Best Incredulously Poems
Eyes are the windows of a soul and they say ‘Love is blind’
But how do you describe colour to a sightless person?
Such depths to your violet eyes
The windows of your Soul
A flickering source of emotions
Speaking volumes ~ though sightless
Not limited by vision
Not obscured by darkness
Your dazzling beauty of true colour
Conceals your inner world
Of complex greys
Your smiles create rainbows
That stay
All through my day
In a world of colour
For some eyes
Sadness and mistrust linger
Your eyes mirror only
Beauty and Hope ~ Love and Joy
You ask for a detailed description of
the colour of your eyes
How can I?
Futile will be my try
No Master’s artistic brush can decipher
That deeper shade of violet
Changing like the sun’s ceremonial display
Retaining an aura of mystery
Seeking only truth
In your abstract blur of colour
Though ~ let me try
Here place your hand on my heart
How can one see colour
If it can’t be felt
Look through my eyes
Feel that majestic sky
With its beautiful variations of blue
Serenading the aqua sea below
Through sparkles of iridescent silver bursts
A tinge of pearly pink lazily drifts past
I hastily dip my brush just a touch
Do you see? Swirling pink with the blue
Another dip into the aqua of the sea
Hints from the bushes of lilacs below
A smidge of the red poppy
Blended till it’s the right shade of a violet hue
Can you feel my colour?
Behind your veil of black velvet?
My humble artistic attempt
Going beyond my range of limitations
Your
eyes glow
in approval
In that spinning vortex of
violet complexity ~ We dance in your world of darkness
As you whisper to me ~ that your eyes have always seen the stars.
We both look~~~~~incredulously ~~~~~at the same spot
A starburst ******************of light
A ~~~~~~~~~~~~~shooting~~~~~~~~~~~star
My wish ~~~~~~~~~~for you~~~~~~~~~~my love
To be ~~~~~~~~~~~~forever and~~~~~~~~always as
Brilliant as~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~you are
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***** ****
****** ******
******** ********
True Colors movie clip – with vocals Anna Kendrick and Justin Timberlake
Battered and bruised mommy cries as she tries to cover her black eyes.
But mommy doesn't see daddy as her demise.
One January 25 mommy and daddy awaited as baby arrived.
Smiles of comfort and tears of joy came as so did the baby boy.
Mommy and daddy weren't ready to take care of the child for daddy was still a child.
At heart mommy took all those foul mouth liquor jeers from daddy's mouth but baby didn't
know what that was about.
Mommy stays with daddy for the child, not realizing that it is doing more harm than
anything...comes from daddy's mouth and baby takes it in not realizing.
Flashing lights and sirens ring incredulously one slumber-some December night as baby was
tucked in tight...while mommy and daddy was going on like it was Saturday fight night.
Baby cries but whose there to hear for mommy and daddy curse and de fouls the baby's ear.
Baby's heart is broken and shattered as mommy is shaken and battered.
Sweet kisses to mend her wounds internal and external but are they sincere from daddy's
heart.
They will never part even though in mommy's heart she wishes daddy would leave forever.
One grief-some January 25 mommy rested never to return for her and daddy went on a
walk.
"Where is mommy", said baby but daddy couldn't talk.
What could he say "I beat mommy till I killed her leaving her internally bruised and brain
dead."
He couldn't say that any way for he was talking to Tiny in cell block five that day.
And baby has no other choice than to realize that his family was nothing more than a mere
disguise.
Sirens ring
Sirens ring
Battered and bruised mommy cries for help as she fights for her life.
Because daddy has beat her till her eyes turned dark as night.
It's ironic because baby has become a fighter in Saturday fight night.
Nothing was any different.
Ordinarily I would have expected it to be,
but everything was oddly the same.
My desk. The office.
All was unchanged
but for your presence.
Handsome and tall
and young as I'd known you.
I followed your disappearance
swiftly down an unchanged passage
and through an unchanged door
into the unchanged reception.
I asked incredulously after you
and to my surprise you were confirmed
by the changeling at the front desk.
I looked left
up the unchanged stairs
and right
into the unchanged parking lot
and further down
another unchanged passage.
Maybe if I was quick enough
I'd catch you
before you reached the car.
4th October 2018
Hand In The Cookie Jar
The word is out, the waiting suspense is over...
Over here in this small young democratic country...
For quite some time, in this Bolehland of endless possibilities...
There has been fascinating accounts of financial irregularities...
Every man in the street, he knows for a fact...
When one is a public official for the government...
One needs to uphold the integrity of being in public service...
In your personal bank accounts, no mysterious monetary incentives...
The highest ranking public official in Bolehland...
Religiously taking the holy ground, playing verbal footsies all round....
Pleading innocence and ignorance, with suspicious money in his bank accounts...
