Best Scrutinize Poems
"When the Grim Reaper asked for my spirit,
I told him to take my poetic pen.
He walked away smiling, leaving me illiterate."
In the mystical wilderness of virtual poetry,
surrounded by metaphors that mystify my mind,
I've become a shadow of the poet I once knew.
Insecure with egotistical lame labels,
tormented by attention seeking tags,
irritated from imitative compliments.
Exhausted eyes sting, bloodshot from
reading an overuse of mumbo jumbo jargon.
On the edge of personification,
symbolic syllables burn all desire to scrutinize.
Sometimes there can be too many words,
sometimes not enough,
yet we veil the true meaning of our thoughts.
I guess there is an art to pretending,
yet I watch my artistry fade.
We weave webs turning the internal into external,
but I question whether I was ever a poet.
Pondering if my poems served a purpose.
I have lost patience for personal prose,
rhymes without rhythm sound so revolting,
the soul is sick of old fashioned sonnets.
as iambic pentameter has always been my enemy.
I hear alphabetic patrol sirens,
their ignorant judgment is a mockery to the bilingual.
An assassination of alliterations,
is causing a massacre of my muse.
There is a void in my verses,
which prevents me from roaming free.
My soul feels like a starless supernova,
a moonless sky drifting into a black hole,
as fatigued fingers become a mistress
to simple scribbles.
I yearn to be forever silent,
with no motive to write for a legacy,
so I've imprisoned my muse in an asylum.
I have lost passion to spill the ink from my quill,
so I no longer tend to the petals in my poetic garden.
I've found peace in the solitude of a blank canvas.
Silent One
15 February 2022
If I had those pretentious brains which act faster than this heart
maybe then I would abhore this soul which spreads freely through each verse
maybe then I would impress you with my intellectual grammar and sophisticated words
maybe then I would scrutinize my each and every coma,dot and exclamationmark!
But I would never let that happen,I'd rather go away.
Writing with my mind and not my heart leads only to asylum within the being of myself.
Poetry is my voice,my life,my escape,my each emotion stored,processed in a yesterday
breathing softly in fresh air,wanting to explode in death, love,passion and romance.
Each verse, a thought I'm able to scribe of yet unable to express through spoken words.
Maybe in a tomorrow you might pass by ,tread your footstep on my verse
but maybe in a today,a broken-hearted fool stops by to find comfort in my world
Maybe a prisoner, an insane man,a tramp ,or any outcast to society
would pick these shattered pieces and gather them as whole
and maybe through this scribbled cross-word puzzle finds God'love once again.
Maybe a little child who understands only little words
would turn the pages of silly rhymes i penned
rhymes which speak of moon and stars,angels,dreams and faries
and maybe He would smile, maybe He would laugh
Maybe he would dream ,the way i used to dream
and maybe He would write the most eloquent sonnet
or maybe just simple words about blossoming flowers
And maybe then,my mission is accomplished,and maybe I feel blessed.
Charma
The difference in saying you,
a great big unseen pointed finger, or we.
I didn’t know. Some figurines
wave while others scrutinize with wizened eyes.
The analytic panics, hairs raised by static.
The simple leans in to catch butterflies. One is cynical.
The other sensuous. One slaps your hand away.
One squeezes it. Personality
like the word itself broken in pieces, a flotilla.
In the storm the words like jigsaw waves.
In placidity, the sun’s too hot or doldrum’s ebb and flow.
We will make it!
Still, even in this exchange, coarse sand,
a castle with a moat. Your motives sought - there I go again
“Y O U R…”
Sisterly size-up. Am I trying to win? I didn’t know
we were preparing to arm wrestle. I’m unshaped,
neither the flat piece of a puzzle or linked.
The dreamy sky from the beach. Salt in the air,
eyes on the horizon, lap of the waves —
the same lift I feel when swinging high and higher.
The excitement of adventure, no one’s judging
my every word. I’m breathless…it’s breathtaking
when my feet float above the ground.
There I’m in the arms of love. There I point
and God answers with his digit reaching out, touching mine.
I am reborn by the finger of God.
We will make it!
12/19/2020
Preoccupied with symmetry
The world considers face
The quest for winsome Venus
A never-ending chase
Obsessed with judging people
By the numbers on a scale
We scrutinize our bodies
To every last detail
Yet what of inner beauty
Is that of no import
As it remains forever
Its passage won’t run short
For me, it is my mind and heart
I will depend upon
For in this world of ducklings
We all can’t be the swan
If you lived to tell a lie about your true identity then you never lived at all.
Emotionally in the inside you might break down, your not your true self to the world.
They can't figure us out why bother given us a chance in this world, why push us off to the side when we can grow so much closer with love. They dance and sing in the sunshine without even noticing the Storm, we are broken and hurt but yet we hold on. No one lives there, the feeling was achromatic, the pain has faded away, no feeling of the family of love, jut the feeling of all the rage and anger that took place. They point and scrutinize my life, they watch me closely and eye me down, waiting on my down fall but I will not allow myself to be hammered down. Hope is everything when nothing else is around, life is full of dreamers, believers, just everyday people who trying to figure this all out. Help me to find the forensics on his case, twisted problems of life situations, we never turn our back on each other, the unforgettable touch, the first and last kiss, around and around we go. The past of mistakes, the learning process as I go, I will show my true identity to the world. Love or hate me, live to die, we all will die to this world.
