Best Precognition Poems
The knowledge that tomorrow brings,
You really want to know?
And spoil forever the surprise,
Of triple rainbow's glow!
What if your life were scripted out
Could be read like a book
But never could be really fixed
You want to take a look?
And what if precognition brings
News that a friend will pass,
The sudden pain of looming loss
Makes you feel like an ass.
So knowing’s not enough it seems
Without the pow’r to change,
The future’s pow’r to disrupt lives
Its power to estrange.
Imagine now that you are God
All power’s in your hand,
The future’s every moment known
And no response is banned.
What happens now to man’s free-will
If consequence is lost?
If love is no more linked to pride
Can that be worth the cost?
If you as God remove man’s pain
Where does life’s purpose lie,
A rose that needs no sun or rain
A lover with no sigh.
Perhaps God’s plan is what should be?
Put second guess aside.
It might be worse, God could be me!
Relax, enjoy the ride!
Brian Johnston
January 16, 2015
Spilling a stampede of ink's prisms in brilliant
words infusing a Poet's thoughts.
Conveying creativity to provocative
imaginations .
Implicitly complying to isolating reality
Creating new dimensions where
Clock's spilling time's perceptions living
the moment of now forever.
Clockwise wisdom from wicked word’s
of a Crazy mind.
Philosophically our minds process symphonies
of orchestrated word's allowing cognitive man
to stay in harmony with the mind & body
a climax of our souls.
Mind the symphony insane insanity
orchestrated by the body in climax.
Words infuse a person's thoughts.
Emotions are expressed by the pitch of spoken word's.
Words communicate & body language speaks
emotions relative to the words
infused of a person's thinking.
Wisdom can be found reading in between the lines.
A paragraph of powerful catchphrases speaks
melodies of a catchy tune & flowers of imaginations
bloom.
Philosophy is ergonomics of the mind.
Urban legends in the suburbs.
Sounds of absurd check out the proverbs.
Cognition is a subject of cognitive man.
Premonitions are permissions of man's cognition.
Relative to the fixed position.
Precognition is a psychic's dream
an heard but not seen.
Culture is a reflection of society's ideology
theories of mythology in series of theologies.
Hypothetical theories query a qued question.
The clocks bleeding times perception
of dimensions in galaxies
light year's away.
Romeo’s an architect of accentuating
love's aesthetics in romance.
Twice pleasing to appeasing
sentiments in orchestra's
of delinquent eye's to witnesses.
Accentuating abstracts in non-conformities
designs contemporary aesthetics
in modern times.
Contemplating exquisite elegance unique
powers doubling my mind's conspiracy
of forwarding complex sediments.
Orchestrated the dynamics time playing
noteworthy scales of creativity
All the syllables in a kilogram of lines,
echoing grams of killer dope words whispering
persuasive complexity.
A mythic's chanting elegant wizardrtrii
enchanting ageless philosophies elegance of
life's angelic orchids of ageless wisdom's.
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Pen's Broadcasting Brilliance
21st century's Poet
# WickedRomancer
?#poet #poetry #poem
Secret knowledge divulged, transportation via Oracle.
Open your closed minds, decipher the great parable.
Order out of chaos, alpha point of eternity.
Mirthful muse master, calling for a return to intimacy.
Smugness borne of ignorance, case of closed-minded fools.
Dysfunctional mentality, disregarding laws and rules.
Invisible fire-mist creatures, sexually perversed.
Seeking to infect mortals, with dose of spiritual curse.
Source of mystical knowledge, tapped-in by skilled mediums.
Marvellous man-made machines, in likeness of cherubums.
Mind-shattering formula, pure artificial illusion.
Great divine manifesto, accident or omen?
Futuristic message made known, precognition handy.
Deep-sleep fancy dreams, no existence beyond memory.
Imprinted fiber in being, a walking time-bomb.
Inevitable cataclysm, inner senses made numb.
Acquired too much power, turning a course corrupt.
Vengeful neighbors lurk, only revenge their minds opt.
