Two houses sit side by side on a quiet residential street.
In one, lives a man with an unlatched gate,
always ready to pause his lawnmower
to ask how your mother is doing,
offering a spare hand when it appears one is needed,
or leaving a basket of fresh tomatoes and cucumbers on the porch step
just because the harvest was good.
In the other lives a shade-peeker, a shadow behind pulled blinds,
who measures his property line down to the inch,
grumbling heavily under his breath when an autumn leaf crosses the boundary,
starting his car engine, revving with an intentional roar,
building a higher fence
out of a quiet, lingering spite.
For years, the coldness attempts to stake its claim,
trying to choke out the light with petty grievances
and silent, harsh glances.
Yet bitterness only locks a person inside their own small fortress,
leaving them alone with the echoes of their own noise,
and barring the door from the inside.
When the real storms roll through,
it isn't the tall fence or the sharp words that hold fast.
The stubborn, simple kindness wins out every time,
outlasting the cold
and leaving a light on in the dark.
'Bitter beggar woman'- that's your version of who I am?
I who nurture your children a decade, almost a score
Contorting my body to an unwanted twenty pounds more,
Cursing my fate for the diligent years of labour.
Looking back now with nothing left to savour
While you hang out with the guys, recreating your youth
While you salivate over the neighbour
in her long-legged stiletto shoes,
While you ‘make love' to me --
infrequently and out of duty --
am I not entitled to an ounce of your charity?
If I am a bitter beggar woman,
have you not seen me beg for your time?
I have no pension or bounties for my golden years;
All I have are my still-fresh tears.
I beg to be free
But freedom isn't even mine.
I am married- a curse I must bear
Like a crown of thorns on my head, my fate I wear.
There is no place left to hide.
I must embrace the void.
By nature, calm within storm and warm in form.
A tender touch resting upon a slender retouch.
A healing heart beneath a bleating bitterness.
My past was like a red balloon
It inflated yet burst too soon
The air dispersed without a boon
And it echoed my afternoon
My blissful days seemed like a cake
But sweetness became overbaked
The aftertaste could never slake
As moments were just underbaked
Yet days and nights remain my gift
Of life that brings lasting uplift
Even if candles fade and drift
My fire ignites through snowdrift
Though balloons may burst in distress
And cakes may unleash bitterness
My soul with Him dwells in wholeness
And my heart blooms forth in pureness
Blue is the colour of the shroud I want to be buried with,
If there's a body left to bury.
If not, then just remember me,
Picture me in a blue hue; my soul, you'll see.
My days are closing in, rising in numbers,
Dreams are full of chasing demons now
Where to go, where to flee,
Where do the gods go when they're free!
There are so many voices in my head,
Full of bitterness; some songs, some noises, And some are just pure nuisance.
Violence is a broken promise,
Revenge is an empty one.
But they're still better,
Better in my head,
Better than your promise of forever together;
The bull we always fall for, yeah that one.
No, you weren't there for me in my need
You weren't there beside me,
You were there but I was here, all alone.
I hate this void within
this gaping hole
that screams of silence
thumping echoes in my brain
endlessly night and day
Images i can't decipher
hover of the edge of darkness
tinkering their bits of bitterness
a black hole in motion
without rhyme or reason
AP: 2nd place 2025
BY THE STREETLAMP
Poem written for SENSE OF TASTE POETRY CONTEST, Nette Onclaud, Sponsor July 28, 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
she hunkers by the streetlamp
wrapped in a tattered blanket
lost in the cracks of concrete
swallows tangy bitterness
bitter brew of circumstance
choking on acrid despair
savoring sweet solitude
This life is a fierce battlefield,
Little did I know before my birth,
My weapons should have been better honed,
So no earthly force could conquer me.
Friends I made while I was nobody,
Turned to foes when I sought to be somebody,
Those I loved with all my heart and soul
Blew pepper in my eyes when vision blurred.
Deceit comes robed in sheep's clothing,
But in its mouth lie poisonous fangs,
Mental torture is their specialty –
They wield it without a flicker of remorse.
When I wept from the pains they inflicted,
They dried my tears with clean handkerchiefs,
Their smiles conceal their bitter hearts,
Veiled in peace, their souls steeped in a vile bile.
Why were some people made just to hate?
