Long Question mark Poems
Long Question mark Poems. Below are the most popular long Question mark by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Question mark poems by poem length and keyword.
I saw an ad for a brand-new fridge.
It made me jealous - just a smidge,
For every time its doors do close
(Which happens often, I suppose),
It snaps a photo, which is sent
Right to your phone and it is meant
To help you out when at the store
In case your memory is poor.
You low on milk? Your butter gone?
Your cheese used up? Rely upon
Your phone and fridge to let you know
The aisles to which you need to go.
A written list? That's so passe.
Technology will lead the way
And take us to the very brink
Of where we'll never have to think.
(don't know why the Soup won't allow question marks in the title...)
Redemption
I was young, when I remember my mother
clasping me with a dinosaur of a hug;
the type that would last all day!
Then she caught a bus to go shopping;
I waited ..put the day on hold.. waited.
And painfully, I am still waiting,
for she never returned – ever!
From then on, my father was home much more
but he was always vague about life,
where he was and where he was going.
I learned later…. much later,
that my father was an actual criminal on the run!
(At that time I wasn’t sure what criminal meant…..
but I do now!)
My mother was gone, so my father was home!
But there was always a fog, a blurring around him.
You would ask a question and words like
sort of, maybe, I’m not sure, would vaguely flutter by.
He was a question mark with legs.
However he was loving and caring towards me
until the police arrived several times, and Dad said,
“Time for us to be gone…..to move on!”
I then learnt that my father was both a criminal
and Mother of the Year!
Eventually I was softly told I was being fostered
(another word I didn’t know and grew to dislike).
I was put with a family but was never comfortable,
especially around my foster father with his pretend smile
and his very violent leather belt.
Each day my clothes became heavier;
I learnt to keep my eyes down, just disappear!
At night, I would lie in bed chasing sleepy sheep
until nightmares would crack open my eyelids.
Eventually, to my delight, my real dad reappeared
and we were on the road again.
Rucksack on my back and motel to motel,
drifting like steam, not much schooling
…..only in crime.
He taught me to steal and told me stories
about working dog tracks and local markets.
Then his thoughts would drift off
seeking answers in the shadows.
However, one day the police took him away
and this time he never returned.
I was put with foster parents who actually cared
until one day it was gently explained to me
that my father had died in prison.
I suppose my father was an unsolvable jigsaw,
always with a missing piece.
To this day I still wonder if my father’s love
was redemption for who he was and what he had done.
Father to son…
“I am a good man, as I am a loving father!”
Ian Souter
I am reading my eyes in a library mirror.
I had perused a yellow book:
‘Astronomy for Dummies.’
It could be an electric reflection of the light
but I think I see a solar system
looking back at me.
I recognize it from a picture in the yellow book.
It’s my own planetary cluster, although, like the book,
It does not rightly belong to me.
There is a question mark behind planet X, I guess.
and the sun seems to be returning to cosmic sperm.
Jupiter has shrunk to the size of a copper penny
of course it’s hard to judge size in a public library mirror
that needs cleaning.
I see all this in my right eye, in my left eye
a tiny human creature is curled like a fetus in a womb
It is (I assume), a proteogenic me; what else could it be?
Am I being born again, am I going back to God,
is there another book for dummies
I should have read instead?
This and other great universal questions
occupy my mind as I enter my parked car
to drive home.
I take an intergalactic short-cut,
a road that is less busy at this time of day.
Ran the fields under a sky too small,
Dirt on my hands, dreams in the fall.
They pressed my collar, starched me white,
But my restless feet never walked in line.
Oh, I’ve been the stranger in every town,
The question mark when they wanted a noun.
I was the other, the one misplaced,
A shadow stretching out of its frame.
Burned in the desert, welded steel,
Turned every heartbeat to something real.
She tasted like whiskey, I tasted pain,
Still I keep spinning like a hurricane.
Jungle vines wrote their stories on me,
Tollbooth nights, counting change endlessly.
She broke my spirit but not my name,
Still, I bled just the same.
Oh, I’ve been the ghost in every room,
The silent hum of a distorted tune.
I was the other, the one misplaced,
A shadow stretching out of its frame.
