A Poison Tree

Edvard Munch

Dance On Shore

A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend;

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I water’d it in fears,

Night and morning with my tears:

And I sunned it with smiles,

And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,

Till it bore an apple bright.

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole.

When the night had veil’d the pole;

In the morning glad I see,

My foe outstretch’d beneath the tree.

~ William Blake ~

Indeed, Indeed, I Cannot Tell

Sandro Botticelli

Venus and Mars

Indeed, Indeed, I Cannot Tell

Indeed, indeed, I cannot tell,
Though I ponder on it well,
Which were easier to state,
All my love or all my hate.
Surely, surely, thou wilt trust me
When I say thou dost disgust me.
O, I hate thee with a hate
That would fain annihilate;
Yet sometimes against my will,
My dear friend, I love thee still.
It were treason to our love,
And a sin to God above,
One iota to abate
Of a pure impartial hate.

~ Henry David Thoreau ~

Fire And Ice

Sidney Goodman

Freefall

Fire And Ice

Some say the world will end in fire;

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To know that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

~ Robert Frost ~

I Hate You

David Alfaro Siqueiros

The Sob

I Hate You

I hate you,

I hate how you complain,

I hate how you moan,

I hate how you groan,

I hate how you bitch,

I hate how you criticize,

I hate how you fuss,

I hate how you cuss,

I hate how you get angry,

I hate how you get mad,

I hate how you get up-tight,

I hate how you get pissed-off,

I hate how you get aggravated,

I hate how you get built up,

But most of all, I HATE YOU.

~ Kristina Fleissner ~

Hate Poem

Artemisia Gentileschi

Judith Beheading Holofernes

Hate Poem

I hate you truly. Truly I do.

Everything about me hates everything about you.

The flick of my wrist hates you.

The way I hold my pencil hates you.

The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped

in the jaws of a moray eel hates you.

Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you.

Look out! Fore! I hate you.
The blue-green jewel of sock lint I’m digging

from under by third toenail, left foot, hates you.

The history of this keychain hates you.

My sigh in the background as you explain relational databases

hates you.

The goldfish of my genius hates you.

My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors.

A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious

symbol of how I hate you.

My voice curt as a hairshirt: hate.

My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate.

My pleasant “good morning”: hate.

You know how when I’m sleepy I nuzzle my head

under your arm? Hate.

The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit

practices it.

My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning

to night hate you.

Layers of hate, a parfait.

Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate,

I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one

individually and at leisure.

My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity

of my hate, which can never have enough of you,

Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine.

~ Julie Sheehan ~