Short Sceptical Poems

The world became
so much smaller
with news travelling fast
becoming harder to justify
every death
from every blast....

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preoccupied
queries of the curious
having obligations
but still inquisitive
sceptical...yes
perceptual...possibly

such disparate thoughts
are quickly silenced...

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DIVISIONS
sharply
   vivid
 practical
sceptical
   emphatic
remains
   hidden
by
  temperament
in
  abstraction

  dramatic
progressions
  fragment
 evolving
in
sensibilities
of
conceptions
glimpsed
in
denouement
with
  unusual
suspense
of
questioned
unified
in
synthesis...

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ART
 
snails paint poems
on pallets of leaves
slimy threads of all
misdeeds

seas shatter shores
dumping sharp shells
each one has their
own story to
tell

leopards lie low
in sceptical prose
they pray for prey
feasting on
gigantic 
gargantuan
realms of
Art


© Kim van Breda—2 November 2015...

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Open the door of opportunities;

Take a peek inside;

My door, though it has secrets, really has nothing to hide;

And though you may be sceptical;

Who are you to judge?

I mean really, look at yourself! I see a little pudge!

Take the chance and seek the thrill;

Or stay cooped up inside…..

But really, though you may see shadows, there is nothing here to hide....

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Search, understand, make sense of the signs,
As universal energy illuminates our minds.
Sceptical at times but in essence we believe,
There's celestial truth in all that we perceive.

Recurrently pushed down rock roads
But those rocks have been placed there for us to decode.
Realisations, higher selves, awakened minds
Take those lessons focused and the light you'll find....

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Philip to Nathaniel said, “I have found
in Nazareth one foretold to be crowned.”
     “From Nazareth could
     come anything good?”
Nathaniel replied with sceptical frown.

“Truly here's a man without deceit,”
Jesus remarked when they came to meet.
     “How come you know me?
     Is surely a mystery.
You're the Son of God, and King complete!”

John 1.43-51...

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A woman of substance 
 
I`m sceptical of the Dutch
One of them stole my beloved
He was a painter
Made her beautiful on canvas 
And she fell in love
I wrote a poem on a torn 
Piece of paper-
And I’m not a Lutheran-
Nailed it on her door
The usual stuff of the aching heart
The painter got arthritis
 In his hands   
Could not hold a paint brush
She sent him to nursing home
And now she smiles at me...

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KEEP FIVE ALIVE

It’s a five pointed star
Not the simplest by far
As thoughts are left ajar 
But for naught except Blahblah
Just that one last hurrah

They call it a pentagram
Sceptical is what I am
With all that flim flam
Rejecting the glitz and glam
You’re not a witch ma’am

Anxiety I try to quell
Nothing ever seems to gel
Please don’t cast a spell
You know that very well
Otherwise, just go to Hell

...

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