"incredulous" poems
Tell me why it seems like the walls are closing in
Tell me why my hopes they're stretched far and thin
Tell me why my dreams still struggle in this fight
Tell me why every time I draw air but it feels so tight.
Tell me why in this turmoil my heart does wallow
Tell me why lifes' lessons by the heapfuls I choke to swallow
Tell me why I'm somewhat free but then again I am not
Tell me why I really do have but I haven't really got.
Tell me why I try to sleep many a restless night
Tell me why I am so afraid of many a fearful fright
Tell me why I still feel the way I have felt before
Tell me why I ask many questions which leaves me broken and sore.
Tell me why so much emotions run amok within me
Tell me why I look yet I do not really see
Tell me why despondence is back; it's here to haunt
Tell me why such uncertainties always beckons to taunt.
Tell me why I want more but I am quite contented
Tell me why I have to accept the path I've very much resented
Tell me why I already know but I still keep on asking
Tell me why it seems like the reasons are in every way lacking.
Tell me why I feel so happy but in fact I am so sad
Tell me why it all seems unfair but I have to be glad
Tell me why I found love in the most unfortunate circumstance
Tell me why to a mournful tune I am stuck in dance.
Tell me why my heart feels engorged but I can't release it all
Tell me why I am so scared but I would still want to fall
Tell me why I feel you close when you're farther than far
Tell me why it seems incredulous that we share the same star.
Tell me why I long to give you more when I can't this instant
Tell me why I can feel better but I seem so resistant
Tell me why sometimes I look up and curse at my luck
Tell me why I refuse to focus on courage that I really should pluck.
Tell me why I lay in bed dreaming of a place far away
Tell me why I find myself moping more and more each day
Tell me why I chose to be naive and in fate I do give trust
Tell me why time and time again it just gets ground to dust.
Tell me why I feel so beaten and weak when I should be strong
Tell me why I am so familiar in a place I don't belong
Tell me why I have to live with a mask on my face
Tell me why I feel like a marionette strung up by lace.
Tell me why I dug deep when these words make me cry
Tell me why the tears still trickle when my eyes are dry
Tell me why I share this when I know you would feel bad
Tell me why I would even spout the words that make you sad.
Tell me why these painful wounds I didn't choose to lick
Tell me why I didn't let them heal but instead I would pick
Tell me why I feel as though I am quite addicted
Tell me why it seems like I enjoy the dark I've inflicted.
Tell me why sometimes I question, the things you see in me
Tell me why you've said it many times but I don't really see
Tell me why I haven't drifted far when I should've a while ago
The reason is you; because you have chosen to love me.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
There is snow on the ground,
And the valleys are cold,
And a midnight profound
Blackly squats o'er the wold;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of
feastings unhallowed and old.
There is death in the clouds,
There is fear in the night,
For the dead in their shrouds
Hail the sun's turning flight.
And chant wild in the woods as they dance
round a Yule-altar fungous and white.
To no gale of Earth's kind
Sways the forest of oak,
Where the thick boughs entwined
By mad mistletoes choke,
For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark,
from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.
And mayst thou to such deeds
Be an abbot and priest,
Singing cannibal greeds
At each devil-wrought feast,
And to all the incredulous world
shewing dimly the sign of the beast.
7.9k
I saw my world again through your eyes
As I would see it again through your children's eyes.
Through your eyes it was foreign.
Plain hedge hawthorns were peculiar aliens,
A mystery of peculiar lore and doings.
Anything wild, on legs, in your eyes
Emerged at a point of exclamation
As if it had appeared to dinner guests
In the middle of the table. Common mallards
Were artefacts of some unearthliness,
Their wooings were a hypnagogic film
Unreeled by the river. Impossible
To comprehend the comfort of their feet
In the freezing water. You were a camera
Recording reflections you could not fathom.
I made my world perform its utmost for you.
You took it all in with an incredulous joy
Like a mother handed her new baby
By the midwife. Your frenzy made me giddy.
It woke up my dumb, ecstatic boyhood
Of fifteen years before. My masterpiece
Came that black night on the Grantchester road.
I ****** the throaty thin woe of a rabbit
Out of my wetted knuckle, by a copse
Where a tawny owl was enquiring.
Suddenly it swooped up, splaying its pinions
Into my face, taking me for a post.
7.9k
She may not have been your prototype teen or hiree.
Or of the masses. Or herd.
However, she did walk into a McDonald's
approach the counter
emit an esoteric exchange for help with the cashier
and with knowing eyes
the cashier directed her to the starting gate.