Love is the beauty of all.
The peacocks dance
at grove near the cool pond;
and the lotuses brace
lamps like raised heads;
Nimbus clouds thrum
like loud drums;
and violet lilies scrutinize
the scene with bulbous eyes;
Hushed wavelets
array like curtains;
and the bees harmonize sweet songs,
like soothing tunes of (fish-shaped) harp;
Amidst this picturesque place,
the MARUDHAM is enthroned
*Marudham- The God of fertile land
The old Tamil literature describes the five species of lands,
kurunji-mountain land
marudam-cultivated land/farm land
mullai- forest land
neydal-beach/maritime tract
paalai- desert
This is my translation of a poem from Kamba Ramayanam
Kamba Ramayanam, is a Tamil epic that was written by the Tamil poet Kambar during the 12th century. Based on Valmiki's Ramayana (which is in Sanskrit), the story describes the life of King Rama.
Often, I fall to the ground in anguish and burst into tears,
not for lack of strength, but to ask for forgiveness;
seldom, I venture down a narrow and unlit road,
fearing the assailant is waiting for my innocent blood!
I call upon the Lord of infinite kindness and mercy
to keep those bad-willed men off my treacherous trail;
how I want to scrutinize the awesome universe
and name a few planets with careful observance!
And although I am unable to spot and discovered any,
with the naked eye: I seek them more than the Holy Grail!
Often, I question with disbelief how fate makes me broach,
affecting my emotions and destabilizing them to incur
dread when the heavy tread of footsteps approach;
are they those of a ghost or is someone at the door?
Not all men are evil and can boast of a massive wealth,
being rich is the privilege of the few, others only dream of it;
I've been assigned a formidable task which requires no stealth:
to make most of this existence, not indulging in excessive guilt!
Written: June 07, 2025 for contest sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
***********************
If hopes are meant to fade,
cling to them tightly.
Life is a bird with broken wings—
It cannot rise.
Cherish your aspirations,
for they vanish when least expected.
Life is a barren field,
swallowed by shadows.
A landscape carved from disappointment,
sorrow, and silent weeping.
Years spent enduring hostility.
No angels remain,
and the cruel often prevail.
Yet beyond fear, beyond loss,
the universe turns, indifferent.
I can never grasp why I exist.
Gravity presses against me—
I close my eyes, drowning in silence.
Wounds etched upon my wrist
whisper stories of battles unspoken.
Life seeps into my heart,
and I cannot fight it.
I am the one who cries himself to sleep,
haunted by hurdles that creep in shadows.
Steel meets rubber—no raw chance.
A flash of tempers,
the sharp spark of collision.
Truth may reveal itself
unparalleled ~
Rare, fleeting—extraordinary.
Serendipity belongs to those who dare.
To find a soulmate is a chance gift,
a quiet miracle.
You search without knowing
what you have needed all along.
Moments of fortune do not arrive
without hardship.
A single card can turn stone to gold,
A blind introduction can lead you
to something familiar,
yet entirely raw
If your star aligned with Mars
on that one, untamed day,
life hands back only
what you offer.
Mishaps will always exist—
swing too wildly,
and you hit the dirt.
So scrutinize before you leap,
before your feet leave the ground.
Some loves are built to live.
Is there an alternative to destiny?
Celestial beings hum in idyllic order.
But if you crash recklessly,
collide with another
on cold asphalt—
was it ever an accident?
Your car may remain unscathed,
yet the impact lingers.
And accidents—
they will always occur.
There will always be marks,
and everything will
eventually align.
I was on me way to Adelaide, to watch the Blues take on the Crows,
it’ll be a super effort winning there, as every Vic here knows,
I could have flown and watched the game and done it in one day,
but decided on a tourist drive to catch the sights along the way.
I took the narrow winding path along the Ocean Road;
took in mountain views of sandy beaches, these special vistas showed;
spent one night in the Grampians with Zumsteins Kangaroos
and another in the Little Desert; a garden filled with many hues.
Then I drove down to Mount Gambier to visit rellies there,
I toured around the blue lakes and the limestone caverns where
stalactites and stalagmites grew from the roof and floor,
and then I found my el dorado… a McDonalds store.
Since the morning I left Melbourne, it’s been all fruit and weet bix,
so its great to find the ‘Golden Arches’ where I get my ‘Macca’ fix;
a nice thick super burger, with a coke and double fries,
and it’s waiting on the counter and so attractive to my eyes.
I found a table that was empty, put down the tray and ate a chip,
placed a serviette upon me lap, grabbed the coke and took a sip,
unwrapped the burger, ate more chips; had another drink of coke,
then watched a couple sit beside me, but neither of them spoke.
