Malice of mine foes
Is a test 'gainst mine woes
For bloody bitterness,
With a bite of want and envy, may
Slight the sights to see the pitiful end of me
Even yonder beyond the dark and desolate sea
Fore'er beneath the eyes of mine enemies
I fear they may see how e'er much my fears
Rain O'hail and tear at my inner peace
I fear they may pick me apart
Before I can play the part they expect of me
a pencil eyes the moonlight
wishing its lead could glow like that~
dreaming of drawing silver arcs
longing for brightness
To move with such gaiety!
Windily free.
Whilst every route you're on flies off
Rule-resistant.
As laughingly cavelier
Strongholds, here, there
Leaved, tiled, of concord, off pitch peel.
Bared fright! Instant!
intense envy every
day from nine to
seven (or so) needs
frequent venting and
even if it's only by
way of the rear exit
netherlands
That Seems It Implies
That Green Is Sooo Ez...
To Whip, Like A Flavor
You Can Easily Lie About...
Because It Sounds Out!!!
Hushhhh..
That Sounds Exactly
LIKE
The TRUTH.
And We LIKE THAT!
Give Me Some MORE!
You Wish...
Where Pride Washes
The Dishes, By Machine.
Lust? EZ!!! We Know It's A
Sacrifice.... But "Envy"...
Nahhh... Whatever,
If Wishes Were Horses.
In Steed, In Stead...
Or Whatever I Said.
Kiss!
-Gray Squirrel
07-16-2026
Tall, proud, somewhat conceited,
the elegant yacht sailed into the bay
(a place of meetings,
snuggery to a medley of lesser idols)
as a swan takes to a lake.
It dropped anchor,
aloof from the rest,
aware of the stare of covetous eyes,
it basked in calm waters.
Come night, its garland of lights
illumine the grace of a presence;
a rarity, speaking of riches,
unimaginable wealth;
dipping and bowing in exaggerated gestures:
a language all its own.
At the break of day, it set sail once more,
on a broad reach leaving the barnacled bay behind,
distancing itself from the blue bay’s waters,
the green of its eyes.
Yet, miles away on a distant shore,
once fierce waves, now a dying wake
make a gentle ripple
shifting the sands of envy
even as memory of its billowing sails
vanishes over the horizon
urged on by the persistence of protective winds.
(1st Prize in Craig Cornish's A Broad Reach Contest)
Let me tell you a tale—
Yes!
A story others told,
Of beauty written long ago
In ancient times of old.
Her eyes would sparkle in the night,
Her hair was spun as gold,
Which made the jealous goddesses fight
For all the Gods to behold.
Envious in their cruel design,
And bitter at the time,
A goddess cast a wicked curse
To strike the viewer blind—
Blind to the beauty in her sight,
An exile forced to roam,
For those who saw her feared the gaze,
Lest they be turned to stone.
An innocent woman of beauty,
A beauty to behold,
Cursed only by a goddess’ envy—
An ancient tale of old.
Once there was a young lad,
Becoming a mentor was a role he gladly had.
Making students learn concepts, showing new ways of teaching,
Making class a fun interaction rather than preaching.
The fire of youth was enough fascinating,
His teaching style made him captivating.
The concern he showed, the love he showered,
His motive was to make students powered.
But people can't see someone rising ,
Because someone who understood students was truly surprising!
Rumours spread judgements done,
Because they were not able to rise ,not even one.
Maybe he is misunderstood,maybe he is wrongly narrated,
But can they match the way he educated?
Storms came to shake him, doubts tried to call,
But every dawn found him standing tall.
They built their noise, he built his grace,
And truth alone lit up his face.
May laughs at winter's spelt envy—
The blacks once bled on a snow-white bed
are now shed, long dead, to wed
with bright spring colors instead.
Green shoots rise to pinks, reds, and yellows
in flower blossom heads
spreading as resplendent daubs
on the white canvas shroud
that winter left
to cover its dead.
The owls are back, they talk in the night
I try to discern their language of flight
There's much there to learn if I could interpret
But my mind is earthbound, much as I might work it
Some feathers sing and some cry out loud
But the owls are selective, they don't like a crowd
They talk to each other in a voice I would capture
If I could but learn the language of raptor
Still my mind is earthbound and lacking insight
I admire and ponder this language of flight
I've never seen them, my vision is dim
They leave me, believe me, out on a limb
The dogs complain, they don't like them much
But their visit is short and then back to their clutch
There's a rabbit that lives here, under the shed
But he's keeping quiet, and keeping his head
The black cat is blending somewhere in the night
He knows his survival depends on his sight
And I lie bedridden, depending on sleep
My flight not so fancy as that of the sweep
ROBERT MUELLER GONE
TRUMP GLAD HE IS DONE
TRUMP A SCUMMY ONE
GQ guy hot and sexy.
Voted playmate sensation of the winter months.
Envy of all previous centerfolds.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
. for public domain
I envy Anne in so many ways:
The ways she renders catastrophes
into bright and sunny days;
Her coming back to my side
through cruel and merciless raves,
leaves me in constant shame.
So I live a life of endless sweet regret
that she endures me lovingly,
and will always love me yet.
It was like the moon looking at a flashlight
Yet still having the nerve to ask how to light up the sky
It was like a tidal wave seeing raindrops and saying
“I wish that water was mine”
Like love asking a wall how to stand up to time
Like lava seeing fire and wishing for that heat
Like a grandmother asking candy
“What does it mean to be sweet?”
Like you asking me what it’s like to be pretty.
It’s ironic in the simplest form.
While love and walls stand up to time
And the waves look at rain and think
“I wish that water was mine”
The moon and flashlights light up the sky
Even if one being is “lesser” than the other, envy is there regardless.
i get these random bouts of sadness that consume me
tears fall easily at the sight of another’s pain or joy
feelings of regret and longing wash over me and i begin to wonder if I’ll ever truly get to enjoy the human experience
to feel and to be loved
is only an idea my mind can barely picture
i enjoy pressing the wound
deepening the sorrow i feel
watching others broadcast their perfect love,
achieve their deepest desires
it is not envy
it is despair
will i ever experience that?
do i deserve to?
who am i
if i live a life never attaining my desires?
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