Now
with application in hand
and blue ribbons in her eyes
she was off to the horse races,
nervousness riding on her shoulders.
In my eyes, she was a longshot to win,
where I could see her shoes falling off
before the race started.
And her imaginary jockey falling off her horse
from laughing so hard,
for she presented herself through the restaurant
and a job interview with a Starbucks frappe,
totally oblivious of her unwrapping.
It would be like turning up for a Yankee's job
in a Red Sox outfit.
Who would do this?
As the rubberneckers, I looked on.
Incredulous.
She took her seat at a vacant table
carrying her youth awkward.
Her looks of brown hair, eyes, and raw innocence
complimentary.
But those jeans, high risers, with holes in the knees
with a white Bebe shirt that hugged her shape
shouted trendy but not job interview.
Oh, my.
She continued the procession
extracting info from her phone
and filling out her application.
No doubt with votive candles at her side
and prayers on her lips.
And perhaps blue ribbons awaiting.
After all, this was her foot in the door.
It was at this time
I had an epiphany moment
tears welling in my eyes
as I slipped on hamburger choices
and sipped on past life on a teether,
totally oblivious, too.
It was like looking in the mirror.
Her youth and awkwardness and my growing decadence
towards the light.
When the manager came in and summoned her
to the interview table,
which was located in the dining room,
I saw a little kitten purr inside of her,
where her eyes nervously checked her surroundings.
At first introduction,
the reddening blush on her face and Adam's apple
stood pronounced
but her low voice was choked.
Almost inaudible.
As the manager put her calming hands
into hers
the light turned on
all foreboding escaping.
All misplaces and tense faces replaced with aces.
This was a defining moment for her,
as the golden arches braced her feet,
making all the rubberneckers, me, proud.
Logan Robertson
6/6/2018
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
I was once a boy who believed in words dipped in magic
Carefully coated with sugar
From a distance, they shimmered
whispered fog in its wake
surgically dipped into your heart at hummingbird speed
these sweet tender words were easy to swallow
however leaves a burning hole in your chest once it finds shelter in your body.
Even though your lips produced sweet words
I could never get the sour taste out of my mouth
The most you could have done was give me something to wash it down with:
the leftover tears in Samantha Thompson’s eyes
above Wedgefield’s polluted night sky
somewhere in the middle of an empty field inside his pickup truck
between the words I’m and Sorry
the cleanest and most deceitful of them all
I doubted every word.
I never cared much for the empty spaces between the lines of college-ruled paper
They are only meant to be filled with even emptier phrases
If I could, I wouldn’t fill in any spaces in the time we were together
It would only make our story much more incredulous
Adding more would make us less real.
Two hearts in love need no words
but in reality, you did most of the talking
The ***** blanket of faith
is a cocoon of words shared only between you and him.
We, however, were alien to this Earth
We dissolved amongst the shadows of light
produced from lampposts, only to be thrown back into the light
whether or not you wanted to show me who you really were
You always fancied yourself in artificial lighting compared to natural lighting
Fearing the natural light would show the colors you only kept to yourself.
Lovebug ran to each light as quickly as he could
for these lampposts can only cover so much of the unknown
We’ll be together forever
He ran to each one until he was alone
Until he couldn’t find himself
Each shadow that was passed before can be seen, traced
however his new reflection is indiscernible
You can try your hardest to look into dry puddles
only to find something that is not so concrete.
The only words worth believing in are the ones that are burnt slowly afterward
Entre deux coeurs qui s’aiment, nul besoin de paroles.
But no matter how much the lampposts grow taller,
or how the spaces between ruled-paper continue to dance, the word
love will always be the easiest word to swallow
but the hardest to digest once it rots in the thick of your stomach.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
what is music to heart
an enchanting embrace that gives birth to feelings
or an incredulous cure to all the maladies of life
or a comforting smile that breaks the chains of pessimism
or walking, talking, living poetry
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
"In a row???" I ask, incredulous.
"Nah, man."
"Were you at least #37?"
"Well, yeah. But still that gets to me," he says. He starts counting change, playing with pennies on the glass counter.
"If you didn't see it, it didn't happen," I reply. I pull out a $5.00 bill.
"That's childish!" He looks at me like I'm a babbling idiot.
"That's my life!" It was my life.
"I can't believe you sometimes," he says. Nobody can, bud.
"You better start. I'm smarter than I look." I'm bluffing now; I'm a ******* idiot.
"Yeah, yeah. Do you wanna buy anything or not?" he goes back to his pennies on the glass counter.
"Yeah--Marlboro Reds," I reply hesitantly. For a moment I thought about Camels.