It’s obvious that they are married and that both are elderly,
but it seemed strange they ordered, the very same as me,
then I watched the fella cut the burger, in half carefully,
divide the chips and into glasses, pour the coke out equally.
I must admit I felt embarrassed as I watched this small charade,
and thought that being pensioners, times must be pretty hard,
so with a caring gesture, I offered them my burger, chips and coke,
but they refused me generous offer, and the lady quietly spoke.
“I know you mightn’t understand”, and then continued with her riddle,
“But through our married fifty years, we’ve split things down the middle,
what we buy is always shared, including everything we eat.”
Then she sat and watched her husband, scoff his Macca’s treat.
Here I am still quite confused, as I scrutinize what’s going on,
she’s watching as her food goes cold, so I asked her what was wrong,
“Oh nothings wrong” she said, then took a drink to quench her thirst,
“It just so happens that its Harold’s day, to use the false teeth first.”
THE SUN WILL SHINE
The elevator has malfunctioned.
Issues are surmountable.
I just have to see a way to defeat the problems I would not let hold on.
I'll climbed the stairway and go out on the roof to think alone.
The sun will shine for me.
So many images form from my past for me to scrutinize.
A proclaimed inclination of a defined destiny is only a heighten presence of an
aspired eternity.
Certain scenes are prophetic of perused and lucid thoughts.
The sun will shine and I will smile once more.
Entering my apartment and opening the patio doors, raindrops are hitting the
banister.
I will take a seat in my favorite chair and close my eyes to meditate.
I will breath in fresh air.
The sun will shine on me.
Globules of joy will form.
My dynast will be eternal.
__________________________|
PENNED JULY 18, 2014!
How pompous we must be to self appoint
To sit in judgement of a gifted peer
Discerning if a writer makes his point
Within the guidelines spelled out loud and clear
In robe of terry-cloth, beneath a lamp
Proofreading poems from our reclining bench
Where technicalities decide a champ
We scrutinize and give them not one inch
And even though we feel we're qualified
To judge a poem, one need not pass a test
We tend to let our conscience be our guide
Then have the gall to say, "this one is best"
There's nothing like a poet with a grudge.
Now ask yourself, to judge or not to judge?
5/2/2021
by Daniel Turner
She has the promise to excite a man's imagination
and the expectation she's too giddy to foil.
Similar to a gargoyle, but something makes me question
how statuesque - with the way she's entangled in herself
like a pair of headphones left abandoned in a jean's pocket.
Her complex nature tiptoes between beauty and villainy:
a damsel in distress that I'd have doubts about saving.
Should I hold her hand with affection?
Kiss her lips with seductive glee?
Or slip away into the blanket of the night
with my life and dignity still intact.
Written February 29th, 2016
For the Visualize, Scrutinize, and Remark Contested hosted by Forever Malta
She knows I want her,
And this game she plays
To drive me wild; knowing
My desire controls the moment
Like a favourite cat purring she
Shifts her feet in furry socks
And does that thing with her
Nose; stroking imaginary
Whiskers. Oh the joy!
Written for contest 15/03/16 Visualize, Scrutinize, Remark
*Image of The Big Bang Theory giphy by CBS.
Coronavirus: COVID-19
A knock upon my chambered door, silence foregone, it goes ignored,
Too feeble I, coldness instills, lain I awry e'er filled with chills,
Vice convince spree goes on toiling, thrice has it been, owned its spoiling,
My eyes have seen, I've read the news, tried ears have be, shunned knocked sound blues,
Scores abound knocked chambered door, roars I cannot, for I am sore,
Then suddenly, a stillness had come, my chambered door, went silently numb,
So I, read on, of coronavirus, tis recent so hence be it naught an antivirus,
Kept abreast of things albeit online, inducement, the spread, signs, all be I fine,
Cawing gawked my chambered window, peering through midst raised crescendo,
A black raven tis annoyance it is the calling, disturbance afoot, perpetual cawing,
A chapter be read, of the ailment, fear breeds in verses, amongst confinement,
As a bird scrutinize, belittles my illness, with a litany of awk, pesty nuisances,
Fatal passages beset home and town, beat I the averages, best all around,
A door and window, be I immune, alas, a dreaded raven befalls its lampoon.
2020 March 12
*2nd Place*
Coronavirus COVID-19
~~Team PoetrySoup: Judged 2020 May 12
From depths of fear she hovers on a chair to escape
No place of concealment found behind window or door
Curse the creeping shadows crawling all over the floor
Whispers softly, lest phantoms catch her sleeping
Wild eyes of terror from which tears no longer fall
The woman continues to hear echoes of death's call
Scant the clothes she wears; phobia of blood stains
On her feet, socks of purest white, worn perpetually
to signal the flow; another tide of a carnage red sea
Upon the chair she trembles, safe circle above the floor
Her climb up the crevices of the abyss is hard to visualize
and far beyond my capability to comprehend or scrutinize
*Image of focus was provided by the sponsor.
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2/23/16
Visualize-Scrutinize-Remark Contest: Malta Forever