So-called all-seeing, all-knowing--blasphemers!
Idolized and gleefully praised, by foolish worshipers.
Omega point of time, hard truth made manifest.
Psychopathic personalities, playing the weak like chess.
Questioning and prodding minds, a strive to discover.
Eat while you still can, 'fore the great Beast devour!
This is a colabration of Shane, Dhruv, and Deborah
Buzz, Buzz
catch the fuzz,
it's all a big fus this buzz,
heros of literature use good buzz words,
knock buzz, it's all a fuz
its time for all this fus,
quarel tantra mantra anger song literature anger jam,
superherores knock before the clock clocks,
superheros do the tantra mantra,
the simple life dance,
with simple talks,
the secret is out,
superheros do coloberate,
colors do shout,
Naga Anthemson talks Naga buzz anthems,
hush, naga can't get rid of this fuzz,
smile and blush like an x o yo,
Naga Anthemson beats the beat,
superheros without second heart beat,
death is angry,
selfless without feet,
Naga, I told you,
Superheros dont beat to shoes,
think of blues,
the times now are a few,
life has feeling with all views,
anger wishes are a struggle beyond screws,
the universe is universally beaten,
you have to take a hit like some jews,
it's not my writing it's beyond my self in your shoes,
Selfless buzz, it's also called a big universally known buzz fuzz fus beat, drew.
Written by Dhruv Pandya
I need a moment of peace so I can see what I need to see,
I know what I need to see definetaley not to lose it, but be a man and try to go through with
it,
I need time alone, we like to call it me time,
no games, no nothing just me time,
focus on my dos and don'ts,
my who and wants,
dont snooze don't cheat ,
just have time to be me
Written by Shane Anonomous.
A towering inferno,
Bursting though my veins,
Anger and venom,
Holding onto me,
with unholy, binding chains,
The driving force is,
Pitch, black, and corse,
A red hot sweat,
From my feet to my neck,
Exploding inside my churning gut,
From the depths of Hell,
This emotion does dwell,
The foulest emotion,
Has become a devotion,
Precognition beyond their ambition,
Like an overcooked steak,
That's burned to a cinder,
Too crisp to eat,
For it tastes like shoe leather,
Red hot poka dots,
Spin through my eyes,
The color of red,
Wrapped around my head,
It's ready to break,
Apart my heart,
For the utmost I know,
Anger you must control,
Drive back that dark force,
To the depths of Hell,
For such a horrific emotion,
Is too dangerous,
To be devotion.
Written by Deborah Jarell
Time
Tomorrow is but a short, twenty fours from today.
Yet tomorrow never comes, it becomes history,
as soon as the moment passes, it lived and died,
all it could become, gone in the blink of an eye.
We stand on the razors edge and wonder ?,
what ?, laid in the sliver of light of that moment.
Souls coming souls going ?, de-ja-vu ?, psychic sight ?,
precognition ?, clairvoyance ?, meeting oneself in a mirror ?.
B. J. “A” 2
April 8th 2004
My precognition is like a fireball delivering deja-vu...
Lashing images of familiar faces of ones I never knew...
To some it's a gift, but to me it's an eternal nightmare...
Predictions of the unwanted...leaving me drained emotionally in despair...
I would gladly exchange these thoughts of voices any-time...
To have myself back in my peace, even for a time...
Dreams that would disturb your norm', shadows across your wall...
Resonate sounds of your name called, but no one at your door...
Wishing to rest in tranquility, from the tunnels that draw me...
My ancestors are restless, as are yours, if you could but envision what I see:
A hand...stroking your hair in the middle of the night;
An energy-feild of presences, so palpable, causing sheer fright;
A breath brushing against your neck; with heat to skin flare;
A promise of death in fear...to play the game, if you would only dare...
An ailing scent in the aura,
Murky sky wherever I look,
Muddle visuals by my side,
Like my whole destiny shook.
