Best With Spite Poems
So I have been told
by a drunk
does he own a pair of shoes?
has he ever walked in another's?
mean and grouchy
unkind to falling leaves
what dreams were stolen
was he the thief or victim robbed?
or does whiskey make him dumb?
and numb
narrow is the hateful mind
who sold his dignity
a silver coin for naught
Scrooge counting compliments like gold ingots
stealing orphans smiles, scotch with spite
the elevator though goes only down
fury and fires and poetic justices
he will burn in hell
listening forever to the angels voices
reciting for eternity
my
very bad poetry
Impaled
On your barbed tongue
Insults glistening with spite
Against your heart of thorns, bleeding
Mine crying impaled tears
A nail through our love
Impaled forlornly with cupids’ arrow
Poisoned by cruel words
A dream promised impaled by abuse
Written: 7-28-2019
Anthony Slausin Impaled Poetry Contest n/a
Entered into John Hamilton n/a contest 8-9-19 3rd place
Kindness and Love
by Kevin Davis, 2024
Seek to learn what makes you whole,
The kindness and love that live in your soul.
A whisper gentle, from heavens above,
Guiding your steps with the light of love.
It’s found in a hand that reaches in need,
In the quiet grace of a selfless deed.
It shines in the words that comfort and care,
In prayers unspoken, in moments we share.
Kindness, the bridge that binds us all,
Love, the answer both mighty and small.
Together we weave a tapestry bright,
A lantern to lead through the darkest night.
So, open your heart, let your spirit be free,
Spread kindness and love like waves on the sea.
For in giving, life’s true meaning is shown—
Through kindness and love, our strength is grown.
Keep your face lifted, your smile aglow,
Embrace those around you, let warmth overflow.
Turn from the voices that darken with spite,
They offer no comfort, no joy, no light.
For all hearts seek a way to be whole,
And kindness and love are food for the soul.
So, hold to your values, let goodness remain,
The whisper of heaven will echo again.
They built their homes of crystal praise,
Then sold us bricks of shame.
Each window gleamed with spotless haze,
While every neighbor took the blame.
The mayor preached of modest needs
From a throne of imported gold.
He watered plastic virtue seeds
And called the harvest brave and bold.
The gossip queen wore angel wings,
White feathers pinned with spite.
She blessed the town with wholesome things,
Then sharpened rumors every night.
The preacher cursed the gamblers' vice,
His sermon fierce and loud.
Yet counted silver twice and thrice
Behind a curtain, safe from crowd.
We watched them hurl their polished stones,
A sport the righteous love.
The glass sang back in cracking tones
Like judgment from above.
By dawn, their mansions sparkled less,
The fractures plain to see.
For every saint who plays at perfection
Leaves fingerprints on hypocrisy.
And so, my journey begins;
A challenge issued from deep and within;
You can advise if you like,
But I will hike my own hike;
I am old enough to commit my own sins.
I appreciate that you are worried for me;
You may be living my journey vicariously;
But, when the timing is right,
You can hike your own hike;
I will hold my advice until you ask it of me.
As I take my first steps on the trail,
You are right, I might possibly fail;
I don’t take your warnings with spite,
But I will hike my own hike,
And thank you for simply wishing me well.
I just took a moment from my converse with the clouds, the elite of the sky
To relate the with the lay, at my feet
To ascertain the state of things
Oh mortal! How goes thy fate this late?
What fills thy weight with spite?
Ah, I see
It’s in the scenes in the sea
It’s in the kills for the feast
It’s in the beat of defeat
Survival, my fourth cousin
Seems to claim your cause
The blood I desire not.
Love, its antidote
Dwell scarce in the elements
The spirits of the late
Can testify to the fact
That tact, which we lack
Is the key to the earth
Is the seat of the prize
Nature has been good to you
Still, you squabble over its seeds
Money, the fuel of existence
Spills the seed of deceit
In the midst of your fist.
