Best Disbelieving Poems
If I do not trust my wisdom
then I have earned nothing,learned nothing,loved nothing, become nothing,
I would be a random phantom,a struggle absent triumph to fathom,
just a creature chasing feelings, ignorant of meaning,
would be like disbelieving my birth
underestimating my worth
searching for mirth
in spoiled earth,
As a Mother never leaves the bones of her babe
Wisdom remains the Warchief of my warcraft, Defender of my Dignity,
when born, naked, bloodied, a new face in an old world, a new dream in an old scream
Wisdom was there to share the air, the steward of my soul and shadow, reason's blade,
guardian of flesh and frequency, It'll be present when final breath farewells me,
Wisdom's warfare is figured yet fanatical,dreaded and unseen,
I will not allow anything to invalidate my wisdom, no threat or doubt of strangers,
humans exist to fight, many to exploit the labor and hearts of their neighbors,
all God's animals fight to survive, but we fight for wants and principles as well,
I war not to live longest, I battle to believe in the value of my death, my spirit not to sell,
Wisdom has nourished my motivations as blood nutures the organs
encouraging me to love life today, not tomorrow,
that I should fear not the cruel for they are truly the weak and poor,
that I am worth more than the Petro Dollar, Euro and Yuan,
that Art is my religion and creativity my life,
reminding that to teach is to live and to live is to lead,
that happiness happens steady when you like who you are,
to be mean spirited is to be despirited,
that lies live when our truths appear terror,
Wisdom taught me to be more a conissuer of soul than of body,
that as a champion I should keep relics of my losses as well as of my victories,
that we learn nothing of significance by being right,
that love is never wrong,
that in times of victory be merciful, in moments of defeat be indomitable,
that I am Free as I am Forever,
gave me the motto,
long damn day, good damn day -
J.A.B.
Categories:
disbelieving, wisdom,
Form:
Didactic
Do you really think, that I am going to trade my eternal soul,
for your bowl of germ infested puke? Think again!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
O' sullen sullies of darkness....
How you often paint yourself so very innocent and pretty
While you drool at the corners of the edges of jagged
Within your ever deceiving, and your taintedly twisted smile and corroding mouth
Galloping around as if you were some fortitude of light and wisdom?
Amid these pretentious comforts, cast, from within a hollowed and daggered heart
Just as long, as you can capture everyone else, within your chains of bindings
Bound, unto your own darkened perspectives, beneath, your clinching claw sharpened
grasp....
Eructing your molten lavas, spewed, of your gargoylish poisoned vomit
Upon the lives of those who are somewhat already blind, themselves?
Offering your beguiling and benumbing putrid stench, to alluringly, lure them in
Into the depths, of your own black widow webbed horror show....
While pounding upon your chest, as if you were the conqueror of them all?
As you leave your trails of excrement and slime, within the dust, of your ever slithering wake
These your offerings, before all of Heavens disbelieving and watchful eyes!
Unto the unknowing and eternal souls, which you try so desperately, to swallow whole!
But your indignities and godlessness, will not escape your forthcoming demise....
For your manglings, disfigured, shall lead unto your own wraths, pending doom....
And yet for now, you do still stand, unscathed, within your wantingly amissful ignorance
Projecting unto others, as if you were some sort of mighty tower, in which they, should
believe?
But knowing deep inside of yourself the truth, of how very feeble and lost, you truly are!
Standing in front of this melting mirror, within your plotting poisoned mind....
A flower of the darkest soils, charcoals of crimsons ashes, your burning, and scorching flames
Lucifers child, of the neverendings, forever, and endless pain...."You!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
....Darkness Falls....
{The final kiss}
Categories:
disbelieving, visionary
Form:
I wore his dog tags and his medal for the valor they implied.
My heart was aching, sorrow engulfed me, I felt torment inside.
Life lost meaning. I had hated that war since it first begun.
Now the worst thing of all, disbelieving that it had taken my son.
The misery that my loss had created, proved to be all too strong.
I was unable to sleep, I just cried all day and all night long.
Finally weeks later some sleep befell me and I began to dream.
In the distance was my boy, alive and well or so it would seem.
He was with other young soldiers all marching up a very steep hill.
All had packs upon their backs, but my son was standing quite still.
He was struggling hard to climb as his pack was the biggest of all
I asked him, "why is your pack so large and the other’s so small?".
"Most of the guy's loved ones, have happy memories of their life,
But all I have left you Mum, is tumultuous sorrow, grief and strife.
Our packs are full of the tears that our loved ones all have shed.
All the tears you have cried Mum, make my pack heavy as lead".
When I awoke, I cried no more, kept the good, left the sad times behind.
My dear son you are always on my mind. .........
