"sceptical" poems
Could there be any truth in the prophecies
that the Mayans had written?
Over five thousand years ago about 2012
foretelling a spiritual awakening!
And the possibility of the end of mankind
is it fiction that's outlined?
Prophecies written have come and long gone
scholars say they've happened.
Were these disasters predicted as it was told
or how they were interpreted?
Whether vague and their meanings calculated
their accuracy debated!
Many are sceptical of those who say they foresee
from past times to present.
Though a lot of predictions of the natural type
what of mankind's folly?
If there's a way that the future can be seen
to know seems obscene!
Usually nothing can be done to prevent it
causing fear and uncertainty.
Prophecies of the past make no difference
those of the future no comfort!
Whether the Mayans is true it's a short wait
if not next year let's have a debate!
The Foureyd Poet.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
Had to get back
To the pen and the pad
All this is driving me mad
Never sunk this low
Never felt this bad
I've tried washing away all these sins
I've tried burying all of these things
Feels like this room is closing in
All the memories are coming back (back)
I feel cold, alone and trapped (trapped)
Cleanse my soul oh, oh
Cleanse my soul oh, oh
Cleanse me, clean me out
Oh Lord, cleanse my soul
Cleanse me, cleanse me (oh yeah)
Clean me up, clear my head
Bring me to my feet again
I can't seem to walk
With all this weight
Hanging over my shoulders
Take me back
to those Glenmore Park days
Back to where and when I felt safe
There was more than enough love
And protection in the sky above
All these terrible feelings
Are like a collapsing ceiling
Wearing me down, crushing me under
If this keeps up, I'll be six feet under
Trying to dig my way out
Now I realise I need help
Now I see that I can't fight this alone
Now I need a little room to breathe
And let all of the fresh air
Clear all the black smoke in me
Cleanse my soul oh, oh
Cleanse my soul oh, oh
Cleanse me, clean me out
Oh Lord, cleanse my soul
Cleanse me, cleanse me (oh yeah)
Clean me up, clear my head
Bring me to my feet again
I can't seem to walk
With all this weight
Hanging over my shoulders
Take me back
to those Glenmore Park days
Back to where and when I felt safe
There was more than enough love
And protection in the sky above
They say so do you believe in angels?
Maybe there are some watching over you
Maybe there are some watching over me
But only if you have a little faith and just believe
But some people don't believe what they just can't see
I used to be a little sceptical myself
But I'm finding a little belief in spiritual help
That's why I'm asking them to
Cleanse my soul oh, oh
Cleanse my soul oh, oh
Cleanse me, clean me out
Oh Lord, cleanse my soul
Cleanse me, cleanse me (oh yeah)
Clean me up, clear my head
Bring me to my feet again
I can't seem to walk
With all this weight
Hanging over my shoulders
Take me back
to those Glenmore Park days
Back to where and when I felt safe
There was more than enough love
And protection in the sky above
©2017 Written By Benji James
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 5:07 AM UTC
Search, understand, make sense of the signs
As universal energy illuminates our minds
Sceptical at times but in essence we believe
There's celestial truth in all that we percieve
Recurrently pushed down rocky roads
But those rocks have been placed there for us to decode
Realisations, higher selves, awakened minds
Take those lessons forward and the light you'll find
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 3:24 PM UTC
A woman of substance
I'm sceptical of the Dutch
One of them stole my beloved
He was a painter
Made her beautiful on canvas
And she fell in love
I wrote a poem on a torn
Piece of paper-
And I’m not a Lutheran-
Nailed it on her door
The usual stuff of the aching heart
The painter got arthritis
In his hands
Could not hold a paint brush
She sent him to nursing home
And now she smiles at me
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
Beautiful sceptical spectacular
Spectacular beautiful
Beautiful spectacle
Beatitude spectacular
Gift from the sun, suicide is gone
suicide gone wrong
suicide undone
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
She's very special to me
She always knows
I'm really here
For her and for myself
Once I first saw her
In that shop
My heart knew
I was sceptical at first
But quickly came around
Now we're closer
Than ever
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
'When nights shall be drunk
And souls be tumbling in revelry
When the comic of roles end
And cold shall be burning
I await to call the utmost illegitimate side of us
As my penchanted pleasure
For you be semisane
Caught half into adulthood and rest you know...
Neither you nor me or they
Be sceptical or carrying the peels of scruples
Don't.
