Skeptically Poems

Brain Food

My well-meaning doctor said
my brain is close to dead.
Lay off meats and fats, he said, 
eat fish, all you want, instead.

Fish is high in omega-3,
great for rebooting mind deficiency.
But, doctor, said I skeptically,
how has that helped any fish one jot,

they still get hooked do they not? –
Not too smart, if you ask me.

the US election

The USA Election


The near future is catching up
the American presidential election  
is looming 

This time, there is talk of a woman,
who has charmed many with her
furious laughter 

The mystery is that she has no plan 
on how to rule, other than revert
to socialism and spend more money 

And there is a formidable man, a survivor
of two assassination attempts, the sane
hopes will win

He, the grizzled old fighter, has on his 
side two knights of the realm, who 
will try to change America

One of them will tackle a colossus
identity, the pharmaceutical industry
tame it until usefulness 

The knight, well past his youthhood
has a glorious family background 
shining bright in recent history

The younger knight, an entrepreneur
is, on a mission impossible, to rein in
his country's enormous debt 

How the young knight, is going to
stop the economic leakage; we shall
skeptically watch his endeavor

That Robin

Female, I felt! Chirped differently than on other days!
As though crying and screaming in many ways
It might not be owing to the change of weather, I know.
Nor, due to the drizzles, visited its nest like a forgotten foe.
I, with my little ability to climb the trees, took the adventure
As though signing with the tree, a unique indenture
I could not find anything unusual at first glance.
Soon, I fell enraptured by a skeptically unsympathetic trance.
I could find something, like an ipomoea black heart vine, sway
And crawling towards the eggs that, like turquoise stones, lay
While I stood dumbfounded, I could witness the frail bird bounce.
And attack the intruder, and his death sentence pronounce
Silence shrouded my so-far self-complacent wisdom.
I backtracked, pondering over the powers of the bird kingdom.

Brother Whosoever

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To a dog, an empty hand's cause 
even a well-intentioned one
flinches an involuntary jaw.. 
your neighbor's just the same.

Have you grown leery the open palm?
wearied away as your brother's keeper.
Not responsible to his good name
nor good will as guarded trustee 
over your godchildren.

No blame to you, good sir
or madam-

No right or wrong
by royal decree
monastic or fiduciary..
nor heavy handed scepter
to wield 
relinquished or relished
as monarchal beneficiary.

Just the same, I 
in fealty or name
skeptically question  
right from wrong.. 
guilty as charged
all the day long. 

Often what I read and I see, 
some people scare me
put in my brother's shoes
I probably would too.

Behind Sunglasses

I was at a friend's pool after school.
She loaned me this impossibly tiny bathing suit
I looked at it skeptically but I didn’t ask whose it was.
It smelled faintly of chlorine.
we were supposed to be alone
her older brother came home 
his eyes settled on my skin
like a wash of immediate sunburn
It was awkward and thrilling to be watched
I pretended not to notice
behind my sunglasses
I ignored him 
My friend noticed. “Perv alert, let’s go in.” she said.
I didn’t want to go but I didn’t let it show.

With Jaundiced Eye

With jaundiced eye I look at the politician’s vow
To make our world a better place in four years,
Cure all our ills, and provide calm for our fears,
And I say to myself, skeptically, exactly “How?”

With jaundiced eye I look at those who claim
To be patriots, but with angry words and deeds
Go about spreading discord and planting seeds,
Saying despicable things, obviously seeking fame.

With jaundiced eye I view the biased news media
And wonder the truth of any situation they report
“Doesn’t anybody report just the facts, anymore?”
Allow me my own analyzing without your insignia.

With jaundiced eye I look at magnificent towers
Built for “the glory of God,” on the backs of poor
Folks who fear the fiery pits of hell, for sure,
If they fail to pay homage to the “godly” powers.


Written June 15, 2021
For “Jaundiced Eye” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker

A Small Interlude Between Writing

Popular Mozart melodies are playing on a low loop.
Five people tense as a clinic nurse
calls us in or leaves us hanging.

I know the drill,
she’ll lead me reluctantly to the scales,
the usual sighs of ritual humiliation;
“Are you 6 foot” she inquires
looking at the chart skeptically.
I don’t tell her that for the last 10 years
I have been shrinking while my bull neck
sinks lower, torpedoed by a laptop navy.  

In the Doctors examination room
I slump worry and hum.
I know I will be there for a while,
long enough for me to scribble this poem down
in a dollar store notepad.

Back home I will spell-check every other word -
my mind was on a lump in my gullet.
After much examination
the doctor declared that I have a bone in my throat
one unknown to medical science;
at first she thought it might be a chicken bone
but it waggles only when I talk
and spins when I write.

Apparently there are strings attached to it,
something is pulling at that little bone.
When x-rayed it dances a jig
as if to entertain.

I’m still waiting for a second opinion
though I must admit I am enjoying 
being the unidentified voice
of my muses little pinky bone.

A Small Interlude Between Writing

Popular Mozart melodies are playing on a low loop.
Five people tense as a clinic nurse
calls us in or leaves us hanging.

