Incredulous
Incredulous.
They stand deluded,
Inside their heads...
Fantasized.
Incredulous.
Those stances taken.
The heartbreaking done.
With a stubbornness unbecoming.
And a waste of time,
Spent faking.
So incredulous.
Empty rituals with untried faith.
And attempts to make,
What is not there to embrace,
With a 'reality' selected in its place.
Incredulous, yes!
On faces left and gone unaddressed.
And those that are not...
Must choose from them to leave.
Incredulous people,
ARE to be believed!
Do 'not' try to perceive them,
Otherwise.
Incredulous are those,
Who defy truth!
And wish to live their lives...
Totally in the worship of lies!
Incredulous!
And defying a mind satisfying,
Correctness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
What Is Accepted Without Fact
It is incredulous!
'What?
What's incredulous? '
What is accepted without fact.
'What is accepted without fact? '
That which is not true.
'What is not true? '
Nothing!
'That's incredulous! '
That is what I said.
'Correction!
You said, 'It is incredulous.'
Not that 'nothing' was.
And no need to sneer at me!
Who brought the subject up?
You! '
...are an idiot!
'R 'is' an idiot.
You did not say that correctly.'
It is incredulous!
'Whatever.
I'm not going through this again.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Mud Throwing Grudgeons
It is incredulous to me,
The number of people I had regarded...
As having some mental stability.
With an ability to connect dots...
And a fitting of pieces to put them together.
Find it safer to allow themselves to be dumbdowned.
I can accept being labelled ignorant.
Among other choice names I have been called.
I can accept having been told I live in my own world,
With a perspective on life that drips with cynicisms...
And sarcastic trimmings interpreted to faultfind.
I am a writer choosing to use that as my creative license.
However...
What excuses are left for people to make,
Not to see the forest for the trees?
When it is obvious they hop over falling branches,
Like unseen obstacles.
And the ones who point this out to have others cautioned,
Are said to be disgruntled and embittered...
Mud throwing grudgeons pivoting themselves to disrupt.
By what?
A jealousy to refuse,
To beat their heads up against tree trunks?
And a refusal to do this is shown as a sign of envy?
Who is spiking the tea these nuts drink?
It is incredulous to me,
The number of people I had regarded...
As having some mental stability.
With an ability to connect dots...
And a fitting of pieces to put them together.
Find it safer to allow themselves to be dumbdowned.
If a brick wall is constructed to be just what it is,
Why do those persisent in their protest,
Make declarations with demands and wishes...
To have those bricks replaced with cushions?
And grant with allowances to have their intelligence,
Abused.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Incredulous Creed
Inflated are their claims to fame,
And nonexisting deeds.
Overblown has been their worth to others...
And what they have done,
To fulfill the 'little people' and their needs.
With destruction they've created opportunities,
For themselves.
And to feast like beasts...
Has been their thoughtless spreading of disease.
With division and conflict they have manage to suppress,
Those they have chosen and believed...
Were powerless,
With no defense.
Inflated are their claims to fame,
And nonexisting deeds.
Overblown has been their worth to others...
And what they have done,
To fulfill the 'little people' and their needs.
Monsters amongst us reveal their incredulous creed!
With insensitivities outspoken...
Clear are their thoughts,
Of the ecology and its nature.
And how all of it affects every aspect of humanity.
Unbelieveable are their beliefs.
Insensitive as heard and spoken.
Unbelieveable are their beliefs.
Spineless are they who have our backs broken.
Unbelieveable are their beliefs.
Insensitive as heard and spoken.
Unbelieveable are their beliefs.
Spineless are they who have our backs broken.
Monsters,
Amongst us...
Revealing their incredulous creed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Why Is It So Incredulous
When children are taught,
That a telling of truth...
May invite dire consequences,
They themselves produce.
Why is it so incredulous...
A manufacturing of deceit and lies,
Has been the most increasing commodity...
Very few attempt to hide!
As if this is a surprise.
And to whom?
Those stuck in denial to place others on trial?
With a buyer's remorse that brings to them gloom.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Blowing Kisses
As incredulous as this may seem,
There are some places where people live...
Where the showing of disrespect,
And turning one's back on opportunities...
Is a teaching that is taught to others to perfection.
And in those places,
There are those who scheme...
To weaken those with credible influence,
Through the use of character assassination...
And the telling of the most fantastic of lies.
'You have a very creative mind.
When do you find the time to make this stuff up? '
It has to be a 'fluke'.
Or a dysfunction of some kind,
That interfers with my mental process.
Since where I live everyone is observed blowing kisses.
And those who refuse are murdered.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Am Using My Option to Exaggerate the Truth
Of course I'd be lieing,
If I said I have never lied.
I'm just not doing it right now.
I am using my option,
To exaggerate the truth.
At least I have a few,
Of those options left to use.
You?
On the other hand...
Are motivated to lie.
With a telling of the truth as optional.
And you have long used up your options,
As well as your credibility.
