Long Jealous Poems
Long Jealous Poems. Below are the most popular long Jealous by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jealous poems by poem length and keyword.
by Joseph Christopher Liguori and Robert James Liguori
Shh. Can’t you hear her talking to me.
Her voice is the whisper from a tree.
Sweet arms are the branches that grab me tight,
And lift me towards the light.
She’s the angel of the shires
With rolling honey combs of bees to put out my fires
She’s as strong as oak, though soft as pine,
And her embrace soothes me like delicate wine.
Her sweet breath gives me life.
Being near removes my daily strife.
Tender leaves shade me from my fears.
Powerful roots dry up my tears.
Her jealous friends lack the thorns,
So they attack with frenzied acorns.
But she protects with her ancient stature
For here is my girlfriend, Mother Nature.
Saturday, October 23, 2021
Will he be visiting you with more than a lump of coal?
(A dark voice whispers)
Love and loneliness
Unspoken dreams of romance and broken hearts
Shall have no reunion
But instead
Like fettered beasts to the slaughterhouse
They will stare foolishly into the distance
As they are abandoned,
Pleading for hope and a new companion
For deaden souls deserve no salvation
Such is my curse of the Dammed
Running or walking throughout
Every living nation
Men or women
Especially at Christmas
Swimming naked in pools of hate and judgement
Shall become as one
As they hear my approaching bells
Under the gaze of my cosmic gun
Love and loneliness
Sadness and pain
Will be their everlasting daylight
In their souls window panes
My silver mistress,
Mother Moon
Will seal their fate
On the twenty-fifth
When presents are received
For the spiteful and jealous
The hateful and cruel
Who loves to deceive
You better pray to change your ways
Before Christmas Eve
Or you might get a visit from me
Even if in me,
You do not believe
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
I`ll die waiting for my life
i am incredibly afraid to wait all the way until my death
its a sad reality im living
i´ve been waiting for way too long
i dont think i can do this anymore
life runs slow and fast and streches all the way to the past
it feels empty now as if everything has passed
and still i wait for something to happen yet i dont know what
i´ll die waiting for my life
im not asking for anything really im just asking for somethting so simple
so pathic and so childish but i do cry thinking about what i couldve had
maybe i am a grown up jealous child or maybe i am just being myself
Often the whispers of regular people visit my noisy ears
and i find myself fighting the urge to yell how good their live is comapred to mine
i want to feel like i have the right to cry and want to die
that way i never imrpove anything i stay still as a rock in a river
Life is slipping away and yet i dont even turn my head to glance at it for the last time
To me its a hopless case that neither you or I can save
Im a hypocrite beacuse i do cry thinking about how
I´ll die waiting for my life
The Last Tiger
I want to die
But I do not want to be the last of my kind
Roaming the jungle
Looking for another
But she is not here
She was killed
Not in an attack
She was killed for greed
Humans jealous of her beauty
Set a trap and walked away
Her foot was caught
As she walked down the path
She struggled and cried
As the wire cut into her leg
Hoping for someone to save her
Her eyes teared
Her growls became mere whispers
It was not a painless death
She suffered beyond reason
For what
For someone to make money
For someone to have a beautiful coat
Or was she killed just for fun
Remember, you will miss her as I do
And you will miss me when my day comes
Especially when your kids ask you a question
When they ask, “What is a tiger”
And all you can say is
“We killed them all”
And then you will change the subject
And you will feel the guilt
A "Real Man"
Written By: D. Collins 3/26/17
We’re all sub-standard to hear women tell it.
With no emotions, low-down, mean, and jealous.
We should provide them with funds to feed their kids.
Step up to the plate, and get their hair did.
Paying child support, a car note, and all his bills.
Makes a “Real Man” with unblemished skills.
He raises his daughter all by himself.
Never seeking assistance from anyone else.
He puts in the work to keep his son alive.
Teaching him the ropes, and how to survive.
A “Real Man” shows his children nothing but love.
No different than what a strong, woman does.
He bears the brunt, and even takes the bullet.
Ten times over, that’s just how he would do it.
Even sharing the love with those who aren’t his.
That’s what a “Real Man” does, and always did.
