Long Questions Poems
Long Questions Poems. Below are the most popular long Questions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Questions poems by poem length and keyword.
A dandelion flower
as a child I was told
if picked
you would wet your bed
I gazed lovingly for hours
at her bright yellow flowers
something I did instead...
My dilemma
to pick or not to pick
was is it true
what picking a flower would do
or did she play a real mean trick
so I'd never pick
those bright yellow flowers
that I lovingly gazed at
for hours and hours
My 'bestie' named Rosie
had left me perplexed
in a quandary
not knowing
what I should do next...
Then one sunny day
in the month May
just as I was passing
with questions unanswered
still floating round inside my head
Upon drawing closer
to my utter dismay
her bright yellow flowers
had all gone away
Instead what was left
were fluffy white balls
like gossamer wings
exquisite ~ so fine
and softly I blew
the most gentle of breaths
as they floated like fairies
translucent ~ divine
Though I'm now an adult
I've still never picked
a dandelion flower
her words hold such power
For Rosie my 'bestie'
cajoled and convinced me
never to pick them
that this tale was true
So now I ask you ...
Do you know?
Have you picked one?
Did a dandelion make you wet your bed?
Or have I been well and truly mislead...
Written 1st April 2019
Contest: Dandelions
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
3rd Place
Contest Brian's Choice L
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
Inside this cave, my refuge, nave
I bend and stretch and breath,
to find myself among the ruins
of ancient places, faces, and history.
Although I strive to change the tide
of my own motivations,
something akin to a Zephyr wind
has me returning to old foundations.
Cornerstones, above the bones
of ancestors crying out in vain,
“I too once lived, loved, and looked above,
beyond mountains, clouds, and rain.”
Within my walls I read the call
of (by far more) learned minds,
who looked beyond their own demise,
to future points in time.
Beyond hate and war, the kind that tore
humanity apart at the seams,
cataclysmic, apocalyptic,
nightmare scenes.
Socrates knew, as Plato too
but they were only the beginning,
of a line of thinkers, knowledge drinkers,
all of them underpinning.
How we should live, think, act, and dream
From day to day and night by night,
great thinkers lived that they might give
a more beautiful, brighter, shining light.
Their list is longer than King Tut’s curse
and all the books throughout the earth
could never touch
their individual or collective worth.
From Pythagoras to Parmenides
Democritus to Hobbes,
St. Augustine to Aquinas,
Ayn Rand to John Rawls.
From Thales and Anaximander,
Homer to Thomas Kuhn,
AL-Ghazali to Maimonides,
From Budda to Sun Tzu.
From ancient days to modern ways
of beckoning the questions how and why,
Inside this cave, my refuge, nave,
I bask and ask, the Oracle at Delphi.
UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
By Curtis Johnson
Over the years, through the valleys, over the hills and mountains, I have come to believe. In good times and bad, in stormy experiences that made me sad, or in seasons of joy that made me glad; In the dark nights of pain, or in the brightest days when I thought that I never deserved such blessed gains. In times when I was spanked by the moon, frowned upon by the stars, or awakened and kissed by the rising sun; When life was tough, and every path it seems was rough; when some dreams did not come true, but crashed at my feet; Through poverty and disrespect; through pits of despair, and periods when it seems that heaven itself had gone silent;
There are the moments and fazes in life when we thought we had all the answers; but yet we fail to even ask the right questions. So in the midst of this life of beauty and beast, and this battle of bitter and sweet, what is it that I have come to believe?
One of the things that I have come to believe is that neither happiness nor success in life is ever achieved alone, nor yet in isolation. I have come to believe that God purposed that an understanding of duality is greater than the concept of singularity. We require connectivity in both the natural and spiritual worlds, which portray to us that everyone needs someone else.
As a child I not only had someone else, but I had someone in my life through whose eyes I could do no wrong. If God smiles on such a one with such a person, and our eyes are open to behold such love, one will never forget it. God forbid that such a person should ever be your pastor or your teacher, nor yet your father or your mother. If there is any notion, please perish the thought that that person would ever be your sister or your brother.