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 6:09 AM UTC
literate legends of the past
wordsworth, tennyson, shakespeare, poe
philosophers preaching wisdom
whilst churning words of woe
if born a century onward
their genius contribution
would re-direct thought
and our retribution
clever wit, used correctly
relays a message indirectly
be loud in voice
be strong in deed
plants that blosom
have nurtured seeds
learned men, with miserly souls
different values, different goals
hypothetically speaking, if resurrected
could this system be corrected
past vision blurred, future masked
the valley victim duly asked...
what make thee of my vale?
once vibrant, now lies stale
thine vale like a garment, tightly twined
sceptical of progress, wallow in decline
thy forefathers fester in premature tombs
martyrs to masters, grafted in gloom
thy dwell on the dead, thou should view ahead
though mystery of history must ever be read
tread forth with vision, or stumble ye blind
don't dwell on the dead, or land once mined
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
Who am I ?
Can I ever aspire to touch that shining spot,
Suspended in the entirety?
This base form is bound.
Every agent a shackle;
Every constant a fetter.
And 'this' the final frontier beyond which lies the ever unattainable.
I am but a constituent;
A byproduct.
An aberration.
And such shall never surpass the goal of ordinance.
Or seek to know more than that which is due.
For futile is this search
And that which I hope will ensue from it.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
My arms wrap around you.
I am smothering, suffering alone,
Wondering what I would do without you.
In a sceptical moment, you brush past me,
As fresh as the morning dew.
Telling me stuff that lay beneath me,
A waking life in a still dream.
Under that particular mound and that particular tree,
Where I touched your soul
And was finally free.
The caresses of your gentle hand.
The sparkle in your beady eyes,
Was the philtre of the most outlandish brand.
And all seemed like the heavens had,
For me planned, a scheme too grand.
You, my love spoke in an amiable moo
Words that my ears couldn't hear.
A life with emotions too few,
A gushing hollowness in the heart of life,
Leaving me wondering, what will I do without you
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
I get fleeting glimpse of the skies whenever I glance at her eyes
I see the stars entwine,twinkling,dancing to the rhythm of your heart.
breathing new air into my lungs
Which certainly rejuvenates me back to life.
Cover my scars with words that spell out "you'll be fine" synonymously as a tattoo would promising me eternal shine.
I could've been sceptical and believe my eyes have seen a mirage due to the paths in the past whereby a candle went out in the long run and introduced me to the dark.
Comforted me with a smile that ignited your aura.
Smoothened my tongue with that honey that sourced of your thoughts that are floral.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 3:24 AM UTC
Freed my soul when you handed your heart w..hole
Your pulses beated a sad song
But I held on to the highest pitch of the note
Remain sceptical of the situation but this all sources of our flaws
Imperfect flaws perfected and I loved you most
Just as you were with those scars about your chest gnawing "I'm all alone"
Quested for sanity through addictive sedations that had you abusing the remedy for therapy but who am I to lay judgement or question?
The sun was setting so were my eyes setting too..setting on you
Ignited the spark in my soul when the dark arose and you sang me your reminiscence of times in a dark hole.
Our eyes rained through the night
But when the sun was up I realised you were an angel glittering a rainbow in her eyes.
Drugs.We.Fell.In.Love.High.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
only English has disgraced itself, as a language,
it didn't learn from it's other Latin
orthographers, whether french or german,
just didn't learn from them,
i mean, English, the language,
could have started improving its style,
its orthography, adding accents, here and there,
improving elocution, it's worth the
particulars in harbours, ironically it isn't
a universal language, there are no universal
instances in using it, there are plenty
of particular instance that do require stresses
and other such involvements,
but the six brothers dreamed up too much
technology prior, the Grand Father of the Empire
split the cabbage patch between the five brothers:
gave much to the American son,
much also to the Australian son,
much also to the Canadian,
the South Africa got a part of Europe from the 1940s,
the Caribbean son received a pretty sunset,
the English son got ****** in the ***
and given what the newspapers are covering
i'm really sceptical while only children migrants
are welcomed... ********** the tournament
of who can shove an ice-cube into a teenagers
*** to make **** *********** seem cool?
really sceptical while the prime minister only
wants children... come, you following-up
the hot topics in british journalism?
but like i said, the one chance the English language
had to improve itself, to succumb to the
judgement of the preservation of the Latin via
a - z was to add diacritical marks, instead the internet
emerged and we simply got an Eaton mess...