This poem is for Pagunda Zahid who asked me
Write a poem before he is reluctantly, thrown out,
A spoiled brat who’s lost his best teddy,
Sure he’s plotting to make trouble already,
An impolite, jealous, trouble making annoying fool,
Trying his hardest to overthrow the winner, not cool.
Accusing the election of being fraudulent, how dare he
Lost his balls, think his marbles have also shrunk to a pea,
Has many rallies where nobody wears a mask
Surely the law should take him to task,
Depression and anger has been said to affect a winkie
The senate might have to keep excusing him to take a tinkie!
Fractured by The Dancers of Dissolution
(A lone voice whispers)
I dreamt
As I sat alone at home
After church
One rainy afternoon
Dressed in my Sunday best
Thinking after you left
We were like two rare windblown autumn leaves
Meeting on a winter's tree branch
By chance
Hypnotized within that first magical glance
To think we would be together
Forevermore
Until the wickedness within the ever watching jealous world
Gathered around us
Like a wild scene at a new Feast of Bacchus
And began
To smile and dance
Salivating
At the dark thought and soul replenishing ominous energy
Linked to destroying
Another god given religious trance
Filled with thoughts of romance
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Foundation of the piece.
Have you ever experienced a situation, when everything seems to be coming together in a relationship, then tragedy, suddenly strikes?
What if I tore up the map -
not gentle, but ruthless,
ripping until the roads bled white,
and let my feet kiss the dirt
like they were born to wander?
What if I spit out the words
I’ve swallowed for years,
each syllable a blade,
carving silence into something
that finally screams back?
What if I let the darkness in-
not as a foe, but a lover,
its black hands pressed to my chest,
whispering truths
the light was too cowardly to hold?
What if I stayed in the fire -
let the flames peel me raw,
until I rose, ember-eyed and grinning,
no ash left to bury me,
only the bones of someone new?
What if I dared the edge,
made falling an act of rebellion,
an art form,
gravity nothing but a jealous god
I refused to kneel to?
The what ifs are wolves,
pacing the dark of my mind,
teeth bared, breath hot -
and I let them feast,
because this is my hunger,
my rebellion, my reckoning.
And what if I stopped asking?
What if I grinned with bloodied lips,
spat in the eye of silence,
and did the thing
they swore I couldn’t survive?
I see beyond the
sea-snake crown
of thick-leaved jewels,
as a gossamer veil
conceals jealous goblins
shape-shifting above
a snow-dappled forest
of freckled weeds…
there third-eye rests
amidst tangerine tentacles
tearing my cinnamon
green clemency
glazed with holographic
lime gold clover….
now I’m torn
between wicked willows,
and a weeping angel,
vying for my
peridot throne,
embellished with
envious emeralds,
piercing passionately
through sparkling scales
of mermaid skin,
as peacock oceanic fairies
within skeleton silence
flutter mint-teal memoirs
of a narcissistic mantis~
tangling starry soliloquies..
there eagle-spotted
mantas swirl across
moon-kissed streams
unfolding marine magnificence
through mysteriously
malevolent musings..
I care not for the
rustic trinkets you wear
on fiery feathers
like cluttered calligraphy~
screaming in
high-pitched stillness,
longing to be seen and heard,
their faded fragrance
glows now within
tranquil twilight roots
like a forgotten facade,
while I sit secluded~
in my flaming coral garden,
as the modest maiden
of the rosemary sun,
unmoved and unbothered,
by the wailing wind
carrying notorious narratives
of eclipsed echoes
from sorrowful souls,
where hollow fangs
caress cruel
currents of chaos,
oblivious to the
sonatas of jasmine rain,
for I sing not for the spiteful
tides of tethered turquoise,
rippling with
salt-soaked souvenirs
mirroring the
untamable agony
of lost ancestors.
Christmas edition of PS News is out, and here's the scoop
Poets are climbing the rungs of ladders on Poetry Soup
It's not an easy feat; one to be applauded and praised
instead of opposed, demeaned, or by jealous ones, razed
Why bother looking at lists if you find them to be galling?
Frankly, I find one with such an attitude to be appalling.
Remember that Santa makes lists. Two of them, in fact
and you'll be on top of his naughty list if you overreact
Stop being so gosh darn negative about petty trivialities
We are not alike. We have many different personalities
So stop whining about poets who like to write for contests
You will surely find a lump of coal in your stocking, unless...