Schemata Poems | Examples

I Never Believed in Ghosts

The apparition was cautious
Materializing in a slow, steady way
I had never believed in ghosts
Spirit was something I pretended to believe in
At church

But I didn’t.

My schemata would not allow me to let this creature into my mind
She gave me a sad look and dematerialized
I possibly missed my last chance to speak to my mother
But she taught me not to believe
And she did a great job

Zealot

Zany zealot
Fervently on fire
Enthusiastically single-minded
Fanatical and furiously frenzied
He tries to convert everyone he meets
He cannot get a job, has had twelve interviews
We cannot help him, he is a selective listener
If it does not fit with his schemata, he does not hear it

determined to be morose macabre and melancholy

she resigned herself to feeling morose macabre and melancholy
determined to be miserable, was our cousin, Miss Harriet Holly.
Focusing on wretched negativity, and all things bad.
Tossing good things out of her schemata said my friend Tad.
Determined to be solemn, depressed, angry, alone and sad.
It was a keen observation from the self-absorbed Tad.

Each Day Is Your Choice

what you think of you
determines your choices
reflecting your schemata

every day actions
show your character
are you lethargic or productive?

every day is a blank page in your book of life
when you get to heaven you get to review it
with your angels

lovely huh?

We See Things As We Are

We see things as we are
Not as other people or things are
We see things according to
Our prejudices
Our assumptions
Our ideas
Our background
Our experiences
How else could we possibly see them?
The only schemata we have is based on our life.

Crazy Truth

All Chevy drivers are dangerous; they cannot drive.
I search for a few minutes, finding the Chevy emblem.
Watch stealthily, sure enough he cuts in front of me.
Proving my theory.

Now I change my truth to all Missouri drivers are crazy.
I watch one do a crazy U-turn and add it to my schemata.
Drive a few more minutes. Decide all black cars have unfriendly drivers.
Must change this theory when I remember I am driving a black car.

Listen the radio a few minutes. Here an old person on there complaining.
Grouch. Grouch. Grouch. Gripe. Gripe. Grouch. Grouch. Grouch.
She has some kind of a weird accent.
My truth is now all people with accents are complainers.

My schemata is adding ideas all the time, sometimes adjusting.
A car cuts in front of me, almost causing me to wreck.@#%&*@#$#@@#$$%%
That must be a Chevy driver.
I race after him, honking and giving him the finger.

He looks back and returns the favor.
His car is a Ford.
Oh.
I slow down, drop back.  Ford drivers are okay.
This must have been a one-time accident.

Meanwhile he has added this truth to his truth box.
Old ladies wearing red Kansas City Chiefs shirts are crazy.

I Am Painting Trees

I am painting trees with facial features
They are orange, pink, green, black….
Some with stripes
Some with slashes
Some plain
I lie
Plain does not fit into my schemata

I want to paint a azure tree
But if I paint a blue one it would clash with the sky.
All of my trees so far have sky backgrounds
And multi-colored leaves
in silvers, reds, oranges, blues, purples.
I love adding color on top of color - mostly neons.

I dare not paint a face tree in blue though 
For one silly reason. 
How would that show up against a blue sky?
A mermaid in a glass I am painting shows me her smile.
She encourages me.

I already tried a pink sky once, I tell her. 
And a lavender one.
Both of those paintings were disappointments
Every time I look at them I consider doing them over.
She laughs at my predicament.
I begin adding blue on top of blue to her canvas
Experimenting with her
Since she is the one
Giving me the idea.

Her Mystical Ideas Were Foreign

young of course
but strong
homeless sometimes
resilient always
she came to us on a Tuesday
walked up the hill carrying an old suitcase
full of her plays and poems
her ideas were magical.
they came at all kinds of times
while she was sleeping, vacuuming,
taking care of the children.
She was the most prolific writer
we had ever never known.
You could not get close to her
for her mystical ideas were foreign
and did not it into other’s schemata
but that did not prevent us from
being captivated or from loving her.