As one nation, all the more bemused as implausible explanations spew forth...
Now the word is out, despite painstaking months of evidence gathering...
A Voluminous report of convulated money trails and entangled cash flows...
A single all important pawn has said, Insufficent Evidence, No further action.....
A shocking proclamation of his master's innocence, despite the public opinion..
Whither goes Malaysia, now that a perceived wrong is verbally white washed...
When a grievious misdeed, is now merely a twisted piece of re engineered logic....
Spin masters, blinded aides and mercenary political stooges...
As one they cried in unison, It is not what it seems, the boss is clean...
While the man in the street, he shakes his head and mutters incredulously...
The many twists and turns, of mysterious donors and a deceased king...
How is it things in this Bolehland have come this far...
Was it not a simple case of being caught with a hand in the cookie jar?
https://sg.news.yahoo.com/twists-turns-najib-rm2-6-230008097.html?nhp=1
Deep in the forest was an inaccessible cliff
that soared high above the tall tree canopy.
People had wondered for years what lay beyond
yet the landscape was so inhospitable none dared
to try to reach the impassable cliff and scale it.
A hunting party got led astray as they tracked
after a herd of mountain bearded goats.
The chase had been long and very hard
as their elusive prey kept far ahead, tempting
them ever onwards. Now with night approaching
they were caught far from home with no shelter.
They searched along the cliff base for a cave
finally one spotted a narrow track.
With trepidation they followed it into the cliff
it twisted and turned getting narrower,
darkness coated them almost smothering them.
With brush torches they plunged ever deeper
into its midst, the rocks covered in green slime.
Which gave off an odd luminous light that
distorted everything in the strangest way.
Giving rise to images of long lost creatures
that flicked and danced in the eerie light.
Along way ahead they could see sky
and odd trees on the distant horizon.
Finally reaching the end they looked
out on to a very different world.
Everywhere they looked were new plants.
Wondrous plants with enormous fruits
and strange multi coloured birds
that flocked to them without any fear,
settling on shoulders chattering away.
Deer came up and nudged them gently
seeking their pockets with wet tongues.
Flowers spanning six to nine feet
made for the perfect resting places.
Cosy and bouncy the weary hunters
were soon fast asleep and woke invigorated.
The stream bubbled by contentedly.
Its waters were crystal clear and sweet
and enormous fish lazily swam by.
They spent a few days there exploring
all the treasures that nature offered.
Reluctantly they made their way back
and excitedly told friends and family.
They scoffed at their tales with disbelief
until in frustration they led them back to the cliff.
For hours they searched in vain for the trail,
They looked at each other incredulously
Had they just dreamt it? We will never know!
Fool an i
we lay so incredulously
In a love....
That it seems our sorrows rest in mind
and all is enabled,
now we able,
to weave mesh of this light as we bind...
seemingly caught up in webs of time.
But stood it may
like a shadow
was the thoughts that attest between us..
how uncouth the prattled battle lay,
all it consumes,
as it presumes ,
to arrest and attest for our lives...
keeping us caught up in lies 'till we die.
"Intermission: Flutterby Reveille"
Impromptu like a moth
pale words flutter out of his
psychodelic mind
curious funny flutterby…
for a second then, I didn't move,
deadpan, I said,
"... try again with some panache, some style"
incredulously, I smiled,
he's tripping guitar leads
counting long-tooth years
and numbers between drum beats
here no rest for the wicked, we...
hear pretty worded poets
walk on tip toe
balancing wet bars
on bipolar tightropes
shaking up and banging upside down
all the pretty snowglobes
In his land of silent muses
driving as he wrote
Singing “Every Little Breeze Seems to Whisper Louise's”
Pushing the envelope
aside, he writes,
retirement is a caged zoo
he gets high on cryptic puzzles
and cracking her
Sudoku
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
Breakfast Reveille:
The Angels, “Take a Long Line”
https://youtu.be/4LdZAK2Rfkg
The Angels, “Rhythm Rude Girl”
https://youtu.be/4bWsbCpCwOg
The Angels, “Rhythm Rude Girl”
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/angels/rhythmrudegirl.html
DO NOT FEUD WITH THIS RUDE AND CRUDE DUDE, DUDE
Damn dude, there ain’t even a remote possibility
Because anyone who knows me understands I don’t possess that particular ability
Until you’ve gotten to know me you cannot comprehend nor fathom my reality
Because one must really know me to understand that I am but a triviality
Get to know me and you will see that I am incredibly and incredulously inconsequential
With not even a paltry part of pertinent potential
I am likened to an insipidly insignificant infant
Born to betray the confidence of every imprisoning instant
I am frivolity with no joviality
Unafraid and unconcerned with my mortality
I am a trifling trilogy of terror, temptation and trouble who is never triumphant
And by that triumvirate trained of tribulation well
One who defines the insinuation of Hell
Hell, I smoke four packs of cigarettes a day
And each night I’ve 2 pints of vodka to swig away
With a woman to stand by and ask herself and I why
Yet I remain silent and stifle the answer that I simply don’t fear to die
But the hardest thing to do for a man like me is continue on against my will
With nothing but time and torment to kill
I am akin to a virus vying with virility and a being to revile
And unfortunately I have nothing to make me smile
For I know precisely how speedily a smile succumbs to a frown
Because when used to describe me the word “irrelevant” becomes a noun
Since I am a man turned inside out and upside down
So no dude, I don’t possess the ability to make happiness a possibility revealed
For I know exactly what torment, temptation and tomorrow will yield
When once again cruelty is coerced by captivity and my smile is yet again concealed
For I am relatively rude
Quietly but quite crude
And becoming unilaterally unglued
Dude!
