Best Incredulity Poems
"Selkie"
Tomorrow never comes
shadows dance on walls
the wanting of bodies electric
pressed fast and tight
in the hot surrender
of wet sheets sailing
over solitary satin skin
neroli oiled slick in the scent
of a foreigner's musk
bitter sweet orange and honey
touched in the moment
by a hint of green
limbs tangled
like climbing jasmine
wild orchid
drips off moist fingertips
a rapture rising in notes
piercing velvet chords
stroked out from cherry stained lips
caught on the turn of a tongue
not spoken
as you turn relentlessly
in the tumultuous burning
Sea of Dreams
graced by tears
kissed fresh by
saltwater lips
Ocean eyes
breezes in
towards your
rising twin peaks
whispers over your forest
where the wild lives
a warm breath delivered in the
hollows of the curves
of your waist
fascinated by
something
incomplete
he’s replete
with poetic
soft roped nets
your sung in
like a Selkie
you shed your skin
living naked
eyes half open and drugged
in the sensual unspoken
But you are never kept;
for the moment
suspended
you let him in
but he doesn’t
own your skin
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"...And if some lover, such as we,
Have heard this dialogue of one,
Let him still mark us, he shall see
Small change, when we’are to bodies gone."
("The Ecstasie"/John Donne)
"...When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane, to think thee any thing but thee."
(The Dream/ John Donne)
""I was thinking of Bourbon Street
in New Orleans when I wrote it -
I was getting ready to go there and I thought:
what the f--k do I think I'm going to find?
It's about the incredulity that I
could still be fooled into looking
for a perfect moment."
(about "Fascination Street" / Robert Smith, The Cure)
The meadow's radiance gradually dimmed
and evening littered far and wide
it encouraged the unfamiliar
and everything uncertain.
The night accelerated sounds of anticipation
as a thousand strangers loomed
and I thought him to be a foreigner
until he glanced twice
as his smile slightly dropped
astonishment plagued him
Insecurity encompassed me
as I turned away in doubt
betrayed by the numinous...
that often guides my thoughts
He left with lady and child, to merge
With a thousand anticipating strangers
and the northern lights sheltered me
the explosions across the sky
gave satisfaction -to so much expectation
that unexpectedly emerged
Then the night was briefly soundless;
the applause prolonged
as were my duties...by my immersion
and within what felt like only seconds
he was passing,
through a thin pane of glass
all I could yield was a smile,
a smile to the incredulity within his eyes.
Enclosed with the evening...was the meadow,
and the difference was indistinguishable.
Calm in the center of the carnage,
inaction seen by detached retinas
Silently viewing
societal norm walls falling
Violently by lewd winds toppling ...
house of marked cards folding
Rendezvous bluff blowing in the bedroom again,
lust treasure memories buried under closet debris sin
Like a thief in the night,
you always wanna take out more than you put in
Step lightly
into the storm building inside of you
Blow the farm silo doors down,
set the milch cow on the barn roof
Step darkly
into the center of the storm,
Rest your troubled mind
inside the heart of the dead calm
Wait until the storm is abated and gone
Then, go outside of yourself ...
see the wreckage everywhere
The twisted limbs of your lovers
strewn in shocked poses of incredulity
Look of lonely etched on their faces,
saying: How could you, baby, do this to me ...
Why did you leave me outside to die horribly?
Blowing them a kiss,
you shovel them into piles of compost
Fertilizer love turning them into ground feed,
and as soon as you finish the dirty deed
Another tornado is forming,
another hurricane is coming
Step inside the fury swirling,
sit inside of the storm, where it’ll be safe
Every new lover wanna shelter there,
but they came to the wrong-hearted place
This poem was inspired by a poem titled
"The Evolution of a Broken Heart" by
the talented poetess, Leanne Lovejoy-Burton
Apples and Azaleas are always around.
Bright beautiful buds bloom while
crisp cultured cabbage and cucumbers
dot the darkened dirt.
Every edible is excellent.
Fame is so far flung for
Grandma's glorious garden that
Handy Horticulture has offered to hire her.
Imagine, envision her incredulity of their insistence.
Just another jovial, jocular juncture in Grandma's jubliant journey.
