"enquires" poems
There is a gentle thought that often springs
to life in me, because it speaks of you.
Its reasoning about love’s so sweet and true,
the heart is conquered, and accepts these things.
‘Who is this’ the mind enquires of the heart,
‘who comes here to ****** our intellect?
Is his power so great we must reject
every other intellectual art?
The heart replies ‘O, meditative mind
this is love’s messenger and newly sent
to bring me all Love’s words and desires.
His life, and all the strength that he can find,
from her sweet eyes are mercifully lent,
who feels compassion for our inner fires.’
9.6k
THE MOMENT BEFORE THE MOMENT
( for Linda Rose Parkes )
The sea stands
by my daughter's side
like a huge monster
she has tamed.
"See...sea...my friend?"
she pats and pets it.
Both of them smile
for the camera
as if either
could never die.
This the moment
of the photograph
that fixes them
both in place
held in a forever
of black and white.
The moment
before this moment she
had ****** her hand
into the sea's massive body
and like a surgeon or
a magician
brought forth
a shell.
To her it is
a little miracle.
She plunges her hand in again
conjures up a bikini top.
Blue with white
polka dots.
On her next slight of hand
she creates bladderwrack
with such a casual
nonchalant magic.
"What is..?" she
enquires of me
She falls in love
with its sound.
Will "bladderwrack...bladderwrack...bladderwrack!"
all the way home.
She is my tiny God
making a universe in her own image.
The camera clicks
captures the creator in the act.
Her pet sea gazing at her imploringly
like a Kraken on a leash.
She pats it with a splash.
A wave licks her toes.
The sun shines in glorious
black and white.
Her laughter
my prayer.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
Life is all about fitting in.
A new day at school
Sitting amongst total strangers
for a good couple of hours.
The powers that be say
Do not break any rule
at any point in the day.
Following guidelines
is not that bad,
There are times
when one is sad.
But we have acceptance
and that is all good.
A new day at the office
Sitting with total strangers
For more hours than you know.
The powers that be say
Do not break rules
anytime, any day.
We all follow regulations
It is not that bad
But the time to go home
When the whistle blows
Makes one feel glad
Blood pressure glows
"Good day love?" enquires she
"Time went quick" replied he.
Better when I have acceptance.
Acceptance brings friends, laughter
Makes time whizz like a spinning top.
Brings hope ever after
especially when time starts to drop
Accepted into society
Where trust is the king
Acceptance in life
well that is a different thing.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
When on the sandy shore I sit,
Beside the salt sea-wave,
And fall into a weeping fit
Because I dare not shave -
A little whisper at my ear
Enquires the reason of my fear.
I answer "If that ruffian Jones
Should recognise me here,
He'd bellow out my name in tones
Offensive to the ear:
He chaffs me so on being stout
(A thing that always puts me out)."
Ah me! I see him on the cliff!
Farewell, farewell to hope,
If he should look this way, and if
He's got his telescope!
To whatsoever place I flee,
My odious rival follows me!
For every night, and everywhere,
I meet him out at dinner;
And when I've found some charming fair,
And vowed to die or win her,
The wretch (he's thin and I am stout)
Is sure to come and cut me out!
The girls (just like them!) all agree
To praise J. Jones, Esquire:
I ask them what on earth they see
About him to admire?
They cry "He is so sleek and slim,
It's quite a treat to look at him!"
They vanish in tobacco smoke,
Those visionary maids -
I feel a sharp and sudden poke
Between the shoulder-blades -
"Why, Brown, my boy! Your growing stout!"
(I told you he would find me out!)
"My growth is not YOUR business, Sir!"
"No more it is, my boy!
But if it's YOURS, as I infer,
Why, Brown, I give you joy!
A man, whose business prospers so,
Is just the sort of man to know!
"It's hardly safe, though, talking here -
I'd best get out of reach:
For such a weight as yours, I fear,
Must shortly sink the beach!" -
Insult me thus because I'm stout!
I vow I'll go and call him out!
