"scrutinised" poems
I glide through the crowd
Blood rushes to my face
My hands stick with sweat
My lips open and close in prayer
But I am silent.
I stare at a wall
The carpet, a painting, a book,
But my mind will not focus.
Anything to hide the panic.
To hide the fear.
Tears are now a threat.
My panic wants to escape
But I am in public
I am being watched, observed under a microscope, scrutinised.
I must not cry.
It is as though I am
A foreigner in this world.
I want my home, locked doors,
But I do not want solitude.
I wish I were brave.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
This little heart of mine
often you nourished it
and cherished it gladly
as if it was a sweet smile
among a million primulas!
Oh, this little heart of mine
how often should it be scrutinised
be squeezed into the flip side?
What magic, should it show up?
Though no longer one sheds a tear
but spares a dose of love.
The sweetest moments in life
only come from love.
The harrowing ones are
no strangers—too big and bold
and could flesh out with no bound.
But fill this with only a slice—
not the lot—just with a bit of love,
this little heart of mine!
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC
"I painted a picture today"
I'm hoping it inspires people in a similar way that my poetry does
No ! I hope it does more than that
I've scrutinised and criticised it from all angles
Til my energy drained
It's of a sunset
The colours are vivid n just right "or are they"?
My local gallery's displaying it at a fair price or is it?
I'm not sure if it's hanging in the best place?
Does that matter?
It's taken a long time to complete
I'm surprised they thought it was good enough ?
I am my harshest critic
A perfectionist ......
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
The moon's virginal silvern lustre
drapes over the navy blue curtains
There is a sacred power that the moon has,
for it is the Left Eye of the goddess, Bast
An Eye of Ra, Great Lady of the East,
She Who Earned a Crown of
the Orisha
Her silverfire grants the felines power
to turn the simple black cat into a
panther at night
As black, swift and silent as a raven's wing
With eyes as green as a meadow in Spring
Stalking the jungle with the darkness
as her cloak
But with darkness dawns a new and bright light
For she is a Orisha with the sun in her heart
For she passes the flame into the herb
shaped like a heart, swept and burning
with violet glow
That burns through every vein of yours
and then you rise,
born again new
Consume that flame, eat Her heart and
she will meet you in the Ancestral
Planes but take great care,
as she grants you her
presence and power
on if you are worthy
Under the glimmering borealis
Flickers of violet and pink and white
becoming moving flames with kisses of blue
that stroke the various crests of clouds
Lights that dance, ride and raise with
winds of hope and change though
the infinite skies
Hearing murmurs and voices
the wind will blow around you,
a changed spirit
It is then you will know
It is then you will see
That Bast is smiling directly at you
Come and meet the Panthers who molded
the past in order to make sense
and build the future
Come and meet the Panthers who united
the tribes,
turning war to peace
And now here comes the new King
Who knows there is strength in unity
For tribes divided can never stand
And through learning that he possessed
a naively closed mind, scrutinised
the words spoken, not the ones
who were speaking
He was not his father but now with the
Mantle passed, he must learn from
his father's mistakes
Prince T'challa of Wakanda
Son of King T'chaka
Rise from cub to the
Panther on the
protective prowl
Seen worthy of Bast's blessings
carries her Eye that is never blind
He will remember all that his eyes have
scene from his successes and struggles
but also his heart
The Heart of a King
with the fire in his spirit
Sprint o'er the sea towards the horizon
The Black Panther who reigns
over Wakanda
How he stands proudly
with a coat of black
with his heart rooted and mind
conscious of the mistakes of the past,
has his eyes of the sunrise
which has the world and beyond
singing to the Sun, the Moon
and Wakanda's sacred tune
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
over teacup...fine porcelain..
delicately chipped....coniving eyes....scrutinised...tallying..gulliblity..naivete..desire...
wizened fingers...talonlike..
tattoo.....mesmerizing......
rhythms..
.......crystal ball... occluded....
fee exchanged..... hand......
presented....lifeline..short.....
love line....broken...tarot...
offered....indecsion..
..crystal....
....still cloudy...gap toothed...
