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Best Poems Written by Jennifer Nevill

Below are the all-time best Jennifer Nevill poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Jennifer Nevill Poem

Sweet Vengeance

My shadow lingers
Along the dark walls
Visions of triumph
Tempting me to smile
But patience is key

The cool steel blade
Rests in my palm
Like it belongs
In my embrace

My footsteps
Echo through halls
Warning you

Your fear
Vengeance

Blood

Details | Jennifer Nevill Poem

You Fell in Love with My Flowers

Your gaze gets caught in my beauty
as the pigments start to bloom.
The winter brings great cruelty,
but spring escapes from its tomb.

Elegant and alluring are my posies
as they pull your eyes toward a goddess.
Magnetic to your collection of trophies,
your sensual nature hears a promise.

My amaryllis puts you in a trance.
While the colors gracefully dance,
the memory of me makes you crave romance.

My lily resembles the white of snow,
and reminds you of purity that is of a doe,
unscathed by the fear of the unknown.

My tulip embraces the joy within.
Despite the turbulence from the sin,
sunshine glows beneath my skin.

My rose portrays the desire of man.
One glance and your lust is damned.
Soon betrayed by your left hand.

My dahlia draws you into a ring.
The infinite bond that I would bring,
symbolizing the certainty of spring.

But when leaves get pulled down by gravity,
and the color drains from my tired eyes,
you recognize my impartiality,
and treat me like I’ve been feeding you lies.

You scoff at my bare limbs as I lose my charm.
I try to show you my roots, but that's not your concern.
This feeling pierces me as I reach for your arm,
but you choose someone else’s flowers to discern.

Details | Jennifer Nevill Poem

Time Is a Funny Thing

Time is a funny thing.
When you’re watching the hands of the clock,
they slow down like the sudden halt of an earthquake.
Like water filtering out its ripples caused by a rock
or the gradual rising of a bread loaf when baked.

But the second you turn your back,
it launches forward with the force of a jet plane.
Soon enough, you’re reaching for a way to retract
your minutes in order to avoid a life lived in vain.

You want them back in your pocket
so that you can keep an eye on them.
To spend them on family rather than a prophet
who’ll just repeat the words you know deep within.

The uncertainty of how much you have left gnaws at your mind
because you could take your last breath at any given moment.
A worse curse is to take your last after everyone already died,
when the only legacy you leave is buried with your torment.

Time well spent will be cherished in memories,
but those who spend it foolishly will lose sight of their past.
They’ll wander in their mind for many millenaries
trying to find something meaningful to grasp.

They filled their time with pixels and screens,
ignoring the seasons passing by like childish dreams.
Returning empty-handed, they’ll sigh in defeat,
finally understanding why time is a funny thing.

Details | Jennifer Nevill Poem

Losing My Tongue

Some people fear the smirk of a clown.
Others scared of water that hastily drowns.
Some people fear the great white’s bite.
Others scared of the shadows that pass through the night.
Some people fear the life after death.
Others scared of when they take their final breath.

But those never affected me as much as this one:
the most haunting thought is losing my tongue.
My words are my weapons, my armor, my fortress.
I use them to paint beautiful yet disturbing portraits.
I use them to protect me, as they are my safe haven.
I use them to attack against wicked exploitation.
If I could never fend for myself ever again,
I might as well drift off if it meant losing my pen.
When I am persecuted by a ruthless deluge,
I seek to return to my one true refuge.
If my tongue was stolen and sent to be sold,
I’d weep at the loss of one thing I controlled.
I don’t fear spiders, snakes, or heights.
My only phobia is losing my inalienable right.

Details | Jennifer Nevill Poem

Tsunami

It came like a tsunami,
the way you flooded my mind.
You perfectly embody
all of the stars aligned.
Shoving out my worries
like a simple solution.
You parted the seas
of my wretched seclusion.

It felt like seeing for the first time,
I could see it all so clearly.
As if I had once been blind,
you removed me from the dreary.
You ignited a flame,
a spark of interest.
By calling my name,
I felt his words rust.

The sky fell down,
but I fell into you.
Spinning in a gown
of emerald hues.
Old habits have died,
but new ones arise.
No longer do I cry,
I’ve dried my eyes.
Instead, I look up,
right into yours.
Your whisper erupts
a volcano of doors.

Details | Jennifer Nevill Poem

A Sweet, Short Story

Echoes of my footsteps cut through the silence
like the knife I embedded into my past.
I hear their whispers about my sudden violence
bounce off these walls that have now crashed.
I won’t lie and tell you those rumors are false
because I may be ruthless, but I’m no liar.
I take it as flattery when they say it’s my fault,
that I caused the fall of their empire.
I’m going to tell you a sweet, short story
that may not have a very happy ending.
It’s not shy of wars that are savage and gory,
so I suggest you prepare for something unrelenting.