In my case, grandma was always there for me, believing in me, encouraging me, and making me feel truly special. I beheld and received such love, and I can only hope and pray that I shall be found worthy of such love. May I also give love unconditionally. cj010308
I failed the relationship?by being myself too accurately.
There was nothing dramatic about it.?No betrayal.?No fight worth remembering.?Just the slow discovery?that I was a compromise.
You didn’t leave suddenly.?You adjusted.?That was worse.
I watched you subtract effort?the way someone stops watering?a plant they’ve already replaced.
Same sex, same bed,?and still I felt like?the wrong answer?arriving confidently.
I needed more than you could give?because I had less than I pretended.
I asked questions?that only insecure people ask.?I noticed things?secure people ignore.
That was the problem.
I made my doubt your responsibility.?I turned love into maintenance.?I required proof.
Eventually you realized?being with me?felt like work?that never ended.
You didn’t say I wasn’t enough.?You didn’t have to.
The silence was efficient.
I understand now:?relationships don’t fail loudly?when the flaw is fundamental.
They just stop trying.
And if I’m honest—?this wasn’t about timing,?or compatibility,?or even love.
It was about me arriving?already behind,?and asking you?to slow down?so I could pretend?we were equal.
2024.4.25. Thursday
It was ANZAC day, a public holiday.
It was our 2nd trip, we visited SR.
Misjudged the weather, cloudy and windy,
Crossed the bridge twice
Misread the bus time table,
Ended up wasting lot of time,
Sitting at the bus stop waiting.
The weather was drilled, the sky was grey,
The wind was brushing on our faces,
It was cool than expected.
On the way back to Melbourne,
You expressed your disappointment.
Our V-Line coach moved slowly,
Tagging along some transporting vehicles,
Which carried lot of cattles.
All of a sudden, you became so silent,
No more curiousity questions.
I observed and saw uou pulled your face long,
I asked "What was wrong?".
You said you always have special place in your heart,
For these unfortune animals.
You starred your eyes as turned your head to one side,
I looked out the window and actual saw the cows,
Gazed at us with their sorrow eyes.
The next day, I messaged you
I was so sorry the trip had some unpleasant situation.
You replied that you were hurt,
Not only your toes but also in your heart.
I simply shook my head and stated.
"Sorry B, could not help you, mate"
It was our second trip,
It also turned out to be our second last trip.
I still could not believe it.
It has been exactly one year,
Since we did it.
How could you be so cold blooded,
Able to end our friendship
And wipe off all the memories.
I wished I could forget everything including you.
There shall be this day,
When I do not even remember who you are.
Today, after 366 days, the memories
Of the entire trip flashed back to my heart
To warm me. once BB and I
Had have a good time travelled together.
I am now on my way travel to Bright,
Where I should be brightened up
With the colourful bright autumn leaves,
Rustling of the leaves on the maples trees
Which line up nicely along the streets of this city.
I have come here at least three times
This shall be the fourth and the last
Without my friend BB and any of them.
United Natives of America 7th generation uprisings.