"$5.00 even." It's always $5.00 even when you're with friends.
"Alright."
"Shorts or 100s?"
**** man, shorts!" It's my turn to look at him like he's a total stranger.
"Just asking." He puts the bill in the register.
"Shorts say badass. 100s say suicide mission."
"I suppose you're right."
"It makes perfect sense!"
"Either way you're going to die."
"Yeah? So are you, buddy."
**** you."
I exit the convenience store, pack my Marlboro Reds, turn two up (one for luck, one for **** to be smoked lastly out of the pack) and light one.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
Even if love is never returned,
never even received,
it is never in vain
for love never fails
To love someone
though you mean nothing to them
may seem too cruel a burden
for the heart to bear
But the only thing worse
than not being loved
is to not love
And so the greatest tragedy
of love spurned or lost
would be to stop loving
For to cease loving
that which causes us pain
would be to let the pain win
But for as long as we love,
really love with Christ's own heart,
no matter what else happens
we win
Love without pain
remains unproven
and therefore is meaningless
But love through pain invokes
nothing less than the miraculous
and inspires even the incredulous
Only continued love
can redeem the pain of loving
and only a Perfect Love
can heal love's scalding wound
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
1722
Her face was in a bed of hair,
Like flowers in a plot—
Her hand was whiter than the *****
That feeds the sacred light.
Her tongue more tender than the tune
That totters in the leaves—
Who hears may be incredulous,
Who witnesses, believes.
4.5k
She gives him his eyes, she found them
Among some rubble, among some beetles
He gives her her skin
He just seemed to pull it down out of the air and lay it over her
She weeps with fearfulness and astonishment
She has found his hands for him, and fitted them freshly at the wrists
They are amazed at themselves, they go feeling all over her
He has assembled her spine, he cleaned each piece carefully
And sets them in perfect order
A superhuman puzzle but he is inspired
She leans back twisting this way and that, using it and laughing
Incredulous
Now she has brought his feet, she is connecting them
So that his whole body lights up
And he has fashioned her new hips
With all fittings complete and with newly wound coils, all shiningly oiled
He is polishing every part, he himself can hardly believe it
They keep taking each other to the sun, they find they can easily
To test each new thing at each new step
And now she smoothes over him the plates of his skull
So that the joints are invisible
And now he connects her throat, her ******* and the pit of her stomach
With a single wire
She gives him his teeth, tying the the roots to the centrepin of his body
He sets the little circlets on her fingertips
She stiches his body here and there with steely purple silk
He oils the delicate cogs of her mouth
She inlays with deep cut scrolls the nape of his neck
He sinks into place the inside of her thighs
So, gasping with joy, with cries of wonderment
Like two gods of mud
Sprawling in the dirt, but with infinite care
They bring each other to perfection.
4k
Unsure
Not feeling so sure
Skeptical
Feeling insecure
Bashful
Completely intimidated
Fearful
Absolutely trepid
Doubtful
Unconfident and uncertain
Cowardly
Disbelieving
Shy and coy
Hesitant
Incredulous
Questioning everything
Dubious
Scared to death
Timorous
Feeling so unsure
But will I take the risk?
Sure...
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Here at the crossroads inbetween,
Lies the path that is not so nice or mean.
An incredulous amount of life goes into what is next,
The road laden with billows of hot air and steam.
The fight and struggle of living onward,
With sometimes not knowing what it means.
So now the choice of many choices,
Waiting in the shadows hides.
Which path will you take?
On this crossroads divide.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
wait for it and it doesn't come
caught off guard
incredulous singing
squawking pigeons
six in the morning
kings of the ready
dead finch
cats eat feathers
in the house of cards
down stairs ready
house of carnivores
company functions
canvass paints numbers
paints horses riding
steady in mind--
through
windy
ozark meadows
six in the morning
while the finch
sleeps in
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
I tell you hopeless grief is passionless,
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness
In souls, as countries, lieth silent-bare
Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare
Of the absolute heavens. Deep-hearted man, express
Grief for thy dead in silence like to death—
Most like a monumental statue set
In everlasting watch and moveless woe
Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.
Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet;
If it could weep, it could arise and go.
2.7k
Doc, I've been trying to deal with these issues for quite sometime to no avail;
A good friend of mine (you may know him, Elmer Fudd) recommended you.
I fear I will never be able to eat, let alone catch this turbo inspired example of flightless foul;
Stuck in this celluloid world vividly inspired by an Emmy award winning colorist.
I am a proud animal from generations of fine breeding, born in the pristine coyote valley;
I am not stupid, not a fool or buffoon, and so I thought contractually, not one to be laughed at.