You become impaired
You deviate from plan
For utopia or its twin.
I’m not an angel
Nor am I your conscience
I’m called reality
And, I’m having a fit.
You have your roots forgotten
Your perception's now rotten
Noticing oh so sudden
That brother's a great burden
No love for brother or sis
With contempt at them you hiss
And the sharpest point you miss
That racism can't bring bliss
People can be blue, black, white
I can name colours all night
But do remember alright
Only yourself you do fight
Because we all are on par
And you're left behind so far
Still your scars with spite you mar
Frowning at those black as tar
With the same hands, all God made
Watch as you do colours grade
Without love, away you'll fade
For we belong under one shade
A woman in rags with beautiful skin
Rusticity seen all over looking for a job
To her the village sky was too small to win
She wanted to soar in a city sky to probe.
Moved to the city in one-room apartment
With her husband & daughter with wishes.
After some years the life gave a good start,
But her husband was attacked by paralysis.
Lying in a broken bed numb as a wound
She shed me deforming tiles of the rooms.
A life’s funeral procession was on its round
The man who loved her tore her to pieces.
She was still a beauty, accepted another
He made her laugh till she with joy me recall
I gave her the feelings of a summer shower
She was happy that I was at her beck and call.
As the time passed when her beauty faded
Embellishing her neck and wrists with jewels
Used rouge, kohl and hair artfully combed
No semblance of the beauty she was, Alas!
Heard the heavy steps on stairs in the night
Leading but to the bedroom of her daughter
I ran to help, heart torn, killed him with spite
Again cure for her was my salty taste and sweat.
I'm tear, multi-faceted emotions of heart much stressed
By happiness, grief, and pain when they are in excess.
Dr. Ram Mehta
==============================
Tenth place win in:
Contest: Personify a tear sponsored by HGarvey Daniel Esquire
She's got lots of money but no fooking heart
Her forked tongue could put the poison on a tribesman's dart
All the things she did to drive us apart
She talks so much **** her breath smells of fart.
All the bad she thought she saw in me
With her head up That, how could she see
She can be unkind and pretty mean
I think she's blind to reality.
Snobbies like her think they're a better class
Ideologies like that make her an ****
Be careful of stoners if your home's made of glass
Thanks to her moaning Love turns to farce.
With a coldness that makes a cadaver seem warm
Black magic stabs at my side with a prickly thorn
If truth were a fabric her clothes would be torn
Return to your coffin at the break of dawn.
She could sell Maggoty Thatcher a pitch
On how to be more of a *****
Or to hate the poor because you're rich
What to do when the mother in laws a *****?
Why does she hate me and so berate me
Way underrate me any chance to slate me
For blood she thirsted with a mind perverted
Sanity was diverted and to stereotypes she reverted.
She's mean and cold and stuffed with spite
You just can't hold or hug too tight
She's been a sold a Love that's right
It's not just gold shines so bright.
I don't think it very funny
The old hags to bent on money
And baby, my honey
I'm afraid your mummy
May have contaminated you inside her tummy.
Through the corner of my eye I see the bride and the groom,
Slowly our corneas make contact I'm the elephant in the room.
A drunken night.
Sex combined with spite.
Makes a tainted marriage,
a fractured life.
"Speak now" said the priest, "or forever hold your peace."
The best man raised his hand and dropped to one knee.
"I can't let you take what is mine, I fell in love with her first
to me she's more than a bride. She's what keeps my hearts beating, she's whats make the sunshine, the air keeping me breathing"
The woman dressed in white looked down than looked right,
at the man dressed in regret, the man with green eyes.
A woman in rags with beautiful skin
Rusticity seen all over looking for a job
To her the village sky was too small to win
She wanted to soar in a city sky to probe.
Moved to the city so many miles apart
With her husband & daughter with wishes.
After some years the life gave a good start,
Her husband was attacked by paralysis
Lying in broken bed numb as a wound
Her salty tears deforming tiles of the premises
A life’s funeral procession was on its round
The man who loved her tore her to pieces.