They rejoice when they see their friends cry,
They are logs happier as stumbling blocks.
Than as bridges across a stormy river.
Had I come with my own weapons,
Their jugular would have been severed
To drain their wickedness till dry,
To purge their hearts of bitterness till empty,
And plant in their minds true love to grow.
Enough, he said with voice pitched low
Enough for now, he whispered slow
And curled in upon himself
Having nothing left to show
Knowing no one and nonself
Enough, he cried though no one heeded
Enough for now, as he retreated
And left another piece behind
Having no faith to be intreated
Perceiving his own broken mind
Enough, he proclaimed with a tremor
Enough for now, if I remember
And cursed himself a fool
Having no word to condemn her
Aware that she was ever cruel
Enough, he shouted above the gale
Enough for now, and beyond the pale
And twisted his face into a scowl
Having nothing to add to the tale
Conscious of the verdict’s howl
Enough, he cursed deep and vile
Enough for now, with poet’s style
And laughed with bitter fortune
Having lost the courage to smile
Mindful of his full lost portion
Enough, he screamed from soul deep
Enough for now, as he woke from his sleep
And shuddered as his eyes opened
Having nothing and no tears to weep
Heeding the anguish that life betokened
She brewed it slow,
the thistle steeped—
a greyish brown
in porcelain grace.
Each sip, a sting—
a bitter bloom,
but she smiled,
claiming peace.
At first, a wince,
then less, then none—
until the taste
was home enough.
No sugar added,
no honey balm,
just thorn and grass
and quiet aches.
“How did she bear?”
they often ask.
“It’s the way I like it,”
she often says.
But bitterness
never just begins—
it’s learned,
one sip a day.
Until bitterness
becomes a friend,
and even the sting—
a kind of warmth.
Something broken,
Something lost
‘Til what they found
Must pay the cost.
What was broken?
A heart, a mind, a soul
What was lost?
Your faith, your way, your control
So what did they find?...
Never moving,
Always bitter
Alone, in this pain
Alone, so they shiver.
Why wouldn’t they move?
Body petrified, legs rooted, heart stoned
Why were they bitter?
Existence subsumed, emotions betrayed, violence condoned
...But what did they find?
Once joyful they sang
Full of shine and glimmer
Now heads hang,
Hearts become still and dimmer.
What was shining?
Their life, their vitality, their prime
Why is it dimming?
Sweet death, new decay, old time
But what is it they find?!
Forever wander in the mist,
Or stray from the golden path,
Be lost to the ether cold,
Hope to find home at last.
The morning slaps me awake
with a frozen windscreen,
keys in hand, scraping frost like
I’m chiselling through someone else’s mistakes.
My breath hangs in the air,
a ghost of myself
mocking the effort.
The cold flirts cruelly with my cheeks,
leaving them raw,
only for the radiator’s blast
to burn them out of spite.
The heating bill waits in the wings,
a villain in this pantomime.
“Put on another jumper,” I mutter,
as if wool could conquer capitalism.
Blanketed, I surrender to films
where faces blur into
a tinsel-coated déjà vu –
different eyes, same dialogue,
happy endings so loud
they drown out my cynicism.
Stupid Christmas songs screech
their hollow cheer,
and I let them.
They’re easier to hate
than my own thoughts.
But the air is so fresh
it cuts clean through the noise.
For a moment,
the world feels lighter –
even the weight I carry
shrinks to something
I can hold in my hands,
turning it over like snowflakes,
watching it melt
into the brittle calm of this season.
The bitterness in life
Is originally a part of life
If you cannot avoid it
Learn to taste it
Only after tasting the bitterness
Can you feel the true beauty of life
What it means is that
If you want to reach good times
You must first go through adversity.
Pent up emotions like storm clouds roll
Entering my mind, all calm it stole
Anger and pain like crimson flowers bloom
Cajoling me to hit out and wound
Each person who hurt me,I didn't suspect
Supposed to love me, to protect
People are surprising, they don't do what I expect
Everytime I trusted, each time I loved
Another crack in my fragile heart would show up
Keep trying... keep trusting... results so bleak
Eventually, in Jesus, I came to find peace
Rising from forgiveness, God's love spoke to me
I don't know if from where do people draw their bitterness against other people. But bigots nowadays don't know the difference between patriotism and puppetry...
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