TLH © 07-11-2012
I am a champion,
the thought and feel of it is real,the fact being indisputable and the reality pure,
with others,and in singular isolation victory over the misery of disrections is now,and future,
I am a champion because I have led myself and others to victories,
victories over the malvolent and lurid labors,
living,toiling,dreaming,and breathing within the parameters of a system foriegn
to my instincts, alien to this suture,
I am a champion along with others because I weep incredulity
at the untaught magnitude of a work ethic producing abject glories,
brought to my knees,my heart beats rife with pain,fear, & the mud of doubt,
brought to lunacy by the dispassion that consequence savors,
rising, and rising as emotions explode at the chance and moment for domination,
justification, to obliterate the obstacles,making room for stories,
awaking with dry pain in the eyes,nausea,dizziness,despair,
seeking simple reasons for motivation to go forth,
wishing quixotically for more sleep,
finishing the day feeling dumb,dull and brazen like a fenced horse
hungry for edification,rectification,seeing the great steppe with a risk too deep,
going on week after week with new sprains & strains on mind body & spirit,
always some mistake, cuts, bruises, burns & hyperextensions,
compulsively micromanaging,hyperanalysing, a manic finisher,
nothing will dissuade me from the thankless pursuits of daily perfections,
the anatagonists,the ones who sneer & discourage casually at the noble attempts
of the able champions trying to maximize efficiency,to excel,win,
raising that standard which the mediocre claim can't be improved,
I and others jeapordize our health,safety,sanity so to accomplish the impossible,
I receive no grand trophies,new contracts or publicity,
nobody takes my picture or delivers a prize,
there are no special tokens or passwords on the table,
we strive ferociously for the sake of victory,for the knowledge of limits,
this way setting greater goals & tests,
being testaments for others who climb,
do I want acclaim from Deity for my successes,distinction for my sacrafices, no,
I work hard for me and others to be sublime -
J.A.B.
Incredulity
I draw in oxygen
The sweet and foul odours
The same as you
I breathe
And in its life giving rapport
I exist
Of blood exchanges in corpuscle energies
Transmitted
Maintains
Thoughts awareness and grasp
On immediacy
Existential
In its poetry
Life
But it is with a sense of the incredulous
In which I view
Human life
Separated as we are to self indulgence
Family units
Singular identities
Arrogant; self-centred; egoisms
Of division
View as we do Individualities
And not an Earth bound community
And I have to ask myself
What has “life” been replaced with
Because “life” by this our modern definition of
Is a pitifully poor excuse
And a pathetic attempt
At living
And our banal self-sacrament
To something greater than this
Is a cosmic joke
While the isolation for us all merely deepens
We defend our own
View as we do Individualities
And not an Earth bound community
These edicts of capitalist religions
Ply us with the answers to nothing
But keep us going
And ever entering the supermarket cathedrals
Of our faith in God and Money
We; the human commune
Are torn apart from fellowship
By the unrequited need to survive
In a world that makes us pay its price
For existence
And all, all are so enamoured of cultural surety
That this could be, the only way to be
That we drown and survive
Between riches and poverty
View as we do Individualities
And not an Earth bound community
It is a sickened and dire state in which we find ourselves
Yet still clinging desperately
To our only explanation of ourselves
This feeding upon a planets wealth
To support our own twisted vision
Of ourselves
And beneath the black blood of society
The cancer grows
For deep in our hearts each one of us knows
The inalienable right
The potential of every Earth born child
I look on with Incredulity
At the sheer volume of greed and waste
That humanity accepts
As being “normal”
View as we do Individualities
And not an Earth bound community
I draw in oxygen
The sweet and foul odours
The same as you
I breathe
And in its life giving rapport
I exist
Of blood exchanges in corpuscle energies
Transmitted
Maintains
Thoughts awareness and grasp
On immediacy
Existential
In its poetry
Life
Sambhavami yugé, yugé, says the Gita:
God will come back again and again.
What for?
Of course to protect the virtuous
And destroy the evil doers.
Déjà vu!
The Jews seem to wait for the same end.
That’s what 'The Second Coming’ means, too.
Thus, a belief system, whether born in a Desert
Or a River Valley, seems to point to the same end—
The Coming.
Now, what do we do in the meantime—
Now that the end seems to be infinitely distant,
Elusive, mirage-like?
Do we just wait and suffer?
Or wait and drift?
Or dismiss it as illusory?
Or explore alternatives?
The gap, anyway, seems
To be a period of entropy,
Which, according to scientists, is on the rise.
We may call it Postmodern era
Or Kali Yuga or whatever.