But don't concern yourself about that.
Your reputation to be a liar,
Is incredulous.
In fact,
Your thought process...
Has been determined to be corrupted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Adoration Of The Kings
From the Nativity
which I have already celebrated
the Babe in its Mother's arms
the Wise Men in their stolen
splendor
and Joseph and the soldiery
attendant
with their incredulous faces
make a scene copied we'll say
from the Italian masters
but with a difference
the mastery
of the painting
and the mind the resourceful mind
that governed the whole
the alert mind dissatisfied with
what it is asked to
and cannot do
accepted the story and painted
it in the brilliant
colors of the chronicler
the downcast eyes of the Virgin
as a work of art
for profound worship
poem by William Carlos Williams
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Some Fortunate Dead
Those, who are gone, left in the memory,
An incredulous effect. No one can believe that these folks,
Then and there, are no more. They are gone in the sea,
Without saying goodbye, they are living in the black space.
The dead are never gone, they are missing, buried
In an inexplicable void. They are somewhere; nowhere.
They neither live nor breathe. They are scattered
In the hearts, in the erroneous minds of the street, somewhere.
It was yesterday that the new dead were laughing and dreaming,
It was this morning that I saw them live, live, in flesh.
I thought they were all the close friends of Methos.
Those, who are hardly living, abruptly found peace,
The rest they sought since the first leap of the heart;
They are now away from fear, sorrow and pain.
poem by Hebert Logerie
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Pulchritudinous
Why are those people strutting around,
With such a pulchritudinous arrogance.
As if they've been hypnotized,
By a scent of their own greatness.
'Those are the 'new' influential leaders.
They have been just designated,
As the most dysfunctional representatives...
Of extraordinary ignorance,
To represent the best interests of the people.
Since any documentation has been kept.
And they have taken a pride,
In the crumbling of those foundations.'
But...
Hasn't what they've done,
Is to themselves?
Primarily?
'Of course.
But they have done it more effectively.
And this,
As they perceive it...
Has been their greatest achievement to date.
They plan other such events in the future.
That is what they are promising.'
That can not be the reason they celebrate?
That's absolutely astounding.
The peak of incredulous.
'Sssshhh.
One of them just heard you say that.
Look into his eyes.
See?
He is elated.
They are glazing over as if he is euphoric.
He is thrilled.'
But no one.
No One,
Is 'that' unconscious!
'Not him.
Not the ones dressed in suits,
Looking like zombies.
Not them.
Over there...
The younger ones.
The ones who appear as if,
They have just graduated from college.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Windswept shadows...
A place where shadows, disassociate
Themselves; from bough and leaf green stem.
Where these dissolved mulches conflate!
In that, that is no longer—mayhem.
A place where shadows; indemnified.
Once sort not to be contra or defuse.
Bones of these ashes fall hearthside!
Souls of these embers a fire imbues!
A place where shadows, incredulous
In number proliferate like stars
Cluster in a galaxies nebulous.
A being of enduring light pulsars!
A place where shadows—strategically,
Golden; disappear, reappear, heavenly...
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Resolution
The cat jumps, a shadow falls from the wall
and pools on the floor
Not like the moon's but like itself, gibbous.
Into oscura, into what we fail to see
file fifers in time running on into meadows and on:
Can you blame them for seeing the beautiful use of things?
Good, the greater part of it, anyway, must somehow lay in
sanctioning useful delusion-
you, on whom these bloom and choir like birds,
isn't it so?
and you, maestro, strangely incredulous,
of shadow lorn as Venice at noonday,
living on garlic, numbers and sweat,
viewing even past blunders threads to a perfect eye,
say it is so it is so.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Incredulous
It will sound incredulous to you but,
This is an incognito to their names!
For they are trying to put the earth into the state of malleable,
But i am still the sophomore student next door.
Are you talking of the sleeping beauty around you?
Then try to satisfy your creative deisre with the peace of nature;
For i am still the sophomore student next door,
And if you are incorrigible to yourself then think twice.
I thought it was a transient act,
But the very quiescent realms of the higher Spirits are now disturbed!
And, we have to cover our heads to see what is below us.
The quest of an identity and the quest for love,
Satisfy your creative desires with the peace of nature;
And like the erudite state of my mind.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Like eyes that looked on Wastes
458
Like eyes that looked on Wastes—
Incredulous of Ought
But Blank—and steady Wilderness—
Diversified by Night—
Just Infinites of Nought—
As far as it could see—
So looked the face I looked upon—
So looked itself—on Me—
I offered it no Help—
Because the Cause was Mine—
The Misery a Compact
As hopeless—as divine—
Neither—would be absolved—
Neither would be a Queen
Without the Other—Therefore—
We perish—tho' We reign—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Life is an Allusion
Life is an allusion.
She’s a wicked witch. He’s a nasty Grinch.
We can’t be placed into a genre.
We’re as unchanging as the seasons.
A basic simile.