look how mishandled English is among the young!
omni acronym omni short-script,
omni dyslexia,
lazy lazy buggers... while the Germans are fiercely compounding,
Rindfleischetikettierungsueberwachungsau
(law delegating beef label monitoring) - now let's
do some syllable surgery on it to get a tennis ball
bouncing rhythm:
rind' fleische' tikettierung' sueber' wachungsau' -
or thereabouts in Pomerania - and the French
such hark rather than trill Rs and produce excess
spelling via tongue ties upon tongue ties
(every time i hear it i just hear bubbly blue
bubbly blue bue bue and Moulin Rouge cancan) -
English is shrapnel, empty pistachio shells in comparison,
and yet still the internet proved how ugly
things became... *** LOL (e.g.); and yet i'm
finding it the most effective language for volume.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 4:37 AM UTC
Cascading from the skies they come
the little green and grey men
coming from the outer worlds
just to make crop circles again
Now call me sceptical
even call me critical
but they come all that way
just to make crazy crop circles
Why don't they just take some seeds
all the bleeding seeds they need
than fly back to their planetary homes
and just leave our ****** farmers alone
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
I feel my bones catch eachothers serated edge
as my needs are fulfilled
Am I still free?
without the wood, water, and stream?
with the love of markably beautiful others?
at what cost may I experience these treaures?
what new rules need enforcing
what self of mine will be denied
hindered, rendered captive
to loving connection
I can only be susceptive
sceptical
can I still talk a brief free word with you and resume my adventures?
do you travel along side me or at a distance?
do we meet at speratic intervals
will I ever see you, be with you again?
will you change me?
Will you captivate me from my aunotomy
will our faces morph into another animal?
one that outwitts the world but for who I wont fully recognize without practice
the medicine we make
the rabbit that calls!
I am AFRAID of YOU, MAGIC
magic stirings are the heart
do I decline them out of enlightenment
or nourish my inner works
allow my hearths flourish with flame
warmth
or find sanctity in solomonity in the stary night
chilling
split hearted lovely, wise soul
you dont act from a place of inner direction
disjointed
how do I attribute you to this dynamic but short lived life?
or this mind
mind, heart, soul division
my soul is weary of anything that might take my power from me
I see it in you
I dont have the answer yet, but dont rob me of the question
let me ponder it and my role in this new place
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 7:20 AM UTC
The cliché "contrast" is black and white
But in reality there is much more to contrast:
Success and failure,
Night and day,
Living and thriving.
Once living the dream, now living the nightmare.
That's reality's contrast
Once being confident, now being sceptical.
That's reality's contrast.
The only visible light and dark contrast in reality is whether you cry during the day where everyone can see you and your sufferings or during the night where no one can see the real you and what you have come to.
Darkness might be beautiful, but only when you see glimmers of light.
You'll go out into the city and describe the darkness as beautiful just because of the light you see within the darkness.
Darkness allows you to blend in
Your inner darkness escapes as you cry
As you express yourself to the surrounding emptiness
Eventually you become covered with your emitted darkness.
Cry during the day and the viewers will look, glance, stare
laugh
And they know what you're going through?
You get drenched in darkness by the actions of others and your own excretion.
Darkness can house beauty, but darkness is slowly taking over.
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
You wrinkle your nose, No
I laughed. ‘Why?’
‘It’s silly.’
‘Sillier than driving
In the middle of the night
To my house and
Pulling me away
To eat pizza and
Drink milkshakes and
Write poetry in our arms
And sing and scream
And driving into a
Miraculously open
Carnival?’
You rolled your eyes
‘I’d rather do a Holden Caulfield on you,’
Would that mean that
To you
I’m just...Phoebe?
I shot you a sceptical look
And told you that
One ride at a carousel
Won’t taint your
Masculinity.
I sure as hell hoped
That I convinced you because
I don’t want you to be Holden
If I’m just Phoebe,
I’d rather be Jane Gallagher even
If there wasn’t a scene in the book
Written for us.
I know that if I could be Jane,
We could write
Our own **** story
And our story would
Be better.