March 24, 2018
A Lakota Mothers Prayer
(From: Searching For Crazy Horse)
________________________
‘Wana Hin Gle’ the Lakota call me,
‘Wana Hin Gle’ my given name
‘He Who Happens Now,’ the drum beat has found me,
reaching into this moment beyond glory and fame
As ‘Wana Hin Gle,’ my spirit has wandered,
as ‘Wana Hin Gle,’ my ancestors call
The questions dissolve, as The Great Mystery beckons,
the campfire eternal, the chanting enthralls
“Wana Hin Gle,” my Mother calls proudly,
“your horse is now ready, your shield fixed with bone
Off into the prairie you must ride in the twilight,
the People will dance until their son returns home
Wana Hin Gle, you must now happen quickly,
the buffalo are all captive, starvation allowed
Your eyes look upon the great Wakan Tanka,
whose absence has shamed us, who once were so proud
As the great Tasunka Witko who traveled before you,
you must wait for your horse to come out of the lake
Great Mother River and Great Mountain Father,
to your will they entrust what The People forsake
Your vision must suffer, the babies still cry,
the cold through the tent flaps, all future in blight
You must leave us now, but leave us in darkness,
for when you return, a new vision will burn bright
You will ride to the top of the ‘Pass Of The Bears,’
ask the Grizzly, our brother, if the demon still preys
If it does, you must kill it, for this time and always,
it has hovered above us keeping spirits away
The White Horse will take you from the lake to the mountain,
and the stallion will sprout wings with its hooves fiery hot
You will trample this demon and burn him before you,
the smoke will then signal of what he is not
Wana Hin Gle, my son; the time is for going,
your vision awaits, past-futures on hold
The Medicine Woman is locked deep inside you,
your People die waiting—the young and the old”
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)
Copyright © Kurt Philip Behm | Year Posted 2018
We come together as a family; my friends and me.
Each bringing what we said we would.
Two or three bringing extra things that are duplicates.
Six people, and we have three pumpkin pies.
Hilarious! We laugh about it.
Everyone talks at once, telling the same stories.
We pause at the same times, ask the same questions.
Laugh with appreciation, pretending we have never heard them.
We are friends, who have formed a family.
For our families are young, doing young people things.
We are older, and have more in common because of it.
We talk about the original Saturday Night Live shows.
We start 1950 commercials and finish them for each other.
“Plop plop fizz fizz……………………………….oh what a relief it is!”
“See the USA in a ……………………………………Chevrolet!”
We have made Thanksgiving into a family event.
Our family, the family of friends.
If my right hemisphere
deep roots around in dreamy primordial emotions
longing to see morning's money sunlight,
to color early midmorning questions
green ideas
emerging bilateral conversations
dialogue about mystery
and overly-commodified history,
Does my left hemisphere
emerge stems
stalking future leaves
then emerging fertile flowers, articulate?
then seeds, implicate
healthy integral potential
longing to incarnate portentous
afternoon's pretentious communal activities
preparing to sing and slow dance summer evenings
While repurposing reverent questions, medications
worthy of a night's rooting
right hemisphere prominent
meditations.
If I had a time machine, I would visit Samuel T Coleridge
My favorite poet of all time, the author or Kubla Khan
"The wailing of his demon lover” sticks in my mind
Delighting me every time, especially today, May 1st, 1803.
As I was speaking to Samuel, his pal William Wordsworth would drop in
They would ask me if I wanted to write a ballad with them.
I would be thunderstruck with happiness but too shy to do it
However, I would clap in rhythm as they created
Wordsworth would talk about his deep love of the
“Beauteous forms of the natural world”
I would be amazed by their vocabulary
They would both blow my mind out into the hills
I would set my time machine to 1858 next.
To visit Jules Verne, one of my favorite authors.
I would ask him how he thought to create
Around the world in eighty days and twenty leagues under the sea.
Amazed that we still speak of him in 2025,
he would have a zillion interesting questions to ask me
I would set the time machine to year 1868 next. .
My last stop would be to visit Louisa May Alcott, author of Little Women.
Thinking we do! Living or not we all do ! Giving we all do to who we give we do! Laughing we all do! We all pass through the valley of death through pain regrets a sadness too and our bodies stands the test of time to fuel our aspirations
I once was young but now I am old! Never seen the righteous forsaken!
Never cried alone always child protected loved sound mind in the atmosphere of life joy gifted blessed questions gone love of heaven silent stand a love song request.Never asking myself why! But all the rest yes! We ask! With a helmet of salvation secret covered veil of interest a eagle eyes warriors vision. The eagle eye shining on who when how where within myself the shatterd zone! Then the battle with self begins lifelong! Remembering never is I alone in the swords of life is drawn line upon line within myself my spirit my flesh my soul all is there one body one way one life! We stand !The lines are alway drawn!