The inference that we all make on a daily basis is not intelligent at all.
Completely different.
Everything we do is somehow a complete satire.
The opposite; almost like irony which we’re surrounded by everyday.
An incoherent, figurative language is spoken,
We never know what to say or do.
Is it literal or not.
Life is alliteration in the making.
Anxiously awaiting another annihilation announcing another abomination.
Life is assonance going on and on.
Slowly suppressing something sliding sullenly, sickeningly into our hearts.
The metaphors by which we live are incredulous.
She is the light in my sky.
He is the heart inside of me.
The idioms are even more surprising.
Jump off a bridge.
Take your bow.
But how we live by the hyperbole “Life is a never ending chess game”
Is the only thing that makes sense
poem by Vanessa Kingsley
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A Respite
While easing on my lane of life,
I was facinated by a handsome weirdo.
Keeled over by his stunning ochre eyes..
I found my lost inspiration in his incredulous smile.
I rued for many things in my life
but i wont fret for tipping over a person with whom i could never utter...
Till the time i ramble, the best thing i could get is...
'Inspiration' from his enticing brown eyes and his fillip smile.
Once I decamp this place and I sit in my garden with those ravishing blossoms
My thought would wing its way back to his stricking gaze and entrancing smile.
when a petty naughty smile would pass on my visage.
poem by Priya Govindh
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The Kid Around The Corner
There's a kid around the corner
Who is filled with half-formed fears;
He is growing rather wistful
As the Christmas season nears;
For a hint has reached him lately
That has made him wonder greatly
If the jovial old Santa
Is as kind as he appears.
But the kid around the corner
Has strong faith in Santa Claus
Notwithstanding dread depression
And all economic laws.
Could we run this sad old earth right
Such a faith were all youth's birthright.
If you asked him why he holds it
He would answer 'Just because.'
There's a kid around the corner
Who will wake on Christmas morn
With his faith renewed in goodness,
Or, incredulous, forlorn,
With a child's trust sadly shaken . . .
Then how would we have him waken
In whose hands rests the miracle
Of Santa Claus reborn?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Grief
I TELL you, hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to God's throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness,
In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare
Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare
Of the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, express
Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death--
Most like a monumental statue set
In everlasting watch and moveless woe
Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.
Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:
If it could weep, it could arise and go.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Wicked War
War measures undertaken at midnight
Seemed pitiless, wicked as pitying;
The call to arms of a special race,
A race of demons not warriors
To overtake the other devils or lucifers.
Beggars pulled their jokes now,
Like cadavers, like corpses of height;
They blink hardly well at the light of power,
Not escaping the powers of hatred
That out tricked them.
This is bloodthirsty and incredulous.
A bloodbath ensued, fighting was ignorant
Of tactics, of some strategy,
Yet everything vanished from the battlefield
The next day, after uncertainty.
War had legs and we had arms
As fit as civilians.
The cadavers became a redness
On the field of great slaughter.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Snare of the Fowler
' Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.'
I WRITE for those, of whom I know a few,
Young, pretty, and a little bit flirtatious,
Who would do even more harm, if they knew
The science of the Art of being Gracious.
Science in any game, we know, will tell,
And those who play this ought to play it well.
First, do not doubt that rivals please a man
(Not too successful ones, 'tis understood) -
They flatter him as nothing you do can,
And give him certainty his taste is good;
And though, at times, a little in his way,
They make him find the house he haunts more gay.
Do not abuse the girls he likes - 'tis far
From wise - for he will only think you spiteful;
Praise them, and show how ludicrous they are,
And, ten to one, he'll find the joke delightful.
From which I draw this never-failing rule:
Love lives through slander but not ridicule.
Do not appear incredulous of vows,
As is the way of self-distrusting youth;
A little doubt civility allows,
But not too long should you impugn their truth.
In short, if you would give true satisfaction,
Express belief in words, and doubt in action.
Should the day come when he is not the same,
Do not reproach and treat him like a sinner
The fault is yours. Find out the lady's name,
And be a friend, and ask them both to dinner;
And, I have heard, the game not always ends
When two old lovers change to two good friends.
poem by Alice Duer Miller
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Transfiguration
She says she loves me but not as much as thou hate me now
Still when her words articulate, thy voice dwells in my ear
On one knee I kiss her hand, but to thee mine heart bow
Thy hate as sweet as this one's love, tis truth my love I fear.
A scoundrel I am, deceiving love with love so vogue
Her eyes in crimson pools swim in thy heart's ardent passion
To fervor her love I pretend she is thee, with the heart of a rogue
I confess with solemn grace, dressed in happiness behind beauties fashion
Devoid of truth but full of love I whisper 'my sweet I love you'
I see mine reflection in her gleaming eye and over mine shoulder aloof
Defining my heart with thy cold stare I see you mine heart true
Incredulous this woman sees in my love, thy portentous sooth
And cries out 'something is wrong this is not me but who? '
I look again and deep in her eyes I see not her but you….
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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