And I, always the bad guy, constantly daunted in pursuit by haphazard ACME products;
Expensive, bulky, time consuming, they characteristically fail right before they almost work.
Rocket powered skates, unfortunately, only allow me to kiss the cliff-side really really hard;
Very heavy anvils serve no other purpose than to be dropped on my head repeatedly.
The incredulous manipulations of the impossible by the so clever writers of this farce;
From trains appearing out of nowhere to run me over, to fierce lightning storms in an instant.
Laying there in the release of my own bowels as the uncontrollable result of
500 Megajoules of energy traveling through my body yet again.
I am the twice electrified mass of dribbling spastic protoplasm
Personified proverbially in that lightning does indeed strike twice in the same place!
As the smoke arises from my chard hairy frame and I sweep up my ashes to reassemble later;
I realize Doc, I'm losing my grasp on the reality of ever succeeding, I need your help!
I'm still hungry;
And still I have not caught that **** Road Runner,
**** you Warner Brothers!
-----ChawzzyScript
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
A spiral galaxy of cream in my coffee dream
The dark caffeine universe my sunrise today
A bridge between waking and sleeping again
And the morning paper’s sadistic nightmare fun.
A milky way of latte mixes with banking binge
The espresso speed of the incredulous ******
Front-page stupefied, newly poor church-mice
Await another failed pension rescue bid today.
A drip, drip, drip of freshly brewed Colombian
Aroma comfort a promise for work-less workers
Catastrophe curious seriously seeking employ
Vladimirs and Estragons still waiting for Godot.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 8:59 AM UTC
A magnificent word, of incredulous size
Most cannot define it, reading with their own eyes
A synonym, for a beautiful face, A fancy term for good looks
If you didn't know of the existence of of this word,
I suggest you go to the library and get some books
If someone said it to you, you should pick up your head at what you heard
Somebody likes you! All from a definition you just learned!
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 8:52 AM UTC
Seeing such said-to-be veracity
made spurious by truer voracity
left me in a downward maudlin spiral
caught in the gravity of pejorative thoughts.
(They were right about you)
Shown to be mendacious and meretricious
with such audacious and ignominious cupidity
that is, apparently, insatiable
by external stimulation.
These words are for thee.
(They were right about you)
A
Mistress of Verisimilitude
Sorceress of Perdition
Goddess of Rapacity
Nugatory Luddite
Fatuous Epigone
Specious and unctuous Girl
of gratuitous turpitude
These puerile and rather flavorful words
fueled by seemingly insuperable motifs
arranged in a terse, inimical verse
for a rather insipid person
who will likely never even know of them,
and yet;
such sweet felicity.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
Me and the crew riding around in the PT Cruiser.
Soda oozin' out the cup like the one of Biggest Loser.
Don't let the insults be spiky, like the shell of King Koopa.
Goin' back and forth : we in the movie Looper.
Be chill like the Buddha.
Dude, uh, I think you dropped your burger.
Electric surger blew up like the Time Warner merger.
The inside of our place on fire ;
The officer called us liars.
Wanted to throw us in the manor on the Cliff of Briar.
Yeah, it's an American Horror Story.
Being profiled because of ethnicity,
We're Mexican, see,
But we're not gonna steal something worth $3.50.
Looking at us like monsters of Loch Ness.
Yeah, we may come from a pool of cess
But you're simply too incredulous
To think of a time other than 1955.
You can ruin our lives
And throw us in jail in the blink of an eye.
Don't even need to find
A shred of evidence to kick our behind.
You feel like we're behind your back
Cocking our guns with a slight click-clack.
About to shoot them off with a ratatatat
While we're caressing our "gang tats".
But that's not how it is.
You think we all give weapons to kids?
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Peaceful and quiet.
A sea of red roses.
Scarlet and fierce.
Delicate and beautiful
And also deadly and ferocious
It's thorns await for your incredulous fingers.
Pure beauty.
The wind caresses it's leaves
They dance along its sweet melody.
Sun rays bathing every delicate surface.
Soft light reaching every corner.
The garden acquiring a glowy quality.
Full of life.
Nothing's motionless.
Rich and earthy fragrance
Every single smell combined in one.
Water flowing
The ground's essence hovers around my nose.
Everything is in its place.
Where its supposed to be.