So please, please, please
Say yes
To going to the carrousel
With me
And we could start writing
Our story as Jane
And Holden.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 9:53 AM UTC
Someone's misery
wrapped up in someone's international policy
Sanctions to prove a point, to enforce power
another political pact helps another culture cower
We are modernised, we are westernized
A lot of the world though seems unsatisfied
Terrorism the new currency on the playing field of negotiations
Suffering increases and yet bankers commit suicide with stock market fluctuations
Keep it short, to the point, and hopefully inoffensive
This world has made me sceptical and apprehensive
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 9:50 AM UTC
What tormenting love
What estrangement
Does mount a strenuous protest
In imagined transformations
That hover over this cast
This appalling malady
Enmeshed in a humiliation of confusion
That does give a loving dispensation
And by mericulous tongue
Restores a beauty to sceptical wonder
That comes into this world hand in hand
With love, not one before the other
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 2:49 PM UTC
She could be more lost than anybody as though no akin
She could be more distorted than the moon's skin
She could be more sceptical than what eclipses bring
She could be more pessimistic than March equinox
She could be more cynical than the devils in abyss
She could be more sadistic than Harley Quinn
She could be more ghastly than decapitated heads
She could be more dead than a corpse itself
But when she rose,
You know ?
She attributed him in nothing
His relics are buried
And I ?
I donot care with delight by my side
May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
My insecurities often scream louder
than the little voice inside of me.
Broadcasting and blasting out of stylish speakers
for all the boys and girls to see.
I've been held down,
by demons with travelling cloaks,
woven with invisible tapestry
clutched about their throats.
So to remove the words
I have so carefully purged
out my enigmatic system,
the ones caught and stuck inside my chest
with unusual strength and mysticism.
I took my hand,
jammed it deep down through my mouth
gagged on my fore fingers a second longer
in order to drag them out.
The vile words,
drowning in biled verse,
I drug them out through dreary space
and hung them with my shirts
I aired out days before.
The score of the fight
lies not in the aired out and forgotten,
but in the formations of tones
and phonetic clones
tangled in my web of rotten
sceptical insinuations.
Indelible infractions,
and taking back my sinful actions
are recanting hate, dispelling fate
burning holes within my reactions.
They've altered my vision,
long blurring scenes of scattered days
glass nails shattered in iron blenders
banishing frantic forays.
I've found it easier, less chaotic
to accept instances where I've felt at home.
I've come to enjoy devilish voices when I've lost it
because at least then, I'm not alone.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
I doubt each one's intention
This is a selfish world
The goodness last for seconds
No one is here with a clean conscience
Who knows whats hiding behind a smile
Everyone out are there to end their own thirst
For their benefits , not afraid to show their worst
No stranger are your friends ,
they'll go away to find the next trend
leave you alone to stand
Don't not doubt
the things you don't know about
There's no shame to be sceptical
It is better than being gullible
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
When poetry describes the historical,
One refrains from becoming hysterical.
However by use of the judicial rhetorical
A Poet makes full use of the allegorical!
So when writing poetry I remain stoical,
That though some may think me radical,
Employing words they considered lyrical,
I try never to appear, irrational or critical.
To write about the mystical and cryptical,
Using strict rhythm? Can be diabolical!
As for themes regarded purely mythical,
I shy from words too pictorial or technical.
My approach to topics humourously comical,
Is to compose lines thoughtfully satirical.
In turn this allows me to remain sceptical,
Whilst appearing not too fanatical or cynical!
So, if with words I am reckoned economical?
I hope my rational thoughts are not illogical,
But in using descriptive words, is it ethical
To ensure Poems not be too whimsical?
Now, without appearing to be pontifical,
Though I'm always careful to be veridical,
I'm allowed at times, to wax philosophical,
As I attempt to depict matters paradoxical.
Doubtless some will find my words inimical:
Fanatically methodical and chronological?
But in attempting the facetious or ironical,
I'll avoid the pitfalls of being too graphical.
Should poetry be left to the technological?
One might find it becomes too puritanical.
And suggest the Poet was unduly practical!
Such is the way of the biased hypocritical!
If my poetic lines appear to be egotistical?
Then readers must understand, that's logical.
But please I beg of you, never be heretical,
When lines concern the canonical or political.
Will a Poet's thoughts be considered farcical,
If a reader is left bemused and quizzical?
Or should he stick to the unequivocally canonical?
Personally, I'm happy if my poems are grammatical!
So I'll conclude thinking poetry may be symbolical,
And my many rhymes, in quantities numerical,
May not satisfy the purist nor the global ecumenical,
But they deal with topics that are never hypothetical!
Rhymer. July 10th, 2018.
(Your turn Jim!)
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC