Long Questionable Poems
Long Questionable Poems. Below are the most popular long Questionable by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Questionable poems by poem length and keyword.
Why does pain hurt,
Why does being restless evoke the mind to undergo seizures of human revoke,
Why is the smile on my face plastic, I can feel it melt to the floor like drip drop,
Why is believing you want me so hard to believe,
And why do I feed myself selfish lies to calm my nerves,
My eyes are open but clearly not wide enough to have my brain pick out my flared sockets,
Why is a question with unanswered answers,
Why is a question that leaves me bothered and I still wonder why!
My ears hear squeaking noise, not very sure if it’s a rat or a man or a woman,
Speech released from your rolled tongue into a thousand forms,
Your actions speaking plain and confusing,
See understanding is easy but overthinking is an art that leaves me paralyzed,
You paralyze me from the waists down, I would probably beg you to hold me before my fall,
But I would probably realize that you were never here at all,
Silly girl, you are not heartbroken, you just read the situation harder than e-wall would hit that wall,
Silly girl you do not understand issues of the heart, chemistry broken down in meth, alcohol is not the solution they say but that’s my chemistry!
Our chemistry!
Silly boy, you made her fall hard, and left her without a lie, and expecting her to smile and say goodbye,
You made her want to leave you, you say you did her a favor, a favor of zero flavor her taste buds were inflamed by the time she left you,
Silly boy now you miss her and can’t come round to convince your mind to carry out the actions of your heart to win her back,
Why you forced her to leave you is a mistery not yet unraveled by your own nonsensical brain cells,
Why is a question with no broken mirror, two sided maybe but it’s an unending question with a fairly non quizzical answer that alsways turns out to be questionable,
Why,That’s a question that will leave me bothered,
So many versions that will probably leave a broken girl scared,
And a sad boy in the sad dark,
And all we can ask is why.
Bipolar
A yellowish day frolics with life, pleasantries errants the air, smiles
growing everywhere as man and beast are one with the leash,
complacency occupies both time and space, the tenants,
of calmness and serenity moves in. That as being first
analyzed as a minor depression is formulating and
will soon be realized. In the distance, a tad just
beyond far, a patch of sky blues, as neath it
an action is afoot, sufficient for all eyes to
unfavor. Murmuring are furthering while
prudence gives way to swiftness of
a widening of darkening as a hue
from black delegates its face.
Opened window's yields to
shutters as doors closed
behind them, a church
bell then rings in the
swing of things, be
all the fun sinks
to glum. Frail
breeze to
windy,
a road
empties
just like a
playground,
air a bit chilly,
while lovers tryst
is bittersweet. A full
storm now cruising, with
punishing bruising, all victims
for its choosing, going out diffusing,
its right to being abusing, being chaotic
and confusing, with all the blowing and the
throwing, pelting rains pummeling, winds swirling
and twirling all going hither, then a calming brooding
cessations abound, resulting, temporary distracting, until
it wither, then all events that were, returns with great failure,
as everything goes thither, in this questionable type of weather,
that creeps about seething then erupting one way suddenly break,
then abruptly explodes the other way, as if, on human terms, bipolar.
2020 February 28
*3rd Place*
Your fave poem 2020 not written for a contest
~~John Hamilton
How much has to be experienced, for any of us to actually see?
Must we be blinded by illusion, or a veil of secrecy?
Can we only listen carefully, and survive this remedy?
Or do we need more senses to concur with, that can agree?
Maybe this kind of corroboration, is just wasted redundancy?
Or has the environment become so clouded, to verify any reality?
Should we just rely on obtuse faith, without the material
observationally?
Seems to me that the truth can survive, the multiple anomalies.
How can I change what has already been changed?
Everything has been tried over a thousands ways,
and there my perplexing question lays...
without a persuasive answer connecting the flow of words
to a revelation that necessity has invoked!
What else can I write when every subject
has already been written about by those illustrious writers?
But there's never a shortage of inventiveness...
that's found in the intellectual cleverness
that's only found in their depth!
How can I possibly replace the gentle pen which flows,
from an imagination so genuine and free?
I'll complete my sentences that wouldn't be an object of envy
of those written in the dreadful eras of restricted liberty;
one must bring more realism to questionable stories!
What new thoughts will be expressed by this mind,
not to imitate or infringe upon those writers' works lauded by society;
and give them proper credentials for their creativity...
one can't help being inspired and transformed by their originality,
great writers or composers wouldn't excel without the precedent!
How can I speak of fairness, if I don't practice it myself?
My human side should be compassionate;
take on that unprejudiced and forgiving look...
I,too, I'm subject to faults and replete with regret;
when my conscience isn't reminded of death!
What can I create from those eight notes
that await the awakening of inspiration from me?
For hours and hours my fingers will pound tirelessly...
on this piano, to write that unforgettable melody
that somebody will hear and play many times!
How can I change what has already been changed?
I'll risk it all by revealing my unfortunate events...
contesting their wills and connoting their faults!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
However flower, however pseudo somehow,
however mere, however weariness of it,
unknown dreams are natural beauty almost draw,
the truth is that life is a journey for us to fulfill it,
there is a mountain here that is not so far,
higher a bit I am not mistaken,
it is called land of spirits, how for sculler?.
Earth full of it kinds is questionable now,
however when a grasshopper is examined to find,
out how wings, it is done that how,
a lot of conscience means excellently good,
when there is a rainbow did an interference,
this is because there is a law that is wholly obeyed,
letting a real government of things askance.
A Life Bereft Of Healthy Risk = >
Absolute Zero Value
Spectator role questioned,
(sans existence, no more
relegated to sidelines), else
yours truly cannot endure
foregoing one after another
golden opportunity to restore
adrenaline rush say jumping
without parachute, (egg nor
ring danger), yea donning wax
feather & wax wings like yore
Greek Icarus, the Greek son
of Daedalus, who did ignore
sage counsel, and blithely fore
went and did not heed score
one, asper plunging to death
yes, a myth, but trotted out
communicating, how I do abhor
venturing off the tried and
true path of familiarity sure
lee avoiding, though contempt
chew us of insularity, + predict
ability nonetheless found call
lore ring within figurative lines
falsely cocooned against popular
misconception exemption threat
ten ning body, mind, or spirit more
to appease false sense of security,
hence, I share plight with Alice in
Chains, not so wonderland deplore
ring this man in the box chicken
s**t to roost stirring outside floor
rill and fauna of invisible walled
din existence ruminating...glore
re: us such insane notion tubby
abducted, kidnapped, stolen...,
no ransom $ asked 4 herbivore
writer of such questionable whim
just airing such nonsense appeases
foolish of this pug nose schnorrer!
The cornerstone turned the corner
reading a map without
ever looking back
A nomad with knapsack in tow
sowed seeds without
worrying if they'd
ever grow
For them it's just a show but
for me the latter
none of the optics matter
while climbing the ladder
of purpose
On the surface the dirty game is
plain to see but many
can't see the forest
for the trees erected
on this plane
These games are ground level 1
& in stark contrast
to a farmer marching
to the beat of his own drum
and self-made treble
Troublesome for frequency counters
for he is one of one
plus 2
I guess countering devilish moves
& the color of night is
similar to playing checkers right?
Chess isn't so black & white so
I double down while looking up
counting all hands
in the equation with respect
Brazen expressions add up to
answers followed by
questionable remarks by
those living in the dark
Supposedly I'm just a number but
within that I am the new
U
An ember in a world going down
in flames shinning
like a diamond yet to be
given a name
In truth I am a Phoenix flying
higher than planes
looking down
at the ashes & pigeons
Even if my wings aren't seen they're
felt like emotions & lava
spewing emissions that bring
out a shine like smelted
gold
We're all the same viewed through
different lenses
but who is directing our
cold comprehension?
I spy a theme colored with & by
an artistic stroke
looking to poke holes
in any sense of hope
Division can go unnoticed
if it is drawn with
the precision of
a surgeon
Make decisions wisely or else
be burdened until
the end of days
Be precise while navigating this
maze for there are some
that pray against
& prey on any
foundation you intend
to lay
We're way past mayday in these
Kamikaze times
& mushroom clouds
will come if they continue
flying blind
No better way to launch the weekender
Than dropping in to see my local bartender
He whips up the meanest margarita in his blender
I can relax and to him all my troubles surrender
He knows the right thing to say to either gender
He’s everyone’s closest friend by no means a pretender
He commiserated when I needed a defender
While suspended for snapping someone’s suspender
He cheered me up when I was the thwarted contender
And understood about my questionable fender bender
He let me run a tab when I was short on tender
That’s where he drew the line to not be a lender
After all he had his own issues with a big vendor
I always cleared my tab so at no time be an offender
Never being so bold as to ask for an extender
For fear of a dry spell for services he’d render
AP: 3rd place 2022
(I wrote this PRIOR to the election, but many of the same questions remain)
I cannot tell you where I stand,
I don't know what to think,
Our beloved country, USA
Is standing on the brink.
The candidates for POTUS
Are questionable, at best,
And I cringe to think what each might do
When they're finally put to test.
See, one is spreading vitriol,
The other lies at length,
And their affinity for bickering
Just saps our nation's strength.
They seem to have forgotten
They're supposed to be our "voice",
And the selfish aims they represent
Just further clouds our choice.
I've never been more worried
About the future that's in sight,
And what our votes may bring about,
Whether leaning left or right.
I'm beleaguered for my children,
And for my grandkids, too,
For this eventuate selection
Will impinge on all they do.
The problems that we're facing,
As a people and a land,
Have never been more critical
Than the issues now at hand.
Our economy and human rights
Are balancing on edge,
And terrorism spreads unchecked
As the caliphate is fed.
New racial tensions plague us,
Foreign policies are unclear,
Immigration needs attention,
Health insurance crises near.
Our defense systems are ailing,
Our penal system weak,
Our cyber systems vulnerable,
And crime has reached a peak.
Our preference is for party lines
Over unity, of late,
And it seems we've traded kindness
For animosity and hate.
Never in my memory
Has this country needed more,
A leader with true character
And integrity at their core.
Yet as we enter crunch time
The lesser evil seems the choice,
For our votes will have no confidence
As we lack a steadfast voice.
I wish our path was clearer
As election day draws close,
And I wish I could be hopeful
For the land I love the most.
So, I'm praying for a miracle
And a light to shine the way,
But I fear we're at dear mercy's sake,
For our beloved USA.
Save peace and hover over it
with your wings of dove, your earthly guards;
no more kingdoms of shreds and pieces,
no more slaves and masters, no more dialogue of the deaf.
Save peace and save it from murderers and villains, the vice of
empire-builders, save it from the naysayers to peace, who pocket it
for cash, and the dishonest ghosts of guilt, pity, and terror, the spirits of
the dead who died in battles gasping for relief.
Save peace like a gardener who sees his flowers bloom, a man dwelt by a
churchyard, who is close enough to Bohemia.
Angels and ministers of grace protect him, though he's in such a questionable shape. Enjoy the golden dew of hope, the timorous dreams of peace.
In all houses in every land, it now suffers night and day.