Why Poems - Poems about Why

WHY TEACH HISTORY

May we be blessed to understand 
the words of Leszek Kolakowski
Who understood how teaching history 
could take a country far….

We learn history, he said, 
not in order to know how to behave…
or how to succeed…
but to better know who we are.

Brian Bilston's Breviloquence

Don't have to be a sleuth

To find ample proof 

 A well worn trampled truth

That to besmirch 

Not be kind

On a pedant’s perch

Scorn and be aloof 

Is quite simply uncouth


Snooty snotty sniffy 

In a jiffy drives me potty

The spiffy getting iffy

You've gotta be pithy

Must be dotty


Semantic severity

Temerity to stifle

Getting a trifle squiffy

Like a lush

Quaffing &

Why I Do Not Go to Live Concerts

four wild looking guys with guitars are on tv
wearing pants that are way too tight and too short
jumping around the stage
shouting words that I do not understand but loudly

the audience is screaming happily
people have their hands high in the air
doing some kind of weird wave thing
this is a reminder why I do not go to

FBI ARLINGTON HEIGHTS ILLINOIS WHY AN FBI INFORMANT LIVING IN EXHILE IN FLORIDA KILLED HERSELF

LIVING IN FEAR SURVIVING PTSD ANXIETY DISORDER PANIC DISORDER AGRAPHOBIA NARCOLEPSY HEART PULMONARY DISEASE ASTHMA TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY CAUSED BY THE GARGANO CRIMINAL GROUP 2003 I CONTACTED THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION ARLINGTON HEIGHTS ILLINOIS CHICAGO AFTER A JAMAICAN CARTEL BROKE INTO MY HOME WITH CIRO GARGANO ARSON MURDERER OF 8 RESULTING IN 9 PERSONS

Why Do You Crucify Me?

I done nothing wrong—just breathe, just be,  
Walk my own path, live quietly.  
One day at a time, no schemes, no fight,  
Yet you cast your cold vendetta in the night.  

You whisper lies to badge and law,  
Paint me a villain with a crooked jaw.  
Try to run

You Are Why

I want you to be why
I scream and sigh.
I want to act shy
While I am so high.

I want you to be why
I am as happy as pie.
I want you to slowly try
Without me needing to pry.

I want to cry,
For someday we all die.
I want to scry,
To see if we never say goodbye.

I want to cry...
Something

Why? - Tune of our mortal coil

The tunes of my cries goes
Why the breathe, the life?
A question that has creapt its way in and taken root into my very soul
At times a wail but mostly a cry to be freed of it all

Why?

No recollection of a choice but here i breath
So fluid life goes yet i fight the reality of conciousness
A

Why you like imperfection

If you look at a still pond,
you’ll see your reflection,
but it’s more vivid or unclear to see
because it is not meant for showing your reflection.

A mirror was created for that job,
but why do people like to see their reflection in water
when it’s not as clear as a mirror?

Because, at the end,
people like the imperfect thing
in

Why the Shadow Departed

Have you ever stood still—
noticing the sudden absence
of what once followed you everywhere?

We think we know the reason.
We stitch guesses into tidy shapes,
as if they could fill the hollow
left behind.
But truth is slippery—
most times,
we can’t hold it at all.

We are meant to lift each other,
not pile stones in the way
of someone else’s climb.

So—
gentleness can outlast

Why Dad?

Why Dad?

Why did you have to go

Why did you leave me

Why did you pretend something never happened 

Why did you put me in this situation 

Why did you yell at me

Why did you tell me you still loved my mom

Why did you leave me with trauma 

Why did you lie to me

Why did you overdose

Why do we write negative poems?

It’s raining outside-
no, more than that.
The rain falls in blocks,
thick curtains that turn the world to ash and silver,
smothering it in the hiss of splattering drops.

Outside my old home
stood a bamboo tree, four meters tall.
On days like this
(when I wasn’t welded to the TV)
I’d watch its branches bow and sway,
like a fishing rod straining
against some

Why We Fell In Love

As I shed myself for you 
                     piece by piece 
May I never lose sight 
            of who I am 
   

Why us?

Why as black women do we just have to accept everything 
Can't complain just accept the bare minimum 
Treated like mothers who didn't get a choice
Forced into a life of sacrifice 

Treated like animals but stripped of dignity 
Our lives were never ours just a product of control
Used and abused like some rag doll
Dressed to

Why are they running'

I hear the sound of a truth train now coming.'
Then I notice many people running.'
Why are they going back uphill.? 
In the wrong direction.? 
Into the darrkness lurking and still.'
Also back into treacherous times.?
Must be they are bad..?At reading the signs.?
I thought that they were all on board.' Within the
Mind. ? Have i been over

Anne Sexton, Why I took My Own Life

I wore my mind like a corset—tight, laced, unseen—
while the world asked me to smile with lipstick teeth
and stir the soup without stirring the storm inside.

There were mornings I woke as if embalmed,
already dressed in the hush of death's silk slip,
no reason, no riot—just a fog that would not lift.

The walls of my room pulsed

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