The Mad Woman of Chi

The mad woman of Chi knew it all.
Her head made her exceedingly tall.
Her schemata was wide.
Held way down deep inside.
In an arrogant brain that was closed and small.

Where Are Your Words

Where are your words?
Who wants to know?
What should you be saying that you have forgotten to say?
What should you be saying to yourself? To revitalize yourself?

Self-deprecation does not work in your schemata.
Anxiety and fear are not your go-to places.
I consciously banish the feelings of the last three weeks.
Realizing they were induced by drugs, not reality.

Can I get back? Can I retain my enthusiasm? Can I get past this apathy?
My acceptance of my former self into my reality is all I need.
I read my words and recognize the positivity in them.
Remembering these are my words.
Not anything else’s, determined to
bring myself back
one 
word
at
a 
time ...

My Mindless Dream Dance

Charisma wafts into my dreams
Teasing my wise brain dendrites
Showing them connections
to my pathway toward empathy.

Enthusiasm is squarely winning
Taking charge of my artistic muse
who is persuasive with other 
areas of my mindful schemata

Childlike joy shows rapt interest
in the affection charisma is instilling
as I sleep, listening to the lively,
loving melody of the cosmos

Edlah Was a Walking Apology

Edlah was a walking apology.
You knew he was coming by his stance.
Shoulders slumped, head down.
Insecurities pre-announced him a block before his arrival.

Someone had done a great job convincing Edlah 
He was not as worthy as most. 
His presence said “someone has torn me up, and spit me out”,
more than once, probably.
Compliments were completely discounted, not fitting in with his schemata.

He was like a puppy with a kick-me sign
that he had constructed himself, a long time ago.
We all wanted to help him, but none of us wanted to date or hire him.
He lived a whole life of this, if you can imagine.

I Felt Something Magical Coming

I felt your aura arrive days before you did; 
the sun shone brighter than she ever had.
She pranced in the garden, streaking the flowers, 
adoring the faeries, lifting my soul.
Something is about, I thought.
Something magical.
Not knowing it was you.

I knew it would be wonderful, maybe a new renegade tree or a beautiful twilight?
I never dreamed it was a man. It did not occur to me.
My animals and gardens were my meat and my refreshment.
I was satisfied, in my meadows and my forest.

At first I thought you were arrogant; winking at me in front of my parents.
My Daddy thought it was funny. My mother knew.
I had been winked at a long time ago
By a betrayer, a liar, a thief.
I was not fair, for you reminded me of him.

It was not easy but you changed my schemata.
You softened my hardened heart. 
Through kindness, talents and an open soul
your honesty and truth 
spoke to my soul.

You won me over so completely 
that my family thought I had been bewitched.
I was the one who would never give another man a chance.
You were the candle that illuminated me 
and brought my light back into my laugh
and my heart smiled.

Please Do Not Confuse Me

Whirling comprehensions
Swirled into dendrite paths
Confusing me greatly 

Shook my schemata
Woods and wind blowing through brain
Howling at me, challenging beliefs

Not ready 
Who would be?
No armour or sword to fight them

Caught in their frenzy I was entrapped
and engaged in spite of my soul's protest.

She Floated Into My Dreams That Day

She floated into my dreams that day,
Stealing my wealth, 
Shaking my roots, ignoring my prior convictions.

She had a different opinion, 
Determined to shake me and shine me.
I was a boot, tossed around on the bed,
Tucked under, 
Thrown into a wall,
Tried and discarded.

She floated into my dreams that day
And took over my schemata, 
Obliterating it,
Crucifying my former beliefs,
Throwing them into the closet of lost things,

I dared not retrieve them,
Getting used to my new stance
As a boot,
Changing myself completely,
A new shoe,
Not fitting on the old feet,
But converting myself to a new glorious foundation
Of spiritual truth, 
A changeling, forever, and completely.

• Short Schemata Poems
• Famous Schemata Poems
• Best Schemata Poems
• Read Schemata Poems
• Long Schemata Poems
• Schemata Quotes