Best Skepticism Poems
Nonbeliever
by Michael R. Burch writing as Kim Cherub
She smiled a thin-lipped smile
(What do men know of love?)
then rolled her eyes toward heaven
(Or that Chauvinist above?).
Poor ol’ Pyrrho, he’s the hero
Of my somber poetry:
Couldn’t figure how to pick your
Core beliefs with certainty.
Bold Descartes, he got the party
Started with his Cogito.
Up popped Pyrrho (what a zero!),
Said to think is not to know.
Next, John Locke, he tried his luck; he
Claimed true knowledge must appear
By consensus of the senses,
But just how, he wasn’t clear.
David Hume, an ornery human,
Stripped Sir Science of support.
Just one reason he could seize on:
Custom is our sheer resort.
Kant, the strange one, said, now hang on;
For what’s really real don’t fuss:
Be content to just consent to
What our minds make real to us.
Lastly, Hegel scored a bagel
With his dialectic ways:
Synthesizing’s just surmising
When you have no solid base.
Oh, bewail their learned failure
To make absolutely sure
Of the theories man can fear he’s
Welcomed with a false allure!
As for poor ol’ Pyrrho’s moral,
Which I think we should applaud:
Don’t be blurtin’ that you’re certain—
You are just a man, not God.
Empty promises waft effortlessly through the air
The vacuous bleating of self-important bloviators,
Who claim the best interests of the noble citizenry
Uppermost in their clever, plotting minds who dare
To seek approval from the greater masses at the polls,
While thinly disguising their not-so-quixotic intentions.
Such troublesome breaches in the breastwork
Of liberty, these mischievous self-indulgent trolls
Who feed from the public troughs. Even better,
They claim to do what is right for their constituencies,
And call themselves names like honorable civil servant
Purporting to faithfully execute oaths to the letter
Of the law. I think such is seldom the case, at all, since
They have made for themselves careers of chicanery.
Empty promises -- no more than carefully crafted lies
Cause the skeptical, intelligent folk to wince.
SECOND PLACE WINNER
Written November, 2020
Submitted to "A Meaningful Poem" Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
HONEST SKEPTICISM
if you are a skeptic
there is still hope…
just three major
hurdles that prevent
you from trusting God
it has nothing to
do with reluctance
to believe God exists
but instead…
that you doubt
you are worthy
enough of His
attention.
Or…
that you are unworthy
of His forgiveness
and this famous nemeses:
where is God?
why is He not
communicating
with me?
God does not play head games
as we may think or practice
His willingness to forgive
surpasses our own
willingness to forgive
ourselves
try to imagine that He cares
and that He is for real as
His word declares
that dear friends…
is
honest
skepticism
© Kim van Breda—13 December 2015
What is this soul we talk about?
Might I find it in a droplet of water
Perhaps, in a pop tune … a shout,
In a loving mother, an abusive father?
Elusive and ethereal, so hard to find
Is it in our unique thought processes,
A synonym for the individual mind,
Something every human possesses?
Perhaps, a figment of imagination?
Something we cannot understand,
Many a theologian’s rapt fascination
Part of being under God’s command.
A faith word of import, I assume,
All that’s left of us when body dies
All that matters, we can presume –
Is it the ultimate goal or life prize?
A longstanding mystery, to be sure
Many folks say when we die, it’s over
What is to be gained by being pure,
When we’ll be buried under clover.
Written April 6, 2022
What are we, if not seafarers?
Writing words and aspirations to escape,
Kraken's grasp of deep dark seas.
Of turbulent brains during the storm.
A wave of skepticism, as if love was magic.
Isn't conceivable that this never occurs.
Written: November 29, 2022
Skepticism and Inepticism
Sometimes we seem to understand sceptism,
Unless it has been interfered with inepticism;
Not sure,
If impure,
Then ended up being fooled by deceiptiveism.
Jim Horn
I've been such a twisting winding road.
The road that only leads back to me.
The feeling of self contempt only
thickening with every wasted day gone by.
Struggling through the self loathe,
And it's me I don't answer to.
You don't care if I suffer.
You don't care if I rot.
Only do I care.
And wither with every sip,
Every shot bought.
My soul screams a little louder inside
with every bottle and Shock Top.
I cry for help and not one answers.
I know the answer in me,
It's so sickening
My putrid sense of self worth.
I kill myself for the feeling of joy I so holy deserve.
Can I have it now ?
Will I let me be free?
Will I rid myself of this damage
I've so longed to be?
There are things you know you know
and there are things you don't.
There are things you couldn't know,
and many things you won't.
But when it comes to knowing things
there's one thing to be sure;
we'll never know about everything,
though that does have some allure.
So if you're asked a question
with no evidence to show,
there's nothing wrong in answering
with a simple "I don't know."
surely hate
being in jailed seat
I'm battling
to be heard
not shoved back into silence
halved to denial
Written: April 30, 2022
The account of Descartes was redoubtable:
“I exist, since this thought is undoubtable.”
Mister Hume peered inside,
Said, “I see naught besides
Just my thoughts, so your logic is floutable.”
(title shamelessly borrowed from Daniel C. Dennett’s book of the same name)
Brainwashed parents, brainwashed kids.
Abort the vortex: hit the skids!
Become the one who dares to find
How much tradition's tricked your mind.
Not by parents’ views alone,
By peers, as well, strange seeds were sown.
Beliefs took root, grew deep and real,
Yet may defraud; don’t go by feel.
When you’ve reexamined all,
Admit your knowledge still is small.
Instruct your children that they, too,
Might learn the most when doubting you.
He meandered the alleyways of being
uncertain of the origins of his conceptions,
unclear about the emergence of his thought.
Along the way, he happened on Erebus,
deepening shadows of skepticism,
darkening the lines of incredulity.
He regarded this as quite strange. What possible
value could there be to acuminate agnosticism?
What purpose could cultivating qualms serve?
Erebus stopped and studied him,
smiling as though he read his mind!
“Without doubt, you would never know
when you were certain,” he said. “Without
skepticism, you would never find
faith.”
To his Hungarian Jewish village, Moses returned
Atrocities were dismissed, his warnings spurned
He described Jews buried in ditches, gave details to persuade:
Agonized children, naked corpses, but the villagers were not swayed
Moses was diagnosed by his listeners as mad
He shouted, "Listen to me", but the wall was ironclad
He asked, "where are all the people who went with me west"?
But the Jews who listened, failed the "tolerance test."
The "tolerance test" is, don't dismiss out of hand
Don't blaze a trail if you don't scout the lay of the land
Entertain the proposition, look for details to disconfirm
Beware the snap judgement, ask, test, so you can learn.
A man came to warn Swiss Jews of genocide
They thought he was a propagandist, so he committed suicide
There is an essay written by a bitter Jew, Koestler was his name
He wote "we were dismissed as maniacs, we warned of the spreading flame"
To get photos out of Poland, some people died
But nine out of ten Americans thought witnesses lied.
British intelligence too couldn't bring themselves to believe
How could lazy heuristics so many deceive?
Finding the truth is not always an arduous task.
Sometimes it can be as easy as courage to ask.
Evidence can be ready to be assembled in your mind
Match up your clues and the answer you may find.
Truthtellers may be dismissed as lunatics, others as extreme
Some as paid-off liars, some as on the other team
There may be too many assumptions that have to be overthrown
Interpretations thought out of context, or overblown
Sticking with what your already know might be too seductive
Your logic might be good, but your model too reductive
A puzzle with missing pieces might never make sense
Unless you get off your chair and look for evidence.
A false idea of virtue can override what's real
Go by what you see, not just what you want to feel.
Some of us live in bubbles, caused by years of indoctrination
This makes it harder to trust sources, have a conversation
Koestler said his recurrent dream was being murdered on the side of a lane
Walkers talked and laughed, didn't hear his cries as he was slain
There are many misdiagnoses, mistakes, some drastic, some mundane
Let's make an effort to derail that deadly train.
I plead, out of cynicism, for accepting.
I am here, and my regrets are flagging.
It's unlikely for me just to be harming.
My chest has gotten used to my suffering.
Confession is ugly and does not avail.
My silence helps me feel like such an angel.
My poem often turned into a puzzle.
It seems as if I've been writing in a low yell.
Sometimes specific notes deter.
The reward flies off with a cursor.
Inhabiting my waves, rapture
My distress showed the flatter.
Holes obscure the road.
I'm escaping the old code.
The drills aren't the fight ride.
My troops have busted the spread.
I may not have a sword, nor am I trying to keep.
With a stick over my sheep to weep