The gap is to be filled
As Nature abhors vacuum:
We have to live in the meantime
And life demands solutions.
Absurdity, for instance, has got to be dealt with.
So, little narratives
And interventions arise by necessity.
There arise, for instance, Irrational Philosophies:
A Nietzsche or a Marx or a Freud
Appears to be our Messiah.
But these Messiahs can offer only palliatives,
Like a counter-irritant in times of pain.
We are – most of us – materialists in a sense,
Inasmuch as we bank
On the Grand narrative of matter
Or on the Grand narrative of the material presence—
Of the Divine in the future;
Maybe as Darsan or Epiphany.
To most of us, seeing is believing;
And hence our incredulity.
Now, to speculate:
The Divine presence may be abstract—
Rather than concrete;
Maybe something like software
Rather than hardware;
May be within
Rather than without.
And, as such, is likely
To be always already there—
If and only if one is willing to see!
***
This poem is about life.
But, to consider the meaning of life, its value,
We need to understand how easy it is to lose, and what the stakes are;
What are the implications of the life we choose to lead? I Ponder.
The daily hum drum of life draws on.
People preoccupied with things that, in the end, don’t really matter.
In your final moments, will you be thinking about that parking spot you lost?
Or the sale you caught, and the many things you bought?
No.
You will be thinking about the time you had or lost,
The people you found meaning with, or missed opportunities to do so.
Because in the end, what matters is your legacy, your value to the world.
Life is made up of moments.
Precious blips of time that pale the storyboard in comparison.
Flashes of colour – passion, fury, envy, joy… in a faded society.
Like lightening brightens the night sky in a split second of virtual incredulity.
Moments define our humanity.
They shape our lenses and the perspective of others,
And build or tear down connection with those who surround us.
A moment can change a person’s life, or end it.
Meaning is made up of people.
When you take your last breath, will you be alone?
Or, will you be surrounded by people who love and care for you?
People whose lives you have touched in so many ways, most of which you will never know.
A Legacy…
Your residual presence in the lives of others,
A memory, a ghost, characterized by how you continue to serve society.
Or, a demon remaining in your stead as proof of your lack of care for others.
What will it be?
You can travel the world a hundred times, find wealth beyond desire;
If your hand remains empty to the comfort of a friend, does the rest mean anything?
If the hum-drum is all you can remember, how do you define yourself?
“Life is what you make it.”
The old adage rings true… the choice is in each of our hands.
Some take a lifetime to decide, though Earth does not delay in its orbit.
Time. Meaning. Legacy. Moments… What will it be?
their curriculum of beauty is suspense
it confuses the pure essence of sense
stuns and thrills man to indulge and languish
it is a catapult that revokes twitches to distinguish
women flowery toss aloft our deed breadth
our desire and lament proselylate length
we suffer the blight and plaguee of fantasy
we are frail monsters late but in ecstasy
but in them dwell the occult trouble of peace
chide,scold,rebuke and admonish us like louse
rein us by fondues and affectionate devotion
circuitously tenet and statue men in version
eternal motion we dance to the music
their incredulity binds us to mimic
Eddy lives in the gullibility and cohesibility of a gritty city
Between assimilability civility reality and triviality
Here Eddy’s senility is merely an eligible technicality
A wink of eccentricity fragility debility futility impossibility risibility
Still under that mighty illusion of invincibility virility and viability
Invisibility’s equivalent to gentility favouring stability and incredulity
Eyes void of deceptibility infallibility predictability divisibility
Eddy is still irresistibly witty with intelligibility bordering geniality
The indelibility of his ability versus disability for agility and flexibility
Gives Eddy eligibility admissibility accessibility feasibility visibility and divisibility
Implicit credibility whimsicality spirituality frivolity and squeezability
Eddy believes there’s no margin for self-pity when you own a pretty itty bitty kitty
AP: 3rd place 2025
Submitted on March 25, 2018 to contest ALLITERATION POEM sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 2ND
Pretty Differences
--S.I.KHAN
I remember the night; I was talking to you all silly...
Never did I know, would fall for u so easily...
But you were someone so unique to me...
I couldn't hold on to myself but with u, to be...
Although I knew, between us...
It was the best of times; it is the worst of times,
It was the age of wisdom; it is the age of foolishness
It was the epoch of belief; it’s the epoch of incredulity
It was the season of light; it is the season of darkness
It was the spring of hope; it is the winter of despair
It was minute of togetherness; it is the ages of estrangement
We had everything before us; we have nothing forth us...