Categories:
disbelieving, son,
Form:
Rhyme
Broken but disbelieving, we wait
for any doctor to say it’s just blood
as the gray man greens, throws-
up in triage. A Goth teen holds Band-Aids
to her scalped thumb. Somebody loses
patience, explodes, Why are the sick
treated this way? Doors dilate & the sick
smell of antiseptics greets a waitress
wearing a steak knife. We are cribbed by loss;
gone, teeny heartbeats as I pass blood
clots. A junkie limps, unaided,
to the bathroom, another throw
away human, unlike a tot thrown
from a fire. Unforgettable, that sickening
sound, shrill scream after scream raids
the room of complaints. Hell won’t wait
for examination, I learn, as bloodshot
eyes meet mine. Hope is lost.
Patients stoically sit. Some lose
change to a vending machine. A cop throws
a look to his charge. Words drift, bloody
stool, x-rays, concussion. Sick talk to the sick.
My hand is gently squeezed. No one else waits-
out a miscarriage. I watch an aid
swab vintage tiles, restack HIV/AIDS
pamphlets as if they’re a deck of cards, like loss
is just some hand dealt. Somewhere, a mother waits
for her boy to sleep, will wash bottles, throw
out dirty diapers. Somewhere, a heartsick
father releases bloodcurdling
sobs because a body was found. Blood
is both bond & amputation. I took first aid
so I know why the sickest
get priority. Besides, we've already lost
each other, little one. Our separation has thrown
me off balance. Why couldn't you wait?
As if I need hearing aids, a nurse throws
my name out to the sick, the lost, ER roommates.
No. I'll never be ready. Let the bloody stirrups wait...
Categories:
disbelieving, death, heartbreak, my child,
Form:
Sestina
Our father who art in heaven
Forgetting the son and his holy sacrament
Wandering in a maze, looking for atonement
Disavowing God, we bow to evil temptations
God is growing weary of his sinful creation
Hallowed be thy name
We constantly profane the Kings monicker
Rebuking displays regarding the creator
Disbelieving in the immaculate conception
God is growing weary of his sinful creation
Thy kingdom come thy will be done
Freewill creatures ignoring the warnings
Hastily striding toward the end of mornings
He has set the time for earth’s annihilation
God is growing weary of his sinful creation
On earth as it is in heaven
Adam and Eve the first created beings
Creation immoral from the very beginning
Inviting sin into their perfect habitation
God is growing weary of his sinful creation
Give us this day our daily bread
Refusing to eat from the table of life
Dining on lies, as we wallow in strife
Children dying from spiritual malnutrition
God is growing weary of his sinful creation
Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors
The world was cleansed by the great flood
Human’s given hope, by a sacrifice of blood
Unable to forgive we await a fiery termination
God is growing weary of his sinful creation
Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil
Willing walking the path of unrighteousness
Passing the point where we can seek forgiveness
Time has run out for this sinful congregation
The son has returned destroying creation
For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever amen
Categories:
disbelieving, devotion, imagination, philosophyson, son,
Form:
Rhyme
Religion
holy, peaceful
serving, loving, dedicating
harbingers, wishers, speakers, sellers
separating, competing, fighting
narrow, isolated
community
community
selfish, bellicose
hating, disbelieving, thinking
saints, bishops, saviors, pioneers
committing, secularizing, uniting
fraternal, human
Religion
SOUHARDYA GOSWAMI, INDIA
(The poem was written by my son Souhardya Who is 14+ years old. He is inspired by every great poet in POETRYSOUP.)
Categories:
disbelieving, abuse, community, deep, how
Form:
Diamante
Distressed, I attest,
Like not blessed,
A voice in my head,
Said out of bed,
So I was led to
A quiet church,
As owls sang out,
Midnight gone tombs,
And my tears appeared,
Death beckoned long
finger nails of distraction,
And so I gazed upon an open Abbey, with folk awake that caused a shake, God botherers with likely guitars, a melange of niceness where only grief was sat. So I drifted in, hiding behind tissues
of my own life lies, and sat prepared to run, quite prepared and scared, from that worse than death, the well meaning Christian. Then as I sank into the pews, staring up from rotten shoes, my woes, my blues, I saw floating in midair, a man, with dark blooded hair, and I knew then I was crazy within my distress, not blessed. But as that thought, which came to nought, crossed my elitist demeanour, I shared everything he felt, and at that moment, beyond compare, exquisite agony my problems became less than my being, now seeing Christ. Never one to take miraculous moments without scepticism, I stood disbelieving, a rescued Thomas who had seen, unseeing, still unbelieving.
So I walked with much chagrin
towards the font my eyes had
seen, to find rational reasons,
A reflection, some explanation,
for why of all people this soul
of mine, might be saved by
one whose face I had denied
for so long, that no song could
ever write my wrongs, and there
in a Pentecostal moment, I
gained insight into the wind
that came at night, where no
delight was held for me,
an agnostic changed now for
all eternity. A man unworthy
of that name, came to faith,
kicking, screaming at how
unfair, it was to find that God
was really there, and worse,
so much worse, he knew my
name, and despite my attempts,
cared enough to save my day.
@Andrew Carnegie, Bessay Lighthouse, 28th December 2016. A true story.
If you would like to know a bit about me and my poetry please click this link below:
https://youtu.be/Ic_V7aX4xbk
Categories:
disbelieving, christian, death, faith, gospel,
Form:
Concrete
Comatose To Life
Somewhere on a small island called Penang, historically known as the Pearl Of The Orient…
There is a heartwarming tale of how tender loving care revived a comatose patient…
The patient is a fully qualified Florence Nightingale about to launch her nursing career ..
Full of hopes and dreams, excited about achieving her goals in her chosen career…
But the cruelties of real life was fatefully unloaded on her one unlucky day…
A twisted sense of fate saw a motorcycle accident that cruelly left her for dead..
But her strong will to survive and fight was something no doctors could have forseen…
She being in a vegetative state, those experts think they know enough to proclaim…
There’s no hope of full recovery, poor girl, and it is best to pull the plug on her…
Given her extensive injuries, her vegetative state, it’s best not to prolong her misery..
Her ever loving aunt, her only mother she had known, was resolute in her decision…
Come what may, her favorite niece will have her undivided love, care and attention ….
No one knows the depths of agony and the despair this loving aunt quietly suffered…
The loneliness and the infinite patience, only a mother maternal could have done better…
Through 2 long years of unending love and tenderness, against all negative perceptions..
From the expert doctors to the disbelieving relatives, she tirelessly persevered in her actions..
Today her plucky comatose patient is awakened, though she is far from full recovery…
What matters is she is alive, she has made it through, though there’s need for counselling …
This story is just a beginning for Janice Chuah Chai Ming, it’s the start of a long recovery journey..
This poem is just to document the power and the intensity of love and perseverance extraordinary…
For Chuah Bee Hong, the loving aunt who quit her job to devote full time for Janice’s recovery..
Prayers be with you and your loved ones, good deeds like this deserves only good in life’s glory..
http://www.thestar.com.my/News/Nation/2015/11/13/Nurse-makes-strides-after-waking-from-a-coma-Hit-and-run-accident-robs-Janice-of-bright-future/
Categories:
disbelieving, devotion, giving, inspiration, meaningful,
Form:
Narrative
It's not footprints that we should be talking about -
They’re personal – my footprints, bold and giving,
Which shape me, make me me - who I am:
They're not Jesus’s, the king of living.
Your personal history partly determines your life,
Helps you, or makes you want to overcome,
Makes you want to become who you want to be,
Because I'm more than just my history’s sum.
The Jesus that we know is a universality:
Communal, all-knowing and immortal;
But that I evolved and am part of humankind,
Gives me purpose and a rather large portal.
Individual responsibility makes the criminal weep:
His actions are only his, there's no leeway;
It gives the success story her satisfied smile,
At past determination in her disbelieving day.
Existentialism posits we each exist without divinity,
As self-sufficient entities with meaning as your call;
Supernature strokes the ego, fondles the pride,
So just believe in atheism and be relational to all.
In Mary Stevenson’s Footprints poem,
Jesus carries you, with his footprints in yours;
But I think my role-models, physios and teachers,
Along with myself, carried me in theirs!
Categories:
disbelieving, appreciation, feelings, history, how
Form:
Rhyme
When you first hear those fateful words
It hits you like a thunderbolt
Although totally expected
The blood still drains from your face
You sit, disbelieving, shocked, numb
Not quite able to take it in
You ask the usual questions
How long have I got, will it hurt
Is there nothing that can be done
But you know, way down, deep inside
This is it, the end is in sight
The day you dreaded is finally here
That rock and roll lifestyle of old
Has come back to bite your backside
So you ask the only question
That matters to you any more
“Will I be able to eat nuts,
Once the dentures are in, I mean?”
Categories:
disbelieving, angst, funny, health,
Form:
Free verse
title may change
this is to one of my closest friends who committed suicide, R.I.P Taylor Frostsong/ Jeanette Jenkins
she was my best friend
she was a very close friend but how did I not know
that she was in so much pain
why did I not see her attempt at death coming.
But her attempt, unlike mine, was a success of her hanging
and here I write about her
she was an amazing friend
and over the summer
for 3 days straight
almost continually
trying to talk
me out of suicide
and me
out of my dark hole
of hopelessness and despair
where I suffered
through my memories
and where I was living in pain;
of not being able to see my own son,
of losing my therapist to a heart attack,
and in the depression of not helping anyone
and I suffered
from the mistakes I made
but why
why did I not do anything
I recognized the signs;
the slowly drifting away
the less frequent phone calls
and Facebook messages
why did I not help her?