She was still a beauty, accepted another
He made her laugh till she was in tears all
To her soul tears were like summer shower
She was happy that tears were enthralled.
As the time passed when her beauty doomed
Embellishing her neck and wrists with jewels
Used rouge, kohl and hair artfully combed
No semblance of the beauty with which she ruled
Heard the heavy steps on stairs in the night
Leading but to the bedroom of her daughter
Tears in eyes, heart torn, killed him with spite
Again cure for her was salty sweat and tears.
+++++++
April 4, 2014
Form : Rhyme
Stopped into an old junk-antique shop, found a favorite
The music collection of famous Ravishanker, the sitarist
Just I was going to walk out as I was short of dollar eight
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned round with spite
A man said” The music, too, was his dead wife’s favorite"
He gave me the money, before I thank him left the site.
Went home, listen through his and mine ears with delight.
There was a celebrated physician with great foresight
Had an old lady as patient with a hypochondriac sight
Suffering from all kinds of diseases of imaginary fright
Once she called him, he wrote a prescription straight
She confessed, she took the medicine and was alright
The note was “Do something for someone” to your might.
The trees are known by their fruits, a man by his deeds right
Man has three friends- wealth, relatives, and deeds to highlight
First goes with him, second up to grave, deeds beyond Christ
********************
The famous Pandit Ravishanker, Sitar player maestro, the Indian music instrument like
Guitar, living in Hollywood.
=====================================================
Eighth place win in:
Contest: Good deeds sponsored by Dane Ann Smith-Johnson
"Love Might Be a Risk"
If you listen, you will definitely learn
If you ignite it, you just might burn
Can I Love you good this night
Did you muse this write
I don't know
Might
Really slow
The progress in sight
Whether deserved or with spite
Either way we must be very stern
Otherwise, Love will never offer our turn
Do you want to know how the pomegranates tasted?
Oh mother dear, would you like to know how they felt?
Like freedom.
Oh mama, don’t you know?
He didn’t kidnap me.
He didn’t have to.
If we’re being honest here,
I stole him.
With all his darkness and silence,
his dark kingdom with no queen-
it’s so alluring.
No longer am I merely a flower
and the power of being queen is addictive
Oh Mother dearest,
your darling sister is using her power wrong.
Using it with spite and pettiness,
what a foolish woman.
my kingdom is smoke and bone,
my lovers eyes are brimstone and his mouth
is stained red with pomegranates
that taste like blood.
You warned me against gods like him,
told me the story of your brothers,
how they were all trouble those three.
told me to never taste his world, no matter how tempted.
But mother, oh do you know how he tastes?
The pomegranates were so very tempting.
it’s really not so dreadful here.
All I really wanted was to be queen,
I suppose was a tad more ambitious than you Mother
And who is going to question my rule?
It’s so funny
how my husband, always kind and faithful,
is always the villain,
and I, the goddess of flowers, am ever the victim.
Isn’t it funny how everyone only knows your side of the story.
But that’s okay,
they don’t know how I love my power,
as Queen of the Dead.
They’ll never know the hunger of the flower queen
Don’t you realize how difficult eating pomegranates is?
I had to pry the fruit open with my bare hands fingers bloody from
nails breaking
I used to be so weak.
And if they still look at me and see,
only a rose ready for picking,
oh, mama, they deserve to prick my thorns and bleed.
The harsh light
A grim sight
No help for our plight
On the PTFA Quiz Night
The scratch of a pen
In groups no larger than ten
five intelligent men
All from phnom penh
I wanted this to be a joke
but we are surrounded by serious folk
I try to sup my coke
The all stare, to ensure I never spoke
The sweat slowly drips
My Brain searching for tips
My stomach is doing flips
Wishing I could abandon this sinking ship
Finally as free as a kite
My mind is wracked with spite
people feeling the full force of my might
All on the PTFA Quiz Night