Best Inquest Poems
Now that only forgotten promises remain,
sounds of solitude are gifts I wish to obtain.
Sentiments are temporary in a world full of change,
affections are wasted in an insincere exchange.
Some say my words are engraved too deep,
others feel expression is only cheap,
so close your mind and enjoy your sleep.
because if you hear me then you'll weep.
Sometimes we have to forget our hearts visions
Life don't come with any terms and conditions
Forgive me if I seem emotionally challenged,
as I hide my feelings when everything seems unbalanced.
My soul's invisible, your ignorance won't see it crying.
Inquest of a grief stricken heart concludes into spirit dying.
Trauma vibrates like an orchestra of lightning horns,
with fate bleeding thistles in a rose garden of thorns.
In the mourning of seeds that blossomed too soon,
breathless, I wrote my name with stardust on the moon,
but now i wander in a meadow full of nettles,
as the ink of life is a burden upon the sepals.
With silent sighs hidden behind a poetic verse,
I ponder if the quill is a blessing or a curse.
Sometimes we have to forget our hearts visions
Life don't come with any terms and conditions
Forgive me if I seem emotionally challenged,
as I hide my feelings when everything seems unbalanced.
You see...
I'm struggling to discover a reason to survive,
so I stand here screaming at the Grim Reaper to arrive.
He mocks and laughs at the patheticness of my pleas,
whilst inner demons offer my soul no apologies.
I can see cosmic imposters in ebony horizons,
misleading like fake guides sparkling like diamonds.
Reminds me of a veiled star that never forgave me,
who betrayed me to decay in the death of my poetry.
Sometimes we have to forget our hearts visions
Life don't come with any terms and conditions
Forgive me if I seem emotionally challenged,
as I hide my feelings when everything seems unbalanced.
Oh regret, why do you look back with such anger?
Sometimes words are the most toxic form of cancer.
Are these just twilight stories before a prelude of sunset,
or unwritten feelings I've learned to suppress, to forget?
I approach the wooded trails and hear nothing save for my footfalls crunching in the soft snow. It is the kind of winter day that even a feather falls without drifting one way or the other. The trees stand straight, tall, and silent, their branches appearing as if they’ve been painted there. The water in the nearby stream is crystal clear and motionless, reflecting the cloudless morning sky. It was still, utterly still.
crystal waters flow
reflecting winter’s stillness
peaceful Christmas scene
Copyright © Sara Etgen-Baker | Year Posted 2023
A loud string of clear down-slurred two-parted whistles reach my ear. There is a little red cardinal tucked between thick foliage. Its an architectural beauty, an inquest. He looks at me with two round eyes then shows me a circular world made up of silence and noise. We are standing on a precipice of the Sacred. A unanimous ground holding space with Nature, Creature & Human, alike.
winter evergreens
snapshot of a Cardinal
perched on my nightstand
It’s all of three feet long, in order it is not,
And then there’s all the other stuff she’s probably forgot,
The first thing on the list, it simply just says, ‘beans’,
Is that broad beans, baked beans, whatever does she mean?
Next is the marmalade, there’s a hundred in the store,
And if I get it wrong she’ll say, ‘it’s the one I had before!!’
There goes another ping, it’s the fifth message to date,
‘Don’t forget the milk’ it reads, ‘if you can accommodate?’
Next it is the bread - brown and white and crust,
With a helpful little note saying, ‘the thickness I’m not fussed!’
But the note that takes the biscuit states, ‘get something for tea!’
Now is that for the both of us or possibly just me?
Course the final item on the list takes me back to the first aisle,
It’s another lengthy trip, so far I’ve clocked a mile.
I reach the checkout desk and there goes another ping,
It says ‘tomato sauce, oxo cubes and a pack of chicken wings.’
The checkout girl senses, my frustration and dismay,
By honestly enquiring, if I’m having a good day,
But I look at all the stuff she is bleeping at the till
And wonder how, with three bags, I’ll ever fit it in!
At home comes the inquest of each item I have bought,
And all items not listed, I’m well and truly caught!
The marmalade is wrong, the butter isn’t light,
But think I’ve done quite well as it’s fifty percent right!
Staring into the stratospheric abyss
Cumulus clouds swiftly drift along.
As I stand at a dusty precipice,
The white-hot heat of the sun beating down,
Microscopic gravel crunches beneath questioning feet.
