s the wretchedness in the rain. In such a solitary hour that even
the setting sun lost its glory. The torn evil flag was going with reciting dirge
to blaspheme God, demolishes the thickened clay wall, struggles desperately,
and set down the coffin of the sorrowful vindictiveness.
It’s the season of tragic Hellenic mythology. There is no way to fill up
the space between wall and wall, and sick fallen leaves tramps through
the other fallen sick leaves, and the sorrowful maternity has to strangle
her own born child to death.
Nibbling a displeased fruit the rain is falling
and the fallen leaves under the foot are collapsing.
Set me off.
I dare you.
I want you to feel my rage.
Taste my vindictiveness.
And swallow the bullets I've bled out from.
You made me like this..
Unsure, worthless, uncared for.
Look at yourself.
I hope your rotting heart flourishes throughout the physical beauty you obtain and charcoals it like it should be.
You write a cannonade.
Hurling daggers into everything lively in me.
Ripping and tearing my being into shrivel pieces.
Flinging my dead body across yours as a shield of your own self destruction.
Damn, you make me sick.
I'm eternally "thankful" to you.
For turning me into something I never imagined.
I am desolation.
Closed eyes are blinded by the world, claiming that the truth is a sickness. refusing to listen to the cries of our so real suffering of the soul.
We embrace the drastic changes of our society also using social media as an emotional out let, its changing and taming who we actually are or meant to be.
Green eyes of envy control people, thoughts believing in negative words spoken.
Closed mouths don’t gossip repeat of lies told by scoundrels. Feeding themselves mental poison. You must cry yourself to sleep every night, wishing you had someone’s else life.
Losing the battle, you’re just a reflection of your former self. Try prayer God can help you with your misery.
Chewing on lies cause broken teeth; repeating lying words force rotting tongues cut off by society.
Looking into mirrors asking Why Me? When the truth was told to you while you were looking in the mirror. Look at what you’re going through. Your suffering is real your full of jealously, envious of someone you don’t even know. Knowing the truth of who you are. Your pain is deep those eyes never lie.
You cry yourself to sleep, don’t you?
Bad attitudes, vindictiveness cause wrinkling to your face force to wearing a mask put on daily; that was never who you were meant to be. pounds of flesh and sin. Holding on to revenge when you were your own enemy.
Closed mouths won’t get feed though closed mouths won’t repeat lies. Why are you angry with yourself? I’m thankful every day when my eyes open though your hoping wishing the worst for someone else.
I watch the world with our broken society wondering how long can we over look the truth.
I have a theory about close mouth look at yourself in the mirror tell yourself about the truth of who you are. What makes you better than the person you gossip about? lip locking exchanging lies with others so that you may free some of the pain of who you are.
The empire is broken, and the emperor
entertaining himself in his nightly briefings
has no immunity.
If ever a ghost rides to shoot, it has no better
retreat.
He is a hollow man, head stuffed with delusion walking on
broken glass, his deliberate disguises, tasteless gibberish,
vindictiveness and obfuscations, misbehaving before the world, show he's a fading star of a new reality show the great decline of American empire -- promised greatness
and delivered a twilight republic upon the shoulders of
his eccentric idiocy, no great communicator rising to occasion,
only an empty man whose end shall come with a whimper and not a bang.
My shadowy quondam
radiated a crimson hue
was alive and moving
now it is a ghost
emotionless
colorless and lethargic
a heart rimmed with marigolds
the sharp color of bloody mulberry
weeps like a crowned raven,
on sealed lips, scarlet wine dews
succulent but stifling
smell of chains is addictive
I am enslaved
guilty of a deadly love
star-stained soul
to succumb to luscious vindictiveness.
the heart sleeps in flinty rain
Lime-scented leaves drip
starfish-shaped leaf drops.
Written: January 27, 2023
You Decide Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Vindictiveness disguised as kindness
Is still vindictiveness
The true intent often seen through honest eyes
Countless instances submitting poems
finds me racking
quite a hefty collection of rejections,
the responses lacking
disappointing voluminous vicious
venomous vitriolic backing
quite the contrary,
the prefabricated responses
unsuccessful at hijacking
my "FAKE" toothy gumption
(since I wear dentures) lip smacking
bite size packing
not exceptionally appetizing,
but definitely wanting
with more pungent acidity stinging
(albeit figuratively) painfully digging
into the essence of all bone marrow,
asper this humble,
who will brazenly continue entering
competitions until scathing
character ridiculed of course including
unsolicited yet denigrating
words clearly, definitively,
and flagrantly insinuating
this prolific entity among
basket of deplorables wasting
his precious energy and time crafting
ambiguous, horrendous, and
nebulous word mangling
poetic endeavors attempting
to garner plaudits generating
infamous, notorious, and
sanctimonious renown diluting
the medium, which
August pantheon replete
with posthumous scriveners
reputations eternally outshining
any facile, infantile,
and juvenile laboring
in my unbiased opinion
far more deserving
of a simple bland communique
devoid of any ripsnorting
flagitious, malicious, and
unscrupulous character assassinating
(mine), which continuously insipid sending
(to yours truly) said
tactfully gentle turning
down efforts requiring
nose to the grindstone painstaking
efforts, which witness shuttering
myself within this
mancave, barely surviving
on thin gruel necessitating
copious blood, sweat, and tears with
nary even a shopworn reprehensible glint
bombarding, condemning, and defaming,
hence such determination bedeviling diligence
to espy acceptably blistering
excoriating, and insulting
nauseating mean opprobrium
meted out to me
until such outpouring
of vindictiveness acquired,
I will continue logic bending writing.
Wherefore art thou to find (even trumped) critique?