Nature is poetry.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
Discombobulated and flabbergasted, flummoxed indeed? No such bemused and befuddled? I am not perplexed on the prognosis to prospectus. They’re incongruous, I’m incredulous, it’s catawampus. Reconnaissance reconnoiter, rectilinear reciprocal rectitude. Radix repartee: Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugue-ness, estranged ensemble orchestrations and all. Some of us are even into the various assorted forms of related stranger weirdness. We’ll be having none of this putrid quasi queasy. Corrupt costume counselor siren skeptic. None of you ignominiously pusillanimous incorrigibles who aren’t brave enough to love are required.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
Life is a sacred journey.
No two are the same.
Respect for divergence
is paramount
to a holistic experience.
Life
is not about
status-quo
or
expectations,
t'is simply what's made thereof
Lyphe
is a sacred opportunity
not to be taken lightly
Our Bodies
are our umbilical vessels
which tether us
as mortals
to "Reality,"
which, in itself,
seems to me to be
a reduction of potentials
from chance
to actuality
such ephemeral eternety;
infinite limitations;
actualized potentials;
possible paths-
these are but some of
the koan-like attributes
which lead me to use
the rather ambiguous
and ambitious
term "sacred."
Truly,
it becomes
whatthefucksoever
One may well will
to create thereof.
Action is Manifestation,
yet Thought begets Action.
Therein lies the sacred gift of Life.
'T'is all too oft taken for granted.
Every living being
(i am convinced)
has an equally vivid depth of experience
and I find it more than somewhat offensive
that humans (with a lowercase H)
feel they are the penultimate organism.
All is One
in that existence, itself,
tethers us all
to everything
and probably even beyond,
and so
to be so
hubristic and arrogant
as to assume a hierarchy
so convieñantly crested by mere
**** Sapiens Sapiens*
seems to me to be
an anthrocentric and narcissistic projection
of that meddlesome ages-old archetype
of the "Ego,"
that is to say "God,"
whatthefuckever that means!
Find it in thyself
to be humble enough
to accept that each and every iota of "Creation"
is, by virtue of association, equally sacred; divine.
Heirarchy, thus, seems to be a manifestation of some desire for order; control; a yearning to alleviate some hypothetical insecurity as a result of being essentially "absolute, infinite" (vis-a-vis the domain of Consciousness) yet contained within a vessel that is mortal, and, thus, ephimeral.
The Ego doth so loathe it's own limitations:
too bad it's far too arrogant to realize that most of the limitations it experiences are illusions, allusions;
charades of an insatiable Consciousness
Hell-bent on experiencing something
it won't redily allow itself to experience!
What a Holy fuckton of
incredulous, ineffable, impalpable, inspirational **** that would be, eh?! (insert interrobang)
I am me (I think...)
as thou art thee;
so why can't that just be good enough?
Could it be?
What obstruction precludes such harmonious divergence?
I reckon 't'is but us;
and very little else, indeed!
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
Sugar nightmares haunt children
Nancy harlequins cane them
Oh, child of mine
your life you did,
away,
sign.
Force fed familiarity with already branded emotions,
irregular realities and clouded surreal formalities,
so very many humans’ form dichotomies
out of our shared mute gray;
spinning constant self-important prose.
So very many humans share so much,
so little,
not often
doing little to soften
all of their emotional blows
trying hard to strike enigmatic pose.
Oh, child of mine
the heart of utilitarian method
has receded in incredulous fashion
followed by authoritarian apologies;
the majority is not icecream people
spreading simple good thought,
but generations fraught
with trivial conformist ideologies.
We are all hiding our seams
with creative masks
and self created tasks.
Oh, child of mine
your prescription reality is revealing itself as Atlantis,
sinking and shuddering into Quaaludes
with frightening psychotic interludes.
Emotions paint
stained lurid faces,
dancing with
ludes effecting movement,
nudes of swaying and repose.
You arose deeming so much rightfully yours
waltzing through seemingly already opened doors.
Holy curb their anti-Christ
Consider your aging soul
Oh, child of mine
Belief of awareness in action
understand the probability of dissatisfaction,
Stop!
treating the moment as a bleak bridge to the next inaction.
Eventually ponderous thoughts form
resembling an orrery,
an incessantly philippic story
orchestrates your oleaginous personality.
Oh, child of mine
Youth flees and your mind
takes once again to the seas,
a vexing penumbra of perception.
Bathos permeates the fathoms of an obstreperous life
and if you still care,
lament that this meaningless congeries
of moments
inspires only delusion,
no disillusionment.
Eventually a lilting threnody
leading 'tween burning pews of proposed serenity
and the following bumping callithump
will firmly stamp you into black infinity.
Oh, child of mine
You've used the switch
too much
too often
coupled with lofty scoffing
giving the innocent up as offering
to the
mechanical engine
of organic creation.
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 11:05 AM UTC