A flood of overwhelming emotions washes forth,
Whilst a broken heart is drowning.
The last words you spat at me, stuck on repeat,
Play like a needle scratching a broken record.
Cupping my ears, I try to shut out the incessant noise,
But it just ricochets like emotional shrapnel,
Piercing into my tormented psyche.
Reliving the vital few seconds of a scene gone so wrong—
Have we somehow traveled past the event horizon,
Becoming an implosion of complete annihilation?
As the wind whips past, sending ripples through the air,
I frantically search the debris for answers.
Grasping at particles of dust—
Invisible atoms of desperation.
But they're unattainable.
It is to be our downfall,
Just as a resolution to this inquest
Disappears with the sun
As it wanes over the mourning horizon.
LIZZIE BORDEN
Poor miss Lizzie, a murderess acquitted,
By a judgment’s ruling of her peers,
Yet command by histories theatrics.
Astound damsel, to the wealth’s elite,
A matron’s old maid, imprisoned by
An unjust fate.
By the falling axes sharpened blade,
Two lives ended, ensuing the public’s
Scandal and out rage.
Does not the rhyme in time not state,
The accusations inquest to her guilt,
Without evidences accuracy to the accused.
Used to frighten the rich and poor
Children alike to behave or else, did this
So go, Lizzie Borden took an ax,
And gave her mother forty whacks,
When she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty one.
A bloody odes melody, left to
History's swinging hatchet’s,
Rough unsheathed edge.
Rocking, chopping a ticking
Time bomb, of the pasted.
Her story's haunting mystery,
Still intrigues the Sherlock Homes
Detective, in the common man.
Whom did this dirtiest of deed,
The foul plays miscreant, that
Got away with murders perfect
Crime.
Three ghostly voices scream
For justices revenge, a father,
A step mother and the daughter,
Proclaiming her own innocence.
Lizzie Borden's name, lives on
In Infamies guilty court of the
Unforgiven.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
All hallows eve night
Just one scary night in fall
Bats bit my isthmus
I changed my figure
Wearing black cape with shadows
Two fangs from my jowls
This tale of that night
Secures Halloweens darkness
My solemn visit
Poetry soups stay
Only at night I sojourn
Seeking blood delight
This Halloween time
I seek more than blood request
Poetry inquest
To live once again
In daylight and be set free
Normal mortal me
Is war coming? Are we headed for another crazy cataclysm?
My sons, draft age. Only now can I appreciate the pain
so sharp it drains the color from one's eyes, your reason
for living gone in a spasm of violence to be forgotten
never by survivors. This fear could become real as no movie
is surreal enough to distract attention from the certainty
you did not do enough to deflect man's trajectory.
All could be well in the end but history portends
a periodic bloodletting followed by a quietus
without mercy. What's the best that can be said:
he died beside his friends and buddies. Steady
on to your own inquest and rest. A perfect rest
that improves upon the inadequacy of your efforts.
What solace can be found in the remains of marriage.
So you better fight back now even if that means
war comes sooner. At least you're fighting back, but how?
Take a minute to meditate on purpose. Science
cannot save you, neither can religion. Abstaining
from violence with love, letting prisoners go, detaining
no one at the border, inviting Chinese and Russian
scientists to our shores, defusing your own anger before it detonates,
none may be enough to save your sons.
A war president needs war, whatever. A trained
and deadly warfighter. You become what history wants
you to become. You survive if you're lucky, if not
so what, your old parents will be alive only briefly to mourn.
Then they too go to their good graves and the pain dies down.
In the meantime a new generation builds a new space station.
Since the vortex will be sucking up the poor,
let's not let the rich escape untouched. All go down
together, no one hoards gold or gets away with fiction.
If we have to fight let's make sure we fight as one,
the sons of the rich side by side with the poor's sons
and their daughters. You want slaughter? Then
let every city and back road know the new order.
I would rather watch Lalaland ten times over than have
to write this poem. I can leave home and live
in a tent or bunkhouse, eat dinner out of a tin cup
and drink water from a wooden bowl, give up
music and most of my memories to save my sons,
to save the world and avoid this war.
But that rarely happens. One is lost and found in what happens.
(Argument for the Biblical Account of Creation.)