© 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
Neck pulsating, close shave shines over whiskers
Stiff collar pressure, raced anticipation simmers
Key twist intrigue spurs engine's orange rage
Needle throws redline on wide torque gauge
Jaw rigid, fingers grip cockpit lethal leather wheel
G-force grabs chest, insolent beast thrusts surreal
Monster inflamed incredulously adheres to tar
Salivating lion's ravenous rumble has zero par
Ripping up bitumen, sardonic responsive tyres rivet
Road shred's exhausted under rocket fume exhibit
Airtight capsule, caramel cow hide hugs tamer
Eardrums hum, a hundred mile Hyundai shamer
Brawny tawny gold, hot bonnet chrome flashdance
Purrs her melting eclair aerodynamic performance
Pride's pilot elevated by moorish horizon hunts
Hungry headlights still prey with stealthy stunts
30th July 2022
Written for Contest: Joy
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
I didn’t want to let her down. She was a fellow teacher in the language institute and a very dear friend. When my husband went on trips, which was often, she’d look out for me, so when she made the suggestion to go to the student banquet, I didn’t have the heart to say no.
We were the first ones there. We chose seats right next to the big floor to ceiling glass windows. Out below us, the sparkling lights of Beirut mesmerized. A young couple sat on the veranda, outside the glass partitions, enjoying a meal in the cool night air. They were warmed by the love that hung around them in the smoke from their hubbly bubblies (hookas). The whole atmosphere was romantic and beautiful. My heart constricted. Slowly the students started to filter in, and invariably, they would come over to give us kisses and greetings. It was a lovely evening, but my heart was heavy. I looked at the beautiful girls: hair…stylishly coiffed, make-up…flawless, dresses and skirts short…tight…revealing….sexy. I tried not to cry as I flashed them all smiles.
Picture taking time: the girls posing like models, showing off long sleek legs, the young men acting cool…models one and all. I sat at my table, feeling old at 46…Old. One of the students would always come over to me and flirt…such a sweet young man. He made me feel young. As I smiled at one of my pretty students further down, I thought to myself as I looked at her…”That, that was ME.” I remembered what it felt like to be young and beautiful, what it felt like to have young men swarm…what it felt like…
I tried to push away the thoughts. I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. I looked up into sky blue eyes peering out at me from a handsome bearded face. There was Ryan, one of the young Americans who had joined our communication staff, camera in hand. He flashed a killer smile as he leaned in and said, above the pounding sound of the live band, “So, when are you going to show us your moves?”
“What?” I looked at him incredulously.
He smiled showing nice even teeth. “The little birdy told me that you are quite the dancer.”
I smiled, feeling like a million dollars. “Maybe not tonight,” was all I could manage.
Eileen M Ghali
TO BE CONTINUED......
WOULDN’T IT BE NICE
You’re walking near the run-down end of downtown
And you see an old woman selling flowers, hand-picked, maybe worthless weeds,
Or rejects from an uptown florist’s, or stolen from a park someplace;
And she offers some to you and you ignore her as if she didn’t exist - and keep walking.
Naturally enough.
Then ten paces later you realise it was your own mother
Who you haven’t seen for twenty years.
So you double back incredulously cos last time you saw her she and dad
Were living retired in a small apartment in a nice district and all was ok.
Without a word you put an arm around her and whisk her into the seat of your car
And drive her to your own home, sit her down and give her some coffee,
And help her put her feet up on the sofa:
Arm around her grubby coat shoulder, you listen as she tells you how dad died
And the pension fund collapsed and then she ended up on the street selling
Third rate flowers to pay the rent on some tiny damp squat in the projects.
You tell her her days in that squat are over, and her flower slave-business is finished,
And that she will from now on live with you and you will look after her;
And how you are so horrified about what has happened to her since you last saw her.
She sleeps that night on clean sheets In a warm dry bedroom,
After a late night supper with you.
And her life begins again.
Wouldn’t it be nice? It’s the way it should be....absolutely.