Why did I not listen?
in my heart
I knew something was wrong
but why did I not act
and I know
if I had gotten to her
I could have saved her
and she would still be here
I could have stopped it
but I didn't even try
and because of this failure
my failure of accepting the signs
and disbelieving what was true
I lost her
and I lost one of my most precious friends.
Categories:
disbelieving, best friend, death of
Form:
Free verse
I hold my sides wearily
pondering the lengths and strides I still have to take until I am authentic
My lies have become piled so high.... I have a lot of damage repair to do before this struggle
is through.
Afraid to expose the vulnerable
I stare in confusion in front of the looking mirror, trying to distinguish where exactly it was
where my smile
Lay down, gave up and died.
Weakened from my mind's inner war zone turmoil
Your compliments are cynical shrapnel to my confidence
Rebellious relentless disbelieving that I am what I know I am unique and
Pulchritudinous
I walk an unsteady line
tight rope of apprehensiveness
Unconfident
I want to let my hair down and just breathe..listen to the drip drop of a waterfall and sleep.
I remind myself to Speak with Conviction
I know
I am no longer powerless
dependent on desperately trying to win your approval, you will never be affectionate
I will not be Subservient or put myself at risk for the harms way of that subjection
Impotent of love you were feeble and weak, feeding on my youth and purity.
I resurrected my heart with the my rocket fuel beating life back into my chest.
It's a combination of
Passion, devotion, infatuation and a couple of years worth of
Tears, and sweat
It's a metronome of my steadiness
Invigorated from my second chance
Defiant to self doubt
I valiantly confront challenges that used to make me shake in my converse shoes.
Categories:
disbelieving, art, life, recovery from...
Form:
Free verse
00:01 ~ where is the kitchen, i must find it. time time time
00:10 ~ i have always admired how shiny knives are
00:12 ~ i want to dye blades with red, a lot of red
00:19 ~ ah the door, i must get out and find red
00:25 ~ i see brown, white, black walking around
00:27 ~ looks like there is red under all those colors
00:30 ~ hahahahahahaha, all for the reaping
00:36 ~ i lift my knife and head towards white
00:38 ~ i look as white is dyed red, such beauty
00:45 ~ brown, white, black, my knife likes all types of red
00:47 ~ whats this? I look with disbelieving eyes
00:49 ~ i see a place piled with dead black, white & brown
00:50 ~ the land is dyed red with blood...greed, hatred
00:51 ~ i can hear the blood crying, it will haunt me
00:52 ~ my blade has lost its appetite and repents
00:54 ~ humanity has painted itself red so i turn my back
00:56 ~ i walk away trembling hoping never to awake again
00:58 ~ why should i reap such dirty souls, i reject them
01:00 ~ i go back to sleep and wait for that day.
My name is Grim Reaper and this is my diary as recorded on the date of xx.xx.***. Humanity, how far will you go to gain what you want with those cold eyes and greed neatly sewn on your hands?
Categories:
disbelieving, crazy, death, imagery, pain,
Form:
Elegy
Who ruined my confidence,
Who trampled my young dreams,
Who turned the signpost around,
Who undid all my schemes?
Who was responsible,
Who held the smoking gun,
My parents, my teachers, my friends,
Could I afford to trust anyone?
Who deterred me from trying,
Who played on my self-doubt,
Who kept me on the outside,
Who locked my brave heart out?
I looked all around me ...
Accused everyone,
But no one would admit to holding ...
The smoking gun!
Who helped make me a loner,
Who turned well-wishers away,
Who spawned paranoia,
Who kept loved ones at bay?
I glanced in the mirror,
When a glance wasn’t planned,
To see with disbelieving eyes,
The smoking gun ... in my hand!
Categories:
disbelieving, confidence, cry, growing up,
Form:
Rhyme
Castle grounds at midnight
Spookily lit by moonlight
Black clouds were lowering
Ghost Hunters together hoping
Their collective thoughts emoting
Came greenish haze glowing
Tinged by ectoplasm denoting
An apparition visible floating
Long grey dress soaking
A grimaced face moaning
Panic stricken all noting
Few skeptics now disbelieving
Heard high pitch screeching
Saw bats come weaving
Temperature dropped to freezing
As someone tried communicating
Each attempt was disappointing
Until fading to dematerialising
They tried an exorcising
Fires of hell stoking
Their meddling chants invoking
All the ghouls residing
Gleefully saw them fleeing
As rain came teeming
Hunt no longer appealing.
Categories:
disbelieving, gothic, night,
Form:
Rhyme