Burned in the desert, welded steel,
Turned every heartbeat to something real.
She tasted like whiskey, I tasted pain,
Still I keep spinning like a hurricane.
Laid off like last year’s coat,
Learned to bend so I wouldn’t choke.
Now the airport is my only home,
No roots, just windblown bones.
I was the other, now I’m the storm,
No flag, no land, just the shape I’ve worn
From the outside looking in...
I’m a southpaw,
one of those left-handed,
upside down,
have to curl my arm to write,
backwards individuals,
liv’in-the-left-life
in a right-handed world.
Think It’s easy, e.g.,
being a leftie?
Think again...
we’re out of place at dinners,
have to master backwards scissors,
built specifically for righties and
we are forced to learn everything, in reverse.
We wear permanent spiral wire imprints
on our left arm from trying to pen
our feelings into a right-handed
spiral-bound notebook.
One day, I decided to break the rules
and now all of my journals are written
back-to-front, blowing busybody minds.
Forget writing calligraphy,
a left-handed, oblique set of pen nibs
costs twice what the right-handed ones do
and they are about as elusive as garden gnomes;
what, you don’t believe me?
Try to find a set, I dare ya!
I’ll bet there’s not a store in your town
that stocks them, even though lefties
exist in huge numbers.
I spent 20 years trying to do calligraphy
with a right-handed, oblique pen;
(thank God for the web or
I’d never have found a set.)
In parochial school,
the nuns forced me to
turn my paper to the right;
now I am a half ambidextrous leftie.
This did not set well with my Mother
who wanted me to be the individual that I
was born to be...a leftie.
So, I turn my paper to the right, alright,
curl my arm into a question mark and
write upside down.
but , I play a right-handed guitar.
"The Theory of Positivism"
It’s criminal
all theories tie that life
in neat tight black bows
the presents under
that tree of life
wide spread
arms once wide open
now closed
are presence of mind
essence embedded
in a heart shut tight
pumping blood cold steel
silver bullets
tutorial delivers the student
an exercise exorcised
in a class room
all glass barriers
broken
revealed in sharp shards
by observer
with scientific mind
articulated
strings
unravel irrationally
Love is the Key
that opens
and locks all doors
Irrevocably
no tears shed at weddings
future turns it back
on past tensed
were there
weddings
question mark
in time
sealed
official
red wax
stopped
Survival
reflex
temporal
hushed
yet
revealed
Pull the Trigger
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
“Remember Us” / Aqualung feat. Sara Bareilles
https://youtu.be/J5Ecrt96ojo
Assessment, 2.
How can we “cure” deviance when psychological positivism has many
distinct and conflicting theories?
https://openoregon.pressbooks.pub/ccj230/chapter/4-6-positivist-criminology
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Positivist_school_(criminology)
https://www.bartleby.com/essay/The-Psychological-Positivism-Theory-On-All-Of-F3EBSL9CPLL5
trigger.
https://www.goodtherapy.org/blog/psychpedia/trigger
LYRICS/ "Remember Us", Aqualung feat. Sarah Bareilles
https://genius.com/Aqualung-remember-us-lyrics
In a misty fog enshrouded pool
of blue and green, so dark and cool
something stirs both to and fro
it's unlike anything you know
It's more like something that you fear
and you would dread to venture near
From old branches moss grows long
as swampland creatures sing their song
A figure passes through the gloom
tall and broad this shadow looms
Within this watery realm it's bound
beyond the threat of being found
In seeming solitude it wanders
deep inside, what does it ponder?
In this primeval greenery
amidst the verdant scenery
mysterious creation stands
on two legs, and with two hands
The boogeyman of ancient lore?
Here in the flesh from days of yore?
Did it spring from mystic mind?
A shambling tulpa left behind?
Man-like ape, or ape-like man?
Nature's indecisive plan?
Can it exist, yet leave no trace,
this shadow being with no face?