Enormous croak in society,
Laying me in great baffle,
Strange eye of crowd at me,
As they were in a great shuffle.
I bid to peek into other scenes,
But no sight of creature in my eyes,
Just a sorrow uproar of mankind,
Similar to soul of the nature cries.
Straight away the inky view cut,
And I woke up to the reality,
Was that a Bad dream of mine,
Or precognition of the present cruelty.
I have seen the light, the clarity of day
blazed white a cosmic causeway
to sub-cortex target secreted behind
this idiot-box of a clouded mind.
Blind miracle sight of exploding stars
cuts gridlock universe into scars
which heal impassive psychic seas,
serum cured dark disease.
All I see is all I know,
enigma stripped in loving glow,
in naked beauty, precognition
revealed a slam-dunk nuclear fission.
I palpitate for this is real,
the way you are, the way I feel;
enigma variant, final proof
crystallised to pin-sharp truth.
My object of undying love.
Your cipher broken.
Cracked.
Through dark and light, through day and night,
If life completes or life begins,
We bear the cross of pain and loss
And carry the weight of our sins.
In shanty towns of hand-me-downs
We traffic the legacy of the age,
The cumulative weight of love and hate,
Of passiveness and violent rage.
And the lyrical wax of breaking backs
Sings strains that must foretell,
Of tedium and things to come
And seasons spent in hell.
Hauling coals and human souls
Of a mass that equals tons,
The sins of the fathers visited down
On their daughters and their sons.
Some precognition on wars of attrition,
Predicts that no one wins;
A means to an end is a sinister friend
As we carry the weight of our sins.
Magical muggle, one of my dreams, delight me with your fanciness.
Magical muggle, come closer, and give me a taste of your pranciness.
“What are you doing in there?” My father roars at me.
Nothing, I lie.
“It better be nothing!” my mother says.
They have nothing to do with Muggles, lumping them together as worthless
beings, who generalize witches and wizards, and pick on us,
tormenting us because we are magical and have precognition.
But my gift of foresight has shown that the love of my life
is going to be an enthusiastic, un-biased, faithful magical muggle, and I am
much more powerful than my parents anyway. Grandma taught me that.
Hiding it well, biding my time. My true wizard love should be here in six
years and three days. That is how exact my gift of precognition is.
I smile, roll over and go to sleep, imagining our three
gorgeous half-breed children who will call me Mommy.
in the recognition of a fault
lies the critical step called first
and though it be difficult
still, it is not the worst
to assume that the hardest part is over
is lacking in accuracy
no one is in the clover
in the cognizance of his infancy
like an infant within a circular fence
round and round i scamper
although in my just defence
my laundry's in the hamper
this is a time for solution
a moment feared and anticipated
having potential for contrabution
i wait in a place i created
not with intention or precognition
did i live my life this way
it was taught me, and i seek intervention
my children need not be clay
molding my own self is my goal
to seek, and speak the truth
i wish to be one, and whole
enjoying life as in my youth
with my words and heart i commit
to a path that will lead to recovery
i will not ever succumb, or submit
to any distress of my discovery
i have done no harm, i can not repair
no mischief i have not revealed
i beg to abide at home, i love, i care
and with help, we can be healed
this is my plea, for them, and for me
to rejoin, and rejoice in our home
we can become, together, free
together, for i would no longer roam
hear them, hear me, here we are
come at your behest
to wish upon an American star
please grant us this request
and may you thus be blessed
with respect for persons worthy of it,
-------recovery from a meth overdose-------
Something trembled the world,
It seems like endless,
horrendous,
But also tremendous:
The Amazon rainforest has burnt into ashes.
Before,
The rainforest was so fascinating,
We all appreciated,
But the tragedy still happened:
The Amazon rainforest has burnt into ashes.
Before,
We foresighted,
We foretold,
But we didn’t have this misfortune in our prediction,
Because greedy humans changed our precognition.
Before,
Animals enjoying their lives in the forest,
Hiding in the darkness,
we are striping the forest and
Not leaving any sharpness to them.