..contortion...cards on....
table....impaired cognative function..accedes....
fee transferred....
.....cards..shuffle..pirroette.........inverted...laydown misere....
palaver..delivered....twocups... happy but sad.....prince of....
.....two sheets to wind....done
in....teacup rattles......
....session.........ended..crystal ball..sphere of silence....
.......future..still..shrouded..
...wallet..lighter... sozzled.....
laughter...all the.......
.............fun of the fair.........
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
**you spoke in mocking whispers laughed in taunting sniggers
you thought i never heard your snide remarks i heard them i
heard them all and i realised with thrills of horror that i who
relentlessly strived to go unnoticed was the hottest topic of
gossip you scrutinised me and every ****** action of mine
you broke me down
and crushed my spirit and trampled all over it and when you
were bored my pain became your amusement
you took my silence to be a mysterious ailment you made
assumptions you drew conclusions based on rumours you thought
you knew all about me you don't know anything about me don't
you dare assume you know me or what goes on within me or why
i am the way that i am.**
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 7:33 AM UTC
There is a world that no one knows
Where life unnoticed grows and thrives
Where birth and death and all between
Are scrutinised, yet are unseen
Where innocence and purity
In white are welcomed, full of hope
Impinging slowly, edging in
Life’s colour forming character
Where independent yellow gloats
In fierce teen triumph ‘Look at me!”
With fun and laughter orange glows
And reaches high in happiness
Experience and independence
Rich lessons teach and edges darken
Their lives on show, rough judgement falls
And ‘I prefer the red’ is thrown
About and listened to and felt
And colours deepen, darkened hue
In wind and rain and sunshine showers
Red develops, life impinges
Bright happiness or blood-red wisdom
Growing older, growing wiser
Where petals turning in reveal
Quiet pom-pom introversion
While out-turned fingers stretch with glee
Prima donnas, dancing, twirling
Where purple self-awareness turns
Each pink and mauve and lilac from
The bloom of youth towards life’s wane
Yet far enough away, rebelling
Where days grow shorter, sliding past
Yet hands stretch out and cup each face
And noses breathe and fingers touch
And bees buzz past and voices rise
And babies cry and old men laugh
And yet unknown, unseen, life slows
Bright-eyed the purple-rinse brigade
With sparkle-induced energy
Remembering and reminiscing
Their days they fill with endless chatter
Late Autumn falls and nights draw near
White heads do droop and slip, like snow
Fine petals drift into the breeze
An echo whispering til Spring.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 7:41 AM UTC
Oh what a wonderful phase
We are in right now, us five girlfriends,
With defunct love lives and no immediate hope
of securing a boyfriend.
Oh what freedom there is, in
branding ourselves "unaffordable platinums",
And priding ourselves at being too good for
those mortal, fallible, self-proclaimed "alpha" men.
Such hypocrites we are, actually,
Ridiculing and belittling that cute guy,
Still discussing his every move, nudging
and giggling at each other when he passes by.
But hey, call us hypocrites, evil, mean-
All of it we whole-heartedly accept.
Right now, we're living life in moments,
And our bucket list of madness, we mean to "check"-
Aimless flirting - check!
Pointless bedtime discussions - check!
Choosing a guy and then dissecting
His every habit - check,
His dressing style- check,
His twinkling eyes- check,
That had met ours today over lunch break- YES! Check!,
His last aloof message- check,
Sending an even more curt response- check,
Our hidden hopes that he would reply,
With affectionate words and also apologize,
For all the times he wasn't all that nice- wistful check.
Oh we're a bundle of emotions, us five,
Sans pressures and restrictions that a guy brings along,
Sans complexities and compulsions that come free
With his supplies of testosterone.
So, broadcasting this to all you gentlemen out there,
If you ever venture into our line of sight,
Prepare to be scrutinised, evaluated, and then rejected outright,
By this precious, exuberant pack of platinum five.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
Perched on the wall, the Raven scrutinised the fields that stretched for miles
Studying the crows as they gathered together by the clump of berry bushes
Its gimlet eyes concentrated, waiting to strike.
Searching for weaknesses amongst its minions, a black-shirt, a minor deity made for death,
Skull’s head, **** the demon of the dull cloud-dark skies.
An omen heralding star-snuffed, moon-ruined night.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
The mind can be a
poisonous vine,
That twists
and creeps,
corrupts
and thrives
Until
You
Recognise
The twisting vine,
is kept alive -
Only
If it’s scrutinised.
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
Hey young man, nervously idling away the fresh blood the creator sent you,
Cowering, afraid of bounteous opportunity while blood turns stale and the keen head turns to mush,
Stop lying to yourself and to your love, desist in piling worries upon her tender frame!
Whilst the blood congeals in the veins
The eyes can grow dull and sickness can mollify the restless spirit.
Open the cells to mineral impregnation,
Calcifying the legs, then the waist, then the chest…
No need for anything dramatic.
No need to open up the veins in hot bath,
And bitterly expire beside the 2 in 1 shampoo/conditioner
As unsuspecting house-mate knocks patiently on the bathroom door:
“(KNOCK, KNOCK KNOCK) are you going to be long in there? I need a poo.”
Why ruin a good door-frame by forcing said house mate into shouldering door from hinge
Only to stumble across sprawled carcass bobbing softly in reddened lukewarm water
Wearing swimming trunks for modesty’s sake.
Why face the posthumous embarrassment
Of having your rambling, hastily scrawled farewell note;
Marred with emo clichés and syntactical errors,
Poured over and scrutinised by judgemental mourners.
Nah.
Just lock that bathroom door deep within your soul
And let the childlike ambitions and desires that defined you
Sink beneath the lapping waters.
Soldier on, mourning the demise of the inner self, for now
Where the excision took place is tender and red
But it will heal.
And you will be free from the burden of self-reflective expectation,
You can dine with the servants; **** up to the inept boss,
Discard the heavy crown of ambition
And walk with a light and merry step into the silence of the grave.
And whilst this resignation is all very well
for a piece of self-pitying prose
Maybe you owe it to that guileless infant
(who art the father of the man writing this)
To do better by him than drown him,
Letting him Go Gentle into That Good Night
Simply because
In the face of unwavering actuality
He has become an inconvenience.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 5:26 AM UTC
In the beginning people called you a brick. But you weren’t perturbed
You stripped off weight, revealed svelte contours. Emerged fit.
You added bling. Bells and whistles unimaginable
Not shallow though. Shrewd and calculated
You made yourself valuable. Desirable
Everyone wanted a piece of you. I wanted you.
I got you.
In turn you gifted me everything I wished for. Everything I’d need
You brought me knowledge, broadened my horizons. Exposed me to the world
Sometimes enlightening, sometimes shocking
There was nothing you wouldn’t reveal
You organised my life, gave me direction. Connected me
Provided for my base needs. Oh the sweet ***** ***
But you were aloof
For all that you offered, you were indifferent to the price
For the good there was bad. For freedom, I gave you control
The world cost me community. Truths cost innocence
Exposing, I was vulnerable. Revelations rent me disturbed
As my go-between none could see me but through you
You took my connections and reset them. Manipulated my self-esteem
Self-esteem I relied upon
With you as my medium, misunderstandings became commonplace
Relationships once solid showed cracks
With disconnect you scrutinised these divides, and made them gulfs
Analyses became autopsies, on associations seemingly dead
So be it. I’ve seen enough. I’m too far down this path
I wouldn’t know how to change it. How would I even attempt to?
But I knew once
Maybe the problem is you. Your heavy on me once more, like that brick
I appreciate all that you’ve done for me, but there are some things you can’t
I must wrest back from you my connections with community
The bond with those important to me
You can have the world. It’s fame, flattery, insults and disgrace
I just want you to make a call
I gotta phone a friend
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
I arrived earth shattering
Nails in my heels
Ready to crack concrete
Unwilling to be moved
Feet firmly on the ground
With a stubborn dignified silence
Or a speech I'd rehearsed
For the past three years
Unsure of which I might need.
He sits down in front of me
Gaze avoiding
Looking as if he can already sense the bitterness
Already feel the heat
Of all the space between.
He orders something unfamiliar
And I wonder if it tastes like regret
Finally drinking down the consequence
He poured for us both
All those years ago.
In his face I sense a shame
And I think I'm supposed to be smug
That this is supposed to be the retribution
I craved for so long
This meet -
Him, with his cup of bitter
Me, dealt a dose of sweet.
I'd always envisioned this was the time
I'd finally taste some vegence
But all that's here is bittersweet
Saturating the space around us
Like there's no way to divide.
He musters some courage to look at me
Green eyes pierce
Just as fiercely now as they did back then
Stare right through the pupils
To the insides of the girl
Who's heart he ripped from it's chest.
I can't even fight it
It so immediately burns through
All the pain
All this strength and all this healing
Every scrutinised thing
I'd spent the last three years dealing with
The never ending proverbial glue
I'd used to forge myself whole
Suddenly becomes redundant
These cracks shining through.
My feet are no longer steady
I've forgotten all that made me reborn
I was supposed to find my voice
Salvage this final rise
With an opportunity to bask in integrity
And finally leave it behind.
Instead I am 22 again
Mesmorised
Stomach churning
He always did have the ability to melt the ice
I built myself on
Like no one else I've ever met.
I hold his gaze a little longer than I should
He reads my eyes like a familiar book
And I know this game
And how it ends
But my heart is thumping his name against my chest
So loudly
It drowns out all the memories and words
I've sat with every day since he left.
I purposefully forget to remind myself
That he's the worst idea I ever had
Because I'm staring at his lips
And all I can think about
Is how much I want them on mine.
His mouth always did taste like hope.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 5:04 PM UTC
it's silly to assign a word to an emotion.
Love.
A two-way street.
A maze.
A roller coaster.
Seemingly, if poetry and literature were people they would obssess over how next to label love. Every angle is observed and every simile and metaphor is scrutinised.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
Omnipresent
Voiceless, faceless hatred
Unwillingly accepted
By data communication,
Even when you're not there
I feel you, words piercing
Through flesh, deeper
Than the love of family ties
Criticism, every little thing
Scrutinised.
I am left with one door open
Follow me if you dare.
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 4:58 PM UTC
The casing we cling onto so greatly
reassures us that indeed we do exist,
for our impalpable spirit
at times, appears merely a dream.
Our eyes in which we look so deep
as if attempting to grasp the within,
shining bliss or saddenedly opaque
dilate at every fascinating detection,
our hair of many colours, curly or straight
a frame to our visage round or oval
we recognise as ours, reflected on
crafted sea sand for us not to forget,
who we are, focusing on its features
one by one, wrinkles portraying
our escapades scrutinised in search
of traces of happiness amid the many scars,
as a central protuberance inhaling
detects scents of others
registered to elicit memories, red lips
our mouth uttering sounds we call words
through vibrating vocal chords stored
in our throat, our neck tirelessly supporting
the head, on our shoulders bearing
the knots revealing our frustrations
insanity, while arms are still willing
and able to carry out intentions,
five fingered hands at their extremities
to mould ideas give them space
in the physical realm, our torso
encaging to protect muscles
pumping life where distinction
is made between woman and man,
for she in clothing hides her *******
of nourishment for progeny to grow,
our stomach flat or bloated conceals
a second mind, enteric nervous system
responding to emotions, our pelvic
cavity beneath, where reproductive organs
give, pleasure to the living
engendering new lives, our thighs,
knees and calves supporting
our every motion so that we
could wander the land discover
understand, our feet
rooted to the ground for balance,
for us not to loose touch
with reality fly away
in realms of fantasy, our skin
delicate involucre of it all, shelling
our skeleton keeping us ***** protecting
trillions of cells
unfathomably combining to compose,
us.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
the planning office is up the road, by the old hospital
that was once a work house for the poor & suffering
to suffer more.
boils.
pass by regular on the way to somewhere else.
it is listed so any changes are scrutinised.
boils.
there have been a few.
changes.
i do apologise
did you say planet?
sbm.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 2:19 AM UTC
His marriage imploded; smoke and insinuations. It was a shock that he always knew was coming. His conscience sent him North; a man and his bags. He was 38 and had gained weight. A once handsome face melting away into middle-aged near-obesity. Ruing over what he was not proud of, every human interaction was endlessly scrutinised. He felt that he had a true essence that he had not yet uncovered. If he could discover it then he would build a new story around it, one that would get his life back on track. His meals were no hopers; microwaved, industrial and sodium filled. His meals and his days did not nourish him. Feeling lonely, he had started to go to the pub. Although he stuck out, he found the locals rough but friendly enough. They, the 3 lads, were going to come around for a smoke. A little bit of companionship might stop the walls from eating him up. They were all in their mid-twenties, he'd guess, so younger than him but not oddly so. He flipped between politics today and sky sports news; chain smoking like it was a vital function. He drank a can of san pelligrino blood orange, slowly, his mouth overwhelmed by the sugary taste. He sighed from the tip of his toes to the crown of his head. Within an hour, like his marriage he would no longer exist.
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 8:10 AM UTC
The woman, the one whose intellect stands and pleads on her legs, bring about equality
But whose body recoils not out of her own conformity
Manoeuvre balletic,compassionately and LADYLIKE
Humanity continually directs her, she is a woman, and that is her lone portrayal
Where she yearns to put her foot down ,
she is always giving a foot stool
Assistance is what she needs
Her being independent is hazardous
Only scrutinised for what she wears
underneath her garments
identified solely as a exquisite blossom
A instrument for the hands of society to play
The artistry of woman’s body withholds plenty functions
That men lust for
Gratification being the prime reason
The make-believe contrast bound by “She and He”.
A level of credit is disposed from men.
Pureness faraway from conclusive
Self-pride being fundamental
Society makes this concrete description.
How to act according to our particular
In order to be respected in the eyes of the people.
of lust and desire.
To gratis herself, to alter what being a woman means,
what (gender) equality means.
Women shouldn’t be criticised by the dimensions of a skirt
A women shouldn't feel apprehensive to chase her dreams
because of society’s wail
It shouldn’t be intricate for all to be the same
to be equivalent
Free of cost from the penny priced stereotypes
Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 9:37 PM UTC
Yochana lay on her bed.
Her mother was downstairs
preparing evening dinner.
The boy at school questioning
began as soon as she got home
from school. Did he look
at you today? Did he show
interest in you? I can always
ask your friend, Angela?
Her mother's questions rained
down on her as soon as she
entered the door. No he didn't,
Yochana lied, not at all; he
ignored me; he's like that,
she added to add credence
to her reply. She watched
her mother's features. Does
she believe me? The eyes
scrutinised her, peering eyes,
like those of a sparrow hawk.
Yochana wasn't sure if her lying
had gone over. Angela hadn't
been around when she had
seen the boy Benedict that day,
but she couldn't be sure if her
friend had seen or not. If I
find out that you have been
lying, my girl, you will regret it,
her mother had said as Yochana
climbed the stairs to her room
to change out of her uniform.
At lunch time she'd met him
as she promised she would.
Angela had gone home with
women's problems so she had
no fear of a spy. She could hear
her mother downstairs banging
around in the kitchen preparing
dinner, moody, wondering if her
daughter had lied or told the
truth about the boy. She lay there
on the bed. The boy Benedict
there inside her head. The kiss
of cheek and hand, and then lunch
time, she had allowed him to kiss
her again. Lips to lips. How had she?
Not sure if she had or had she?
She had just the once kiss on the lips.
Behind the maths block, briefly.
Lips to lips. Once. She sensed
his lips there still. As if frozen there.
If I find out you have lied, her
mother had said, you will...regrets...
The slaps of the other evening
stung her hand. But what if she
found out I lied? Closing her eyes
she saw him still. Lips and lips.
Felt still. Wet and warm. Later
that evening Schubert songs had
been sung, her mother singing,
Yochana played piano. The slaps
on hands and thighs had stung.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC