Best Skeptics Poems
We the People
Will disagree
On taxation and prosperity
On liberty and duty
We the People
Are every color of Christianity
Every Jewish prayer, every song of Islam
The puritans, the atheists and the Amish
Are neighbors here
We the People
Are Jamaican and Japanese
Swedish and Samoan
Cuban and Cherokee
Moroccan and Mexican
The Irish and the Inuit
And all shades of Africa
We are country hills and cityscapes
Suburban parks and downtown fire escapes
We are singers and stutterers
Daredevils and diplomats
Renegades and redeemers
The leaders and the lone wolves
The suits and the sarongs
We are the gun owners for gun control
The justice for unjust loopholes
We are the hands that struck the iron
And the backs that laid the tracks
Of trails of rails connecting
Sea to shining Sea
We are protesters and poets
The soldiers without peace
The nurses without sleep
We are the straight arrows and the skeptics
The gay and the god-fearing
We are Black Lives Matter
And we are the badges in blue
We the People
Are complicit and complicated
No freedom gave
To chains of slaves
We have conquered and colonized
Sacrificed and stolen
Pillaged and planted
To naturalize a nation
We are teachers of tenacity
Prophicies of pioneers
And the children of second chances
We the People
Speak for our land’s legacy
In every tongue, from every rung
On each stumbled stair, each crumbled chair
We demand democracy.
8/21/20
Poem of the Day
August 23, 2020
Categories:
skeptics, discrimination, freedom, history, society,
Form:
Political Verse
When I gaze far off into the night sky
The chaos is not pleasing to the eye.
Seems there was never an overall plan
When the beginning of time began.
I don’t mean to sound so high and mighty
But the stuff up there’s not very tidy.
Yes, there are luminous constellations
But it needs cosmic configuration.
When figuring out just how to plan it
I started on the jumbled up planets.
It’s not a stretch to say they need sorting
And here are a few things I’m purporting.
First I thought they should be alphabetized
Or at least ordered according to size.
They could be arrayed by number of moons
But I think that’s getting too picayune.
Sure, there is a listing of other things
Like arranging them by their colored rings.
Or by what lie’s hidden beneath the dust
That entirely coats their outer crust.
I settled and placed them by dimension
As said plan will cause the least contention.
Starting with the sun, since that big old orb,
Can’t help but lead; being so self absorbed.
Petite planet Pluto, this time is first
Mercury’s next, then trodden Mars comes third.
After that Venus, followed by our Earth
Which were in that order, now they’re by girth.
Let’s jump up to Neptune, then Uranus
Which happens to rhyme with Ignoramus.
Yes fancy Saturn, you go next in line
Jupiter’s last, since so easy to find.
Let’s continue this celestial tale
By systematizing the scene, broad scale.
We’ll journey further than Venus and Mars
To coordinate the world of stars.
We can array each pulsar by brightness
Which doesn’t interest me the slightest.
Or chart them based on their distances from us
Though why on Earth quibble with all that fuss?
Instead we’ll do what the globe mappers did
And arrange every star on a grid,
We’ll plot a rough draft on large graph paper
Like olden times, by light of a taper.
Now, you can choose a square and stick by it.
Worry free of the old cosmic riot.
Where each and every star is viewed best
Whether gazing to north, south, east or west.
The sky is looking much better by now
And all the skeptics will have to avow.
That once you know how to rework matter
Like here on earth, it’s the size that matters.
Categories:
skeptics, fantasy, space, old, star,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
White seraphs sing in four-part harmony
Their hymn a song of hope for humankind
Angelic voices join the reverie
Supernal music soothes each heart and mind
To live each day in light that never dies
To see Almighty God just as He is
To know the secrets hidden from men's eyes
To feel Jah's love and know that you are His
A growing horde promotes belief as lame
Such skeptics only trust what can be seen
These unbelievers' doubts will lead to shame
When Christ returns upon this earthly scene
With eyes of faith we see beyond the veil
With lips of praise we spread the holy tale
Categories:
skeptics, appreciation, heaven,
Form:
Sonnet
Written: December 19, 2023
"His style has the desperate jauntiness of an orchestra fiddling away for dear life on a sinking ship. Edmund Wilson"
____________________________________________
With each fresh day, leaves on trees grew dry.
Stream flow had ceased in the vast waterway.
Enormous boulders collapsed to dust!
Perched on lonesome island of my life fust
I tasted the bitterness of shattered dreams.
Walls stood in my path, hindering laud gleams.
Depart from my delicate and feeble universe!
My nightmares shattered all hope, into a curse.
Departing with daunting sadness and failure.
Wallowing in self-pity, longing for a torn sailor.
I am seriously suffering through my fate!
I was startled when I heard a faint whisper sate.
Optimism is a belief that can lead to success.
Even if roses are cut, spring will still progress.
Shift focus toward kindness, not dwell on pain.
Twiddle to the glorious sky to rise once again.
There are no desperate situations, they say.
Only desperate people endure; they convey.
In the pits of anguish, hope might dwindle.
We mimic inner force to rise without a swindle.
There, within the deepest recesses of our minds.
In a land where shadows hover and dismay binds.
A faint glimmer of light starts to flicker.
We will strive for perseverance and vigor.
Who are these people, you might ask?
Ones who will fit any extent for their task.
They are those who are eager for success.
Steadfast in their quest, they never digress.
They are the skeptics, rebels, and bold.
Who is loath to be tethered by societal mold?
They overstep limits and breach walls.
Unabatedly, their tenacity never stalls.
Ready to accomplish a wide range of things.
They have no fear of spreading their wings.
No snag is too vast, or argue that is too tough.
They are keen on any cost, even if it is rough.
Grace flows, twists, turns, renewing spun gold.
Heaven's enduring doors continue to enfold.
Wistful soul is overtaken by delight scope.
Phoenix emerges from the ashes of lost hope.
Categories:
skeptics, analogy, angst, character, deep,
Form:
Rhyme
The greatest minds are mocked and heckled,
but are usually right.
The greatest knowledge, is usually found,
in the simplest places.
Dreams if not a catalyst, to initiate the revelation
of truth; often contain the truth.
Look within for the golden chalice; the legendary
“Grail”; you’ll find it wrapped in the “golden fleece”.
Wisdom is gleaned in flight across the veil;
no soul, seeking light, is abandoned to the dark.
Mind comes from mind, returns to mind, lives in mind.
The enlightened never use the word, can’t.
If “ignorance is bliss”,
skeptics must be the happiest creatures on Earth.
The gift of denial never pays to light one single candle.
Light is provided free, to the open mind;
the greatest minds are the wires, through which,
the human batteries are charged;
universal mind initiates the transfer.
The light in the darkness, the dreams that come true,
should never be doused by the waters of ignorance.
Categories:
skeptics, education, poems, poetry, wisdom,
Form:
Prose
We Are
Victims of Time.
Degenerates of Distance.
Skeptics of Love.
Categories:
skeptics, love
Form:
Haiku
Scientists open many bodies
to please the skeptics, like fathers proving
there are no monsters hidden beneath
the heart's sticky bed. No soul. No ghost. Just
organs in metal pans.
Serial killers open many bodies
to please themselves, like sadists proving
it is not flesh that screams, but the heart,
the soul, the ghost.
Not the organs in metal pans.
Have you lost your mind?
Can even you find your mind?
How can something unfindable die?
Ghosts are no more real than mind
and linger behind it in the same void.
Ghosts open many bodies.
9/23/2018
Ghosthunters and Spiritualists Contest, hosted by Kevin Shaw
Categories:
skeptics, anxiety, dark, death, emo,
Form:
The Salon of Forbidden Ideas
is a place where the free-thinkers go
to express their unsanctioned opinions
and explore what they aren't meant to know...
At twilight, they slip through the shadows
of the alley 'twixt Far-Left and Right,
wearing black masks and cloaks of red satin,
bearing lanterns of unfiltered light.
The door to the salon is fastened
with various fashions of locks---
each one with a key and engraving
of the name of a theory or hoax.
For the one with the keys to unlock them
there awaits a most pleasant reception:
A tea in an elegant parlor
with others so-freed from deception.
Over salvers of tea cakes and lokum,
and samovars piping with steam,
they indulge in uncensored discussions
(like the cats who have gotten the cream).
The portaits of Nietzsche and Darwin,
and of Freud and Marcuse and Marx,
gaze down with intense indignation
as the fireplace feasts on their works.
Engraved on the mantle is FREEDOM,
and the roar of the flames, "Liberation!",
and the parlor is bright with the fireglow
from the canon of indoctrination.
Outside, in the mist and the darkness,
the justice wolves prowl on patrol---
sniffing fiercely for dissident skeptics
in their bloodthirsty lust for control.
The tea in the parlor continues---
as the wolves run the alleys in vain---
til the night-shadow fades into sunrise
and the guests don their masks once again.
Do you know the way to the Salon?
Do you have the keys to its door?
Simply follow the compass of Conscience,
and the pull of your heart to know more.
The alley is narrow and lonely;
you might lose your family or friends,
your religion or good reputation
before you arrive at its end...
But if you are yearning for freedom,
and the knowledge of truth is your goal,
there's an ear for your voice at the Salon,
and refreshment and peace for your soul.
Categories:
skeptics, america, analogy, freedom, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
There’s no suitable explanation for
me- no premise by premise,
with a slight scent of rosed misconceptions
leading to my conclusion.
Scientists? Well they’d have me
believe i’m the effect of some
orgiastic collaboration of molecules.
But without my mind, i’m lost (and
they cannot fix that with surgery)
skeptics aside, why am I here? What’s
my function?
My function is merely to
exist.
To exist within those short breaths
taken upon the peak of dawn’s smile. Within
the st-studdering flutter of eyelids
during the first sight of love, the first
realization of fate.
I’ve set on this land so the sun can shine
through my eyes lifting my head to the clouds,
and my arms to the horizon.
And in my moment of pure innocence
and certainty, you look upon and smile.
and in that brief stare-
I exist in you.
I exist for you. Whoever
you are. (morning jogger, tricycle
warrior, dreamwalker)I am simply here
For our thin glimpse of truth:
that I exist within you
as you in me.
God incarnate, I am not.
But I am given the chance to obtain
God-like attributes. to be a part of Your
life, however miniscule or unimportant.
I made You smile. I made You
laugh. I made You turn. I made You love.
I made You exist.
If only for Me You exist.-
Categories:
skeptics, life, love, thank you,
Form:
Free verse
Round and round, they twist and rise;
Without a sound, towards heaven’s skies.
Pure energy, it cannot die, despite a skeptics protest;
It brings a soul to new heights; there, it has its rest.
When the light, it does appear, an all-consuming fire;
Life renews; becomes dear as we transcend this ugly mire.
With electricity; souls are called into the light;
The clay and water, reduced to ground; as souls alight.
The one part of your self will rise,
to touch and stay in Heaven’s skies.
Just know you go where you’ll be free;
Across the void, to your Creator, you see.
Life’s not easy, but when lived well;
back to the Source, we all will sail.
Categories:
skeptics, death, inspiration, introspection, life,
Form:
Sonnet
The people cast their ballots;
And hopes are very high;
But the looks upon the Christian man;
Shows some worry in their eyes.
The donkey has majority.
And hopes to bring the fame
But the skeptics look to clouds above;
For fear there could be rain.
At the wheel of colors;
The paint won’t match the blotch
And the ones who paint the pictures;
They can only paint a splotch.
The wife is picking curtains;
And the man is on the phone.
The kids want decorations;
And they’ll never be alone.
Some people are ecstatic;
Some are now in fear.
Many never will accept;
The time for change is here.
Sing a song of good times;
We’re not on our own;
Sweep away decaying leaves;
Up ahead is home.
Up ahead is home Lord;
Can the time be near?
Will the rider on his painted horse;
Bring with him what some fear?
Categories:
skeptics, politicalpeople, people, time,
Form:
Rhyme
Written: October 21, 2023 For Brian Strand Contest
_____________________________
So true
feel blue
So scary
To marry
A fool
to school
Fall shrubs
In tubs
Falsehood
Had stood
Selfish
sell fish
Ethics
Skeptics
Psycho
My foe
Spell cast
fell fast
Categories:
skeptics, analogy, wisdom,
Form:
Footle
Mr. Bean has made the world go laughing
and if laughter tis the best medicine
then Mr. Bean sure is doctor of laughter
for quite apt is he at appealing humour!
Perhaps the world's best most beloved buffoon
with antics that could beat and defeat any clown or cartoon
King of joke, king of mock
he could send you rolling with laughter
With a serious silly face he played his pranks
to send you laughing ever after.
A funny man who purposely makes slips
or amuses the audience with amusing quips
A man immune to derision and ridicule
for he deliberately prefers to be comic
Funny is to watch him break any rule
for we all know it's just an onscreen antic.
Laugh and laugh, laugh till your sides ached
but watch how he has the last laugh
This jocular chap has mastered the art of comedy
He amuses quite single-handedly without aid or staff.
So before him on your small screen
your attention span for once shan't be mean
Just prepare to broaden that jaw
you're totally free to guffaw
at this engaging man of mock
this deliberate laughing-stock!
Few have not gone into rhapsody
over this funny fellar, King of comedy
So come heal yer malady
The king of jest
Jester's truly best
(I wrote dis last yr n recently i heard n confirmd it thru google too the nice news that mr.Bean converted to Islam. Skeptics had rather doubt it yet im sure d news has some basis. If true then mr.Bean im more yer fan than eva )
Categories:
skeptics, career, cheer up, fun,
Form:
Clerihew
Some folks believe it. Others do not. The legend told in the Bayou Cannot. The only witness who can swear that it's true, are the creatures who live in the bayou. The owl told the gator, the gator told the frog, about the horror filled night that changed their home in the bog. Far off on the mainland, miles from the marsh, in a large city, where living is harsh. A man's world invention sprang into life. A breath of fresh air to man's world of strife. A new deisel engine, queen of the line, would make it run for the very first time. The sunset limited it was aptly named. Gleamed in the station waiting its moment of fame. Boarded by folks going south, some headed out west, none mindful of anything, but each's own quest. New York to L.A. via the southern run. So it was, the trip had begun. Back in the bog, things were happening too. A barge made its way north with its captain and crew. The day had been hot. The night had turned cool. The fog roiled in, with its blanket of dew. The captain steered his tug, painfully slow, caution was key to safely deliver the tow. All of a sudden there was a scrape and a jolt the barge floated free, not held by a bolt. Panic seized the crew! "We've lost the tow!" "MAYDAY!" screamed the captain over the radio. Amid the chaos and moans of disdain, another great jar, "We've got it again!". Back on land not far down the track the Limited sped with a clickety-clack. Approaching the tressel no one noticed the shake. Who could blame the poor folks; the hour was late. Midway over the bayou came the tressels demise. A great shiver another great quake, tons of speeding steel, folks met their sad fate. Days went by weary and sad. Rescuers agreed none worked a wreck this bad. Twisted and bent the engine was pulled from the muck and the slime. "102" came the final count, the coroner spoke and noted the time. A weary voice shouted "Wait!" "Sir, I disagree!" Tired eyes turned, what did they see? A weary man held in his arms a child about three. Today believers say "an angel wanders." "A tiny spirit" Others agree. On foggy nights when no moon can be. A tiny light flickers so you will see. "It's a firefly!" Say the skeptics of haunt. The creatures disagree and murmur their taunt. They know the spirit of the child now lives in their swamp.
Written by my grandmother Sandra Burch
Categories:
skeptics, death, history, loss, places,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Situated on the Southern tip of Africa
Where two oceans meet, lies my country of birth
A rainbow nation is what we are called
With eleven official languages
and many diverse cultures
it is not difficult to grasp why...
Skeptics said we would never make it,
against all odds we did,
Apartheid part of our history
a history we will never forget,
A history, we certainly should never disregard.
The budding King Protea,
The Blue Crane takes to flight
and the Springbok that leap over meadows
just a few of South Africa’s jewels...
Categories:
skeptics, history, places,
Form:
Narrative