I don't see why some people try,
without reason, to reach a conclusion.
They must haveconceived an end to be achieved,
through pre-supposition already chosen.
They accentuate the positive, ignore the negative,
and, apparently, find comfort in illusion;
to prove a connection they've already reckoned
will fit their pre-supposed delusion.
Yet, steadfast is truth, we find from our youth,
in solving the age old mysteries;
by following the evidence through reasoned inquest
of science, and accurate histories.
True science has shown aging to be known
affected by the rays of the sun.
Bible history attests longevity was best
Before Noah's Ark made its run.
We see man's age decline right in line
with the canopy deluge postulation.
Now, we can't see how fitting this must be
from the onset of creation.
The Bible also lists, a pre-flood morning mist
rising to water the earth each day..
Would this not lead to the conclusion indeed
of a water vapor canopy in play?
Then, the canopy fell as rain, quite well,
all the habitable land to cover:
"the deep" broke up making the oceans a cup;
can we logically conclude any other?
Urchins of the sea have been found to be
upon the highest of mountains.
Wouldn't this tend to show proof of a flood flow,
and its ebb into the fountains?
Don't ever pre-suppose a rose, a rose,
if it looks some what a carnation.
If you do, I must firmly assure you,
You will earn reason's indignation.
Reason can surely be a help for you and me,
if not corrupted by pre-supposition.
Think it all through, ignoring the Bible won't do
You'll be found in an untenable condition.
Lionel
monotetra
Our school’s sylvan woods hosts new guests,
A slew of deer ticks could infest
the ancient football stands with pests.
The coach is stressed; the coach is stressed.
Venerable dean is abreast;
he spots some juveniles at rest
and sends them searching for tick nests.
Nature's inquest, nature's inquest.
Opossums can clean up this mess.
The mysterious students press
dumpsters where possums feast and fest,
a quick arrest, a quick arrest.
The prisoners are put to test;
swiftly they move, nests they molest.
Tranquility! ticks are suppressed;
Coach is impressed; coach is impressed.
written May 9, 2016
Rendered seed concealed in Love's nest
Tendered sapling fondling mother's breast
Adolescent twig fluttering with pubescent zest
Immature leaves on mating quest
Maturing frond passing coupling test
Cherished branches sprout; hearth's bough dressed
In due time, seasoned fruit; perpetuity's crest
Stale, desiccate limbs; vitality's inquest
The changed wind today,
Blows a spontaneous rhythm;
Endlessly on broken chords.
As every He/She pendulums blindingly,
To blend and bend themselves craving for,
Inquest of a roller-coaster joyride inside;
And ultimately is found to return,
Tuning itself in-wards;
On blind voyages from somewhere to nowhere,
From nowhere to somewhere.
For everyone is found to be guilty here,
Burning in an eternal guilt;
To get born again and reborn again.
Rejoicing on others guilt,
Relying to live on our ancestral Grand Father’s spit;
Whilst, one like me simply gets gone;
Going on blind voyages towards countless destinations,
Tripping to n fro within.
To dive, plunge and sink into,
A private world of our own;
Where we sailingly dream to fulfill,
All the sprouting desires of this mind;
After weighing them on,
Our personal Jesus’s sunbeam.
Frequently chased by so many trillion thoughts,
Innumerable beliefs, relentless creeds and scrupulous dogmas;
Which haunts to finally halt on,
Any ageless question mark to recur all life.
Alas..!!! A self-realization returns,
With empty hands.
To be left alive only with,
A realistic blank vacant and pseudo existence.
Ooh! For we all are fellow-travelers here,
Traveling in the same boat;
Strangely acting to live,
A life in search for some non-sense;
In-quest of a mindless state,
A timeless space
As the living law of life righteously suggests,
That truthfully everything changes to be non-existential.
For we all have emptily arrived here,
With nothing to gain;
And nothing to lose,
Just to have a splendid vacancy in vain; during our return.
Thoughts poured:
Dated on — 9th Feb’ 2011.
WHO AM I
Who am I anyway; a hare-brained mongrel?
A tree lightning struck on sedate shores?
Deadwood burnt lying in the grave of forgetting?
A firefly turned into scorching torch?
Or thunder challenged screaming at the lightning?
