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Horse sense
a horse head in a tree
showed me the whole mystery of abuse
we understand backward
dying more of envy than true love
kill other persons
but let the rules be
Poèmes sur le thème : envy
Poèmes sur le thème « envy » sur Poets.by.
Bad Sunday
Longing, anger, rage
Feeling both desperate and boring
brilliant
'sunshiney'
day
I don't want it
I want
deranged jottings!
How to stop
envying
the beloved
the beloved's life?
Flat on back,
cursing the gods
silly head music: big cat claws
striking POW,
kind envy
i wish i was kinder, and that
my heart was one filled with
milk and cookies, not with the
violent commotion of green
envy swirling in the vortex
of a confused cavity, in the dark,
i grasp aimlessly for the answer,
for that one golden drain plug, but the
feeling never reaches my fingers,
leaving me to drown, on my own.
as i lay in these raging pool of
emotions, static fills my head, a
never-ending swarm of bees cloud
its prey, leaving me bruised and weary,
intoxicated as i play hive and carrier
of the overly sweet nectar my
Sailing of the Glory
Merrily shouted all the sailors
As they left the town behind;
Merrily shouted they and gladdened
At the slip-slap of the wind.
But envious were those faint home-keepers,
Faint land-lovers, as they saw
How the Glory dipped and staggered--
Envying saw
Pass the ship while all her sailors
Merrily shouted.
Far and far on eastern waters
Sailed the ship and yet sailed on,
While the townsmen, faint land-lovers,
Thought, "How long is't now she's gone?
Now, maybe, Bombay she touches,
Now strange craft about her throng";
Letters Found Near a Suicide: To Jean
When you poured your love
Like molten flame
Into the throbbing mold
Of her pulsing veins
Leaving her blood a river of fire
And her arteries channels of light,
I hated you ...
Hated with that primal hate
That has its wells
In the flesh of me
And the flesh of you
And the flesh of her
I hated you--
Hated with envy
Your mastery of her being ...
With one fleshy gesture
Exit
For what we owe to other days,
Before we poisoned him with praise,
May we who shrank to find him weak
Remember that he cannot speak.
For envy that we may recall,
And for our faith before the fall,
May we who are alive be slow
To tell what we shall never know.
For penance he would not confess,
And for the fateful emptiness
Of early triumph undermined,
May we now venture to be kind.
An Old Story
Strange that I did not know him then,
That friend of mine!
I did not even show him then
One friendly sign;
But cursed him for the ways he had
To make me see
My envy of the praise he had
For praising me.
I would have rid the earth of him
Once, in my pride! . . .
I never knew the worth of him
Until he died.
Richard Cory
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich, -- yes, richer than a king, --
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.