Despite that,
The rainforest didn’t burn into a wreck,
Those greedy humans are
Insurmountable to the lure of
Green leaves.
They got a lot of green foliages,
But these green foliages are not immaculate,
These greedy humans are not imitating those real heroes.
These leaves are intimidating us and,
Delicating our Earth.
Now,
The obsolete rainforest,
Only obtains fragments of it,
Which is dangling our hearts,
Feels like danger is surrounding us.
‘The things that we did before are scraps, isn’t it?’
We don’t know.
The only thing we know is,
While the greeds are splurging and scrambling their wealth,
Our mother Earth is splintering and screaming.
What is the future’s contention about Earth:
‘What happened to the Amazon rainforest?’
‘It has burnt into ashes...’
‘But, Why?’
‘Because every greedy human’s heart has burnt into ashes...’
Wind blowing,
Ashes away,
Turned into a grey river flowing,
Having this beautiful rainforest years ago,
Seeing the rainforest undergo.
You know what - we can’t regret,
Because we created all of these misfortunes with them,
We’ve trusted them,
They promised us.
But they broke it, broke the world into pieces.
Final Prophecy
by Michael R. Burch
Listen to me now and heed my voice;
I am a madman, alone, screaming in the wilderness,
but listen now.
Listen to me now, and if I say
that black is black, and white is white, and in between lies gray,
I have no choice.
Does a madman choose his words? They come to him,
the moon's illuminations, intimations of the wind,
and he must speak.
But listen to me now, and if you hear
the tolling of the judgment bell, and if its tone is clear,
then do not tarry,
but listen, or cut off your ears, for I Am weary.
***
Published by Penny Dreadful, The HyperTexts, the Anthologise Committee and Nonsuch High School for Girls (Surrey, England)
Keywords/Tags: Listen, heed, prophet, cry, crying, wilderness, voice, vision, visionary, dream, prophecy, judgment, judgement, warning, apocalypse, belief, baptist, baptism, proclamation, teacher, black, white, gray, moon, wind, speak, speaking, speech, instruction, teaching, omen, illuminations, intimations, ears, hear, bell, toll, tolling, peal, pealing, tone, I, Am, god, messiah, religion, spirituality, oracle, seer, sage, precognition, foretelling
Note: The poet as a "madman, alone, crying in the wilderness" is likened to John the Baptist, foretelling a momentous "second coming": his own, with no other Messiah in sight.
She saw the crimson walls;
felt the apprehension and fear;
heard the screams without physical ears.
They were not familiar to her so,
she could not have warned them.
She had no idea where the house was so,
she could not have sent the police to help them.
The bloody memory left ghosts hovering
in her psyche for weeks;
knowledge of the slaughter, fed hungry nightmares;
as she prayed that she was wrong.
Whom and where remained elusive;
if only she knew; lives could be saved.
Premonitions repeat in dreams;
torturing the dreaming mind with,
precognitive news is bad enough, as it is; without the waiting and anticipation of hearing what one already knows.
When the house appeared on the nightly news;
the anchor told about the blood-spattered walls
on both floors.
Green nausea overcame her.
She agonized for a year;
rarely seeing or reading the news;
realizing that she might’ve prevented it.
Oh God, if only she’d known whom, when and where.
Precognition never specifies the details;
only the horrors yet to come.
That neighbour has just banged his door.
Again yet again and yet again.
I, a one of superior quality, wish to beat
his barking bonce against the wall of his rathole.
But there’d be no grey matter
to dribble down the concrete.
An ugly slimy mush would not be excreted
from that crumbly, crinkly, brainless brainpan.
No brainbox there to squirt the grey stuff!
Oh, what do I experience?
A swirly-whirly precognition of a pleasurable
banging of that brain that isn’t there?
Do I not wish to tear it into shreds?
Funny how feral thoughts burst into one’s mind.
Again yet again and yet again, this superior
wants to beat and bounce that barking bonce.
(17 Sep 2024)