There once was a girl who was sweeter than honey;
she was loved and adored by each of her neighbors.
Her essence shone brighter than a spring that was sunny,
and everyone was envious of her humane nature.
But once the leaves fell from their branches,
those neighbors started to grow desperate.
They knew her tendency to take chances
in order to make the world less desolate.
So they’d invite her in for a cup of tea,
twist their words while offering her sweets.
Of course, all of them knew that she
would pay the price to make ends meet.
She willingly made sacrifices without a second thought
because kindness was the only thing she knew.
Stupid girl was never the kind of person who fought
until she understood that her altruism was abused.

This is when the tale starts to get messy,
so don’t judge this girl for what comes next.
I’m just the messenger, so don’t get mad at me
when she’s the one who initiated this conquest.
The girl taught herself how to use a blade;
she spent days perfecting the art of fencing.
Locked in her room, a one-woman brigade
battled herself while slowly inventing
a version of her that was unfamiliar
but would soon be feared by mankind.
The type of fear that alarms a killer
because it's powerful enough to stab guilt from behind.
Her newfound skills were adorned with deceit
when she started to use her tongue like a snake.
Making them think she was innocent and sweet
until she ended up with a plate full of steak.

As you may infer, she continues her game.
She wears masks as duplicitous as a fox.
Anywhere she strays, she hears her name
and listens to the fear and the clicks of locks.
Her kindness has been replaced with pride,
and her heart has turned to ice.
She can’t recall the last time she cried;
so numb to blood she doesn’t think twice.
She faces a world that will never commend
her successful quest to teach a lesson.
What a shame all stories come to an end,
but I appreciate you listening to my confession.

Details | Jennifer Nevill Poem

Dress Up

I used to love playing dress up.
Drinking British tea out of plastic cups,
picking out rose, lilac, peach-colored gowns
while putting on a show spinning round and round.
Borrowing Mom’s blush to tint my cheeks,
not taking off my jewelry for the whole next week.
Getting praises and compliments left and right,
smiling and twirling as eyes fill with delight.
I used to love playing dress up.

I’m now forced to play dress up.
Pretty girls filled with ideas that are corrupt.
It’s a game of “who can look the most natural”.
I buy loads of make-up just to look admirable,
and clothes stock my closet like there’s a fabric shortage.
Standing on a pedestal and waiting for the judge.
The audience is the most intimidating of all,
it’s the worst possible kind: a masquerade ball.
I now hate playing dress up.

Details | Jennifer Nevill Poem

Seeking Another Wish

The last candle on my cake still stands.
11:11 shows at the clock’s hands.
A glimmer across the sky outside of my window.
One of a thousand dandelions, I watch the wind blow.
A seven-spotted ladybug lands on my thigh.
One lonely eyelash flutters down from my eye.
I dig a penny out of my purse and toss it in a fountain.
A wishbone breaks, the knot on my side indicates my win.

The signs I seek out while perched upon a branch of hope.
I make these wishes knowing very well that hollow is the oak.

Details | Jennifer Nevill Poem

Prometheus' Child

I once thought my words brought forth wisdom,
but perhaps I’m just Prometheus’ child.
Stealing what isn’t mine for a small sum
of attention that leaves me feeling defiled.
Wearing the words I wrote with bloody hands
on my skin like an impulsive tattoo.
The permanent marks relentlessly withstand
my efforts to conceal their truth.

When I’m found out, the eagles will come
with their wings taunting my chains.
They’ll feast on my weakness until I become numb
and forget that they fuel off of my pain.
Hurt will be my greatest companion;
I’ll rely on it to determine if I’m still alive.
I think it’s the thrill of having to run
that keeps people wanting to survive.

Details | Jennifer Nevill Poem

The Cocoon

A caterpillar lurks on peeling umber bark,
it wishes on stars in the midst of the dark.
Watching its companions flutter away,
the only constant is overcast gray.
Tired of getting reassigned back to the earth,
it prays to have some sort of rebirth.
It encompasses itself in a cloak of solace,
knowing that no one had ever kept their promise.
As time passes, it finds comfort in solitude.
It barely even notices that it is being renewed.
When the time was right, it all fell into place.
The cave that held it hostage now opens its gates.
A sense of freedom overwhelms its spirit,
and it realizes that the sky is the only limit.
Expanding its wings to the length of forever,
obstacles strengthened all of those endeavors.
It soaks in the beauty of a fresh, bright morning,
never taking for granted the process of transforming.
Butterflies are such unusual creatures
that possess nearly implausible yet alluring features.