A puzzling duality
at odds with this reality
Perhaps it isn't really here
a stark reflection of our fears
Just what it is, I'll leave it be
within that swamp so far from me
For I'm not brave enough to go
discover more than I now know
It's better left a mystery
A question mark in history
Beneath a pearlescent slice of moon
Shining bright against the lonely eventide
Abided a laughing, loving tune – musical notes
Quite natural, so feral they sung
Of a sensuality softly bringing a craving
Breaking out in the shadows of starlight
Crimped and crinkled like a question mark
Asking questions peppered with mystic conceptions
On love, romance and passion
All the flavors of excitement bound up
Within a howling hope so alive it will thrum
With a tang, dancing and laughing
To the sound of raindrops falling down
Sprinkling thoughts so plumb
They make the heart desire the fire
That thrives when embers are stirred
On the inside of those who know love
Is much more than the first inklings of a plea
Flowing from lips who are pure and free
To kiss without ever telling
Touch without ever listening
And know that this feeling will eventually
Lead to more than a mere emotion
This affection will ultimately bring about
A devotion that can only be expressed
Through the time spent sharing the seasons
Through the good, the bad and the in between
Through everything that comes
Into the heart and the soul
Of those two who know
Love is a living thing – and it flows
With a river of kindness
Excitement, enlightenment
Through waters of pain and sorrow
Through silence and noise
It breathes in whispers of joy
Bringing forth a sense of adoration
That is beyond the wildest imagination!
Eight word Bardenesque challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
March 14, 2021
Left behind to sigh?
Six days and twenty three hours
And fifty eight minutes; waiting for two.
It’s been six days and twenty three hours
And fifty eight minutes that I have been waiting to talk to you.
If one day I get the chance to tell you how I feel,
Then I hope you will take the time,
To see my love for you is the real deal.
I wish I could convince you that my feelings will not change;
For two minutes, I will wait for fifty eight,
Plus twenty three and six more days.
My stop watch tells me stop day dreaming,
About a love that can never be;
But my watch it doesn’t know anything,
Except that the time is twelve-o-three.
You see last night has come and gone and by now I should be asleep,
But still here I lie thinking about you and six days and twenty three.
If tomorrow I see a sign that leads me away,
I will be sure to pay it no mind, because I have words I have to say.
If you are loved by the person that you love,
Then I will disappear into history;
But if you too are waiting,
For something good to walk into your life,
Then maybe I should try, to show you a piece of me.
This heart is all at odds, because it thinks it is time it became a pair.
Do I carry on with only you in my sight?
Or do I sigh like you were never there?
Zombie walking hand in hand,
With the nothingness of single life.
Fix me; let me try to be your man
And maybe you could find somebody that you really like.
This is no time to be wasting time;
All or nothing, not a one night stand.
I want you, now it’s your turn to decide
And tell me how I can make you understand?
A question mark has appeared on your lips.
We have so much to learn in two minutes of time;
But for fifty eight minutes and twenty three hours
And six long days, I have been waiting for you,
To tell me if you like me, or to just walk away.
Are you really going to just leave me behind to sigh?
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Dear life or well I was going to say God but well we both know I am not a believer in all that. So, I guess I will just call you the question mark. I spent my whole life being told what I had to believe in this or that and told to keep.
my mouth shut and do as I am told. I never did as I was told ever. If I had well this paper would be not be written.
For many years I thought I had to live up to everyone's standards on how I should act told to stop writing and focus on the wrong person. Told to keep certain things to myself but when I did then others would get mad. Been called everything under the sun by good "Godly" people. I know I should just get over what had happened to me but we both know that is harder then just snapping of my fingers. Why did you do it to me? Why did you send that person in my life to show me how weak I can be or to test me? It seems my whole life has been nothing but tests. When will the test be over with?
I would like to know my grade now. Did I pass or fail? We know that I paid my dues nine months in that dark place because someone decided to put me there. Guess you never thought I would get out of it. You keep sending me people into my life to take them away soon as I get close to them. Who will it be next time? You probably won't tell me just to keep me on my toes. Sooner or later my breaking point will come. The fact that it hasn't yet should show you who i am. Keep throwing those fast balls at me maybe I'll knock you out with one because we both know that I can do it. But I do have to say that I am grateful though for being able to surpass what they thought of me all those years ago. I just wish it didn't come with the this itchy scar. I will tell you one thing I'll keep going on until I can't anymore. I will also keep questioning everything. I might even write some of it down. Catch you later on life.
_Jesse