I know the drill,
she’ll lead me reluctantly to the scales,
the usual sighs of ritual humiliation;
“Are you 6 foot” she inquires
looking at the chart skeptically.
I don’t tell her that for the last 10 years
I have been shrinking while my bull neck
sinks lower, torpedoed by a laptop navy.  

In the Doctors examination room
I slump worry and hum.
I know I will be there for a while,
long enough for me to scribble this poem down
in a dollar store notepad.

Back home I will spell-check every other word -
my mind was on a lump in my gullet, but it’s okay,
after much examination
the doctor declared that I have a bone in my throat
unknown to medical science;
at first she thought it might be a chicken bone
but it waggles only when I talk
and spins when I write.

Apparently there are strings attached to it,
something is pulling at that little bone.
When x-rayed it dances a jig
as if to entertain.

I’m still waiting for a second opinion
though I must admit I am enjoying 
being the unidentified voice
of my muses little finger.

Morning Joy

Awakening near the new dawn full of joy, 
[this inexplicable sense of happiness] 
feeling that all is well within my soul when 
gladness, like soothing water, rolls over me, 
bathing me in the fresh glow of renewal.
 
My rituals are interrupted by song, 
singing praises, for no apparent reason-- 
save dusty rays of golden sunlight angling 
through a partially opened chenille curtain 
and entering into my receptive heart. 

This is not the anticipated start of  
a new day, most days, I must hasten to say. 
I skeptically fear the unexpected,
while hoping this sweet joy will linger with me, 
coloring each aspect of my waiting day.

His Master's Voice

dog hears
His Master's Voice
music to a dog's ears
iconic RCA Victor's
Nipper

December 29, 2020

Contest: Trademark ~ Quintain
Sponsor: Sara Kendrick

AN:  After he had finished his famous painting on 11th February 1898,  Francis Barraud (Liverpool) thought to himself that maybe the Edison-Bell phonograph company would find his work useful. Sadly, the company turned down Barraud’s offer, skeptically stating Dogs don’t listen to phonographs. But soon enough, the painting would become a highly successful trademark of the  RCA Victor, HMV, EMI, and its many branch companies, as a registered trademark on July 10th, 1900.

Credit Ads, Which Sweet Like a Songs of Robins

Credit ads, which sweet like a songs of robins, 
Should be read skeptically, not as it shown.
Not "Just take a loan! No any problems!",
But as, "No any problems? Just take a loan!"

Untitled Poem Ix

Trouble came from afar
To tell me a secret: that
The stars too shed tears,
And this is why they
Twinkle during the night,
Glistening under and beholding
The great moonlight.
Yet, Trouble being Trouble,
I hesitated to agree.
"'Tis because the sun
"Has set," said Trouble,
"So the stars mournfully
"Weep." I listened intently
But skeptically, and failed
To notice Trouble
Transforming into Mischief.
He scampered away,
To the dark of the woods,
And, with a mixture of
A shriek and a laugh,
Declared, "'Tis true, friend!"
I looked upon the sky;
The sky looked down on I.
Secretly, I believed him,
But the sky I told not.
Secretly, the sky believed
I had rejected the claim,
So she sparkled the rest of the night.

I'M Late Dad

I want to apologize for my burden of wrong
To your ears where my penitence does belong
I lingered in vain, the gray swiftly took hold
Now my contrition will stifle mute and untold

It is too late now and you don’t even know me
Again, you urge me to call your kids and family
Little amused, little astounded you skeptically stare
As I try to get your attention without stirring scare

Like a stranger, you introduce yourself and ask my name
Oh, the one you gave me, I still carry the same!
I keep on trying to say- I am sorry, father
But you insist ceaselessly that I stay for dinner

Earlier, I failed to muster the courage and word
And feared that it might feel a little too absurd
Should’ve tried harder and sooner to turn myself over
Instead of forever yearning and smoldering for closure

Written on:09/24/2016
Contest:A Difficult Topic For You

Life As I Know It

This agonizing pain I feel, seems to have placed itself permanently in my life.
Such Anguish, Indestructible distress; somewhat like a wife petrified for her life, battered 
My brain is disorderly disfused, rather scattered
Optistically I envision uncondensed exhilaration and contentment
Skeptically I  attempt to avail myself from such treatment
The hatred, the resentment
The tears over the years
The aching blackness reveals its  definite position
To keep me vexed & grieved I believe is its sole mission
TAKEN captive, internally contending to overcome this overwhelming struggle called Life
Finding myself second guessing and always  contemplating Twice
My mode of Living is rather quarrelsome, belligerently abound
Vainly efforts only to be bashed back to the ground
But yet Still I must Remain Strong...Keep the faith and Hold

What Secrets Does the Winter Know

What secrets does the winter know,
Would it tell me if it could?
Fairy tales of frost and snow--
Of icicles and leafless wood.
And would I dare believe a word,
Having such a story heard?
Or would I skeptically ignore
Such grand unlikely things?
Or would I earnestly implore
Of it whatever winter brings?
What secrets does the winter know?
I believe I'll trust to see--
Then tell the tales soft and low,
Of winter's sophistry!

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