Today I am in the sky where a red sword
From a swarthy ocean furiously flashed
Between blasting billows of earth’s passion
Am I not my friend fearing this sword-thrust
Into this far sky coalescing into
My black blood’s steady vermillion whisper
Where is the truth that deliquesces not
At my patient inquest into this burn
Its never healing itch and identity
The rain soaked bird and its song is sunk
The river is in flood, my thirst is but quenched
I strain to break through my birth-bonding skeins
By S.Jagathsimhan Nair
Date: Written about 20 years back
For Gautami Phookan's contest
Who can view me behind the fence ferrous!
Those infiltrating eyes bear me desirous!
Unveiling what was previously hidden.
Keeping this same watcher has striven.
I figure you should say, "What's in plain view!"
Penny for your ideas as they decay in a dark row.
Truth is a precursor to the hotly slated freedom.
The spilling from torn gum is giving a storm!
Am I a true enchanter worthy of notice?
I feel you crying, so please, let me focus.
I never set up in front of an audience.
I starve to escape the irritating sequence.
But does it work to retain me from leaving?
This clutter adds to the overall styling.
Do they have any considerable difference?
Do I cave in, or do I dazzle with my openness?
What has me scared! How am I striving to hide?
None, however, can bear reality inside.
After the Inquest, I cast the net vast and bleak.
Induce them all to cave up the skill to peek!
Written: October 3, 2021
My journey is long
My path is so wide
I've met many souls
In which to confide
I've seen many scenes
I've done lots of stuff
I've walked varied roads
Both easy and tough
I've soaked in the sun
I've cried in the rain
I've basked in some glory
And ached in some pain
I've trembled in fear
And stood solid ground
I've felt human love
When it gathered around
I fell to my knees
At the thought of the end
I raised my hands high
To ask for amends
I've broken the chains
Of the bondage of life
I sought education
And married my wife
I can't say I've never
Looked back in regret
But I keep looking forward
To what happens next
The world is a garden
An orchard. A feild
We must learn to love
All the things that it yeilds
One bad apple
Doesn't spoil the bunch
If it did, we wouldn't
Have apples for lunch
I have much to say
To the world in my realm
My mind is a maelstrom
And I'm at the helm
I think that there's more
To this thing we call life
Some have their fortune
And others have strife
But how would it be
If we could exchange
Could we handle their pleasures
Could they handle our pains
Life is an edict
That's been handed down
The poorest are humble
The richest are clowns
But they rule our world
With their gold coated hands
And expect us to live
By their every demand
With their hand in our pocket
We're held by our throat
They're asking us, "Now,
Just how do you vote"?
We have the right
To choose who they say
Will be voted in
At the end of the day
But where is the peace
And where is the love
Where is the life
That we're dreaming of
Alas poor Urich
The future is here
The day is approaching
That we all must fear
The inquest remains
To determine our fate
Let's hope it's not based
On a world filled with hate
Let's learn to live
And let's learn to love
So we can all gather
In Heaven above
Rockman :-)
I get a severe case of ghetto epilepsy
when it goes skin dark at night
Get a bad reaction ... very violently,
to any rearview flashing lights
Hear the loud siren behind,
see the shiny badges moving towards me
Fear gets cuffed to my mind —
Being black at night ain’t the color to be
Always ready to recite the blue uniform mantra
from the “Black Survivor Guide” handbook
Smiley face attitude, too often just ain’t enough ...
Racial profile consider this a suspicious look
Flashlight come tapping on the window,
it’s time for a minstrel rehearsal
Give an automatic lip involuntary flow,
just be calm ~ no mood reversal
Keep the eyes down,
keep the voice low
Raise the hands high ...
do it very, very slow
Speak to the officers respectfully,
say: Sirs, did I do something that was wrong?
If so, I didn’t know ... believe me
Hope their trigger finger ain’t an itchy bone
If sweaty hands get fidgety on the gun
don’t give ‘em any nervous firing notions
Still in doubt about the final outcome ...
politely repeat those same exact motions
Keep your eyes down,
keep your voice low
Raise your hands high ...
do it very, very slow
Suddenmovements will get you shot
by the brave, “Serve and protect”
Resist pleas will buy you a burial plot,
from a coroner’s morgue inquest
I hope you don’t suffer from a bad case
of ghetto epilepsy, my night time skin affliction
Or have a dark mood like my black face
If so, then you can expect a code blue condition