Trouble is, that old flower seller isn’t your mother.
And you keep walking. Naturally enough.
Her own son is drunk somewhere, or living it up in Vegas.
She’s his mother, but she isn’t going to be miraculously found.
Wouldn’t it be nice if you were her son?
Yes, absolutely it would be nice.
gratifying grand PooBah gnashing happily. How envious
eye feel. This generic guy hallucinates (walled within his
lovely bones) incredulously, jealously, knowing lackluster
marriage never ordained plentifully, quintessentially, royally,
satisfying throbbing testosterone undulating vibrantly within
xman yawping zen. Ah know this phallus fantasy tubby
merely a whet pipe dream, yet no logic can extirpate
frenziedly gyrations glum husband images. Just kindling
lasciviousness massages nude oeuvre provoking quaking,
rip-snorting tooling uniting Venus, with xing yummy zone,
absolute beauties, bunnies cozying dear Emir, fathering
Hugh's illustrious joys, keeping libido murmuring, nesting
on papa's queued rocket ship, thrusting uber vintage weasel,
*** y zapping adroitly buoyant consecrated dick, Ernst
found Grafenberg hallelujah, injunction jerking like mad
naturally oiled pussy, quivering red redoubt stimulated
the unavoidable Vagina, whereat xyz attainment brought
******** delight eventually fomenting gusto, heavenly
induced juiced Kung Lee masterfully negotiating ******,
penultimate quest regarding sexual torquing, ululating
vocalization wailing women XCI yogi Zorro
absent, bye Casanova, deemed expert ******** great Hefner,
honorable Hugh invictus, joyousness kept legacy maintained,
now...only phantom quietly rubs shoulders, thighs, ubiquity
vibrant viz World Wide Web.
Talking. Talking. Talking. At first it is fun, maybe even entertaining.
You are not sure exactly sure when it turns, but it does.
Suddenly the monopolizer’s ramblings no longer seem charming.
Patience worn thin, you try a few times to interject a word.
There is no pause, no break. Constant talking. Inane talking. Nonsense talking.
You try blatant rudeness. Still no pause.
Suddenly you are annoyed, irritated, angry.
It is the same feeling you get as when you put your turn signal on and watch
Incredulously as six cars and a truck speed up, so you miss your turn off the freeway.
Rudeness personified. Self-centeredness to the inth degree. Magnificently selfish.
I walk away as she obtusely, self-absorbed, is still talking, talking, talking.
She yells after me in a way that indicates that I am the rude one.
I wave, resolving to forevermore avoid this non-listener
like the plaque that she is.
I remember the first time I saw her
The scarlet woman
She was nothing like I had heard
She looked beautiful and cold
And wore her name with pride
I don’t know what I expected
Maybe I thought she would cower
Shudder at the glares people gave
Because4 I knew the cruelty of society
For my mother was at its center
Her words were like horse whips
Thin and yet causing much pain
And she did not spare the scarlet woman
She called her a stubborn wench
A disgrace to all that is proper
Maybe that’s why I need to see her
At first it was out of spite
But her steady eyes held my interest
I wanted to meet this woman of great courage
And I did
I needed to find courage like she had
And I was so sure that I needed her
But now I realize how much we needed each other
Maybe she more than me
I remember she stared at me incredulously
As I stuttered trying to explain why I hid in the bushes
Then she smiled
We became friends, true friends
For she was lonely and I was lonely
And together we sparked interesting conversations
But she said it must be a secret
For she would not allow by chances to be ruined she said
In time I learnt to disagree with her
Show my objections on certain opinions
But I never disagreed with her on that
Maybe I was a coward,
Maybe I wanted it to last forever
For a while she was invincible
The bravest person I ever met
And then she died
For the first time I saw how the years had dealt with her
She looked frail, cold and beautiful
And as I looked over the grave I made for her
I squeezed my brother’s hand for support
For in that moment I felt truly alone
And I wondered how I would survive
But I did, I survived
I had children and grand children
And I thought of her less
But these days I think of her often
Maybe its because im near death
So I have nothing to lose
So let me tell a tale
Of sweet, brave and stubborn ANNA
The scarlet woman
A small stretch of bar to call my own:
I cover it with my paper and a thin book of poems -
Most I don't understand at all
Some, unfortunately, I understand too well.
A TV in the corner
tut tuts 20 thousand screaming Yankee fans
into a shushing murmur that drifts
amongst the guests like an oversolicitous maitre' d.
I discuss favorite movies with the bartenders -
kids really, and one, incredulously
insists that Running Scared, the Paul Walker version,
is the best movie ever.
I could love him for that.
Disembodied pieces of conversations
roam unmolested through the air -
"What are you doing after work tonight?" -
"Smoking marijuana"
And
"Lets put on our PJs".