I was everything to you; I’m nothing for you...
In you, I had my world, now I don't have you...
I’m so lost still lost in you...
Solitude, the lonely word most people like to sidestep around. ~ quote by poet
I love the solitude that silences my doubts,
The solitude that blends with silence, like a song,
Breathing wonder into each thought,
Whispering light into each verse,
Gentling the nights with tenderness and hope.
I love the solitude that warms my spirit,
The solitude that lifts the darkness and prepares me,
For the trembling laughter of a happy ending,
Reflecting all that is honest, all that is beautiful,
All the joy that stirs up the poetry within my dreams.
I love the solitude that says to me… believe.
Believe in the colors God is painting on your heart,
Believe in the grace God is pouring on your soul,
Believe in the light God breaths into your nights,
Believe in the joy God brings to the story of your life.
I love the solitude that is soundless and defeats…
Every fear, each anxiety –
The solitude that brings hearts a moment of solace,
Deafening the noise of the cold, heartless world,
Erasing the darkness that overpowers all that I know.
I love the solitude that started with a blank canvas,
Added softest rose and pristine lilacs,
Peaceful cerulean and milky pearls, like gestures
Of light drenched in heaven’s mosaic of beautiful,
Signs of wonder blazing through the heart and soul.
Solitude, often feared by the hearts who shake,
At the revelations of a spiritual incredulity,
Spirits unburdened by doubts or dictations of tradition,
Spirits who can see past the endings, into the everlasting,
Where there abides a silent joy so secret, so stealthy…
This solitude is God’s gift, His blessing, to the heart who can hear,
Beneath the seas of impassioned tears,
A glorious melody of what it means to create the art,
That starts with that blank canvas and spreads light, fighting shadows,
All over the world where life seeks to be understood,
Where God’s voice can pass through the mind’s mysteries,
Into the spirit where we can worship, the way He intended worship to be.
I am a Door and I have seen it all,
Experienced the most tragic and the liveliest flashes!!
Have seen it all, from happy to gloom
As it all happens in front of me
The animated one for some extra grossing
And an irritated one for meager deduction
The hopeful eyes of a soldier’s mother and
That of the son of a martyr
The fake morning wishes to the superior
Followed by gossips meant to head nowhere
Have seen it all, from trust to incredulity
As it all happens in front of me
The late night long promising talks
Now being just a matter of obligation
Intimate moments which are meant for eternity
And also the ones meant for just one dark
The cheerful young one on returning back from high school
And a sad bye when leaving home
Have seen it all from primeval to the fresh thoughts
As it all happens in front of me
He is happy with his family and
Somewhere his parentages dirge for him
Being helpful was primary when I was young
And rivalry is now what mostly is preached
Have seen it all from greed to selflessness
As it all happens in front of me
Where satisfaction is nil in spite of golden shrub
And one is glad with a pile of soil
Have seen it all from hope to aspirations
As it all happens in front of me
The praying mind of a wife for his man
And the wish of a teen to make it big
The hope of a brother to see him again
And how a soul prepares to deliver the best
A time when they were five together and
Now the only one looking for the rest
I also saw promises for infinity which
Turned out to be a joke after fortnight
With time I realized the cue of life
No fellow is perfect and that
The situations, actions and bigotries make one of a kind.
The boat that floats down the Summer's Isles
Life's sweet and innocent charade
Reflected on the waves
Rising, falling with a cadence only the River would understand
The soprano notes of incredulity
The continuity of prolonged existence
The one thing about the River that speaks to all
That eternity is but a wisp of cloud
That eternity is but an ending
And the old makes way for the young like the falling waves
A new generation-
We all know
Whatever it takes
Wherever they go
Here is the inertia of life
Can I conjure a real woman of my choice?
From the black thirsty dark clouds to melt and rain
In her flow and my whim's incredulity
Playing each tarot figure to my divine will
As I create this sonnet to personify
Dark adventures of my mind into rhyme
And recall memoirs that plague my desires
But I feel lust as we enter this haven
Touched by passion and zeal in our earthly love
Discover the charm reaching beyond our dual soul
Eager to evolve within truthful longing
As it grows unhampered: steadily with joy.
Black Magic provoking celestial fusion?
Nay, for she is the one I adore each day.