2.1k
2nd to rise, she enquires
you ready for coffee?
it's only 6:22am
if you're having, I'm having...
she quiet disappears
thinking coffee's coming,
when to this layabout,
it occurs,
she's making
coffee in the ****
get up, make myself presentable,
track her,
the coffee aroma pulsating,
radar signal emitting
sure enough,
coffee in the ****
grinding, dripping...percolating
but what I see is
contrast and
definition
appliance white
stainless
steel chrome gleaming,
walnut wood cabinetry warming in
Vermeer sunlight window in-streaming,
a Chagall and Botticelli duet,
freshly filtered
thru a Manhattan sky
and flesh,
freshly filtered
flesh
is not a Crayola color,
or
if it is,
it's more a spectrum,
than a single shade
but this moment morning
flesh is more realized,
as if recognized for the first time,
by a newborn old timer,
who senses the
comprehension tension of circumspection
circumcised differentiation,
flesh knowledge gradation gained
this poem,
a first attempt at
painting a ****
in words
appreciating task enormity,
for there are currently
insufficient words,
too many striations,
all cannot be straitjacketed to the
vocabulary palette
this then,
but my first definition of many,
of
flesh
so many canvasses,
so many undiscovered shadings
awaiting
****** recognition definition,
composition
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
Took a while to realize that my words revolved around desires
worlds apart were my enquires and my heart on fire
As I claimed to be searching for enlightment my hands were grappling infatuation
In denile I stood, claiming myself to not be hood but doing good and only slightly misunderstood
Mistaken I was
Lacking a clear perspective, a fool I was
As time progressed I became more effective when it came to reaching my objective
Because unless you're slightly introspective, and selective of those you allow to surround you, my life can do without you.
Ignorance isn't bliss
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
You talk to me like a kid,
taking advantage of my courtesy,
You forget that you are just human and imperfect,
yet you take advantage of my generosity,
you make fun of me and we all laugh together
but yet you should know where to
draw the line.
Perhaps, do you want me to set the boundary line?
i didn't think so..
In as much,the atmosphere will no longer be as refreshing
as yesterday.
However, today i am laying my emotions on this rostrum.
Where no one enquires me on this platform,
Hence i liberate myself thus.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
The look in your eyes
Sets a soft, mellow
Musical pace that
Our hands follow
And rhythmically
They waltz,
My fingers partnering
With yours,
I shiver when
Your eager fingers
Turn adventurous,
They settle and linger
Over my lips that
Reflexly part,
My heightened breaths
Mirror my heart's
Frantic desirous
Almost climactic state,
Our fever grows delirious,
It won't now abate,
Until and unless
We satiate
And soothe it,
With fire, passionate.
I'd rehearsed this moment
You probably had too,
But as you lean closer,
Everything's impromptu,
You're nearer than
You've ever been,
Overwhelmed I stare at
Your intoxicating sheen,
We grow bolder and
The moment draws nigh,
But just when we're about to
Reach that amorous high,
I suddenly withdraw!
The silence enquires.
I'm sorry! I'm sorry!
But I don't know why!
'I've ruined it,
Like I've always done,
Our beautiful instant,
Our moment has gone!'
I rue to myself,
When you take me aback,
And with renewed vigor
Breathe on my neck,
Then, as your gentle kisses,
To my lips, slowly progress,
I note, when it's Love,
The moment never passes.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
How easily,
The irresponsibility
Immediacy requires,
Begins small fires.
Which turn to pyres
Before reality enquires
The cost.
© James Rainsford 2010
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 12:46 AM UTC
A gentle squeeze of the hand
A blushing cheek meets his eye
His heart aches, her cheeks blush
Like cherries in a hot pink pie.
He kisses her face, on the side
of her itsy bitsy nose.
She giggles, plays into his hands
Which is holding a **** rose.
His blood rushes round,
he enquires of her intention
She looks at her diary, free next week
the next day does not get a mention.
Disappointment darkens the hour
He fiddles with his tie
She grabs his tie and pulls him closer
and her wet sparkly lips taste of cherry pie.
So sweer the embrace, so full of "I want more"
She relaxes, his hand slides down
and unlocks the key of the door.
That key is stiff he thought
better loosen the grip
She pants, he blushes and
finally reveals her little slip.
So silky, so divine, it falls to the floor
So passionate, so forgiving
and she bolts hastily through the door.
"Come back" he shouts, but she has gone
"Not likely" she retorts, what's your game?
He is confused, as men usually are
"But I thought you wanted the same".
Men and women are from two planets
Men from Zog and women from mars.
Men, well we cant do without them
their annoying habits and love of cars.
Women, we are good stuff, I have to say
But at the end of the day, we're all the same
We like our love in the old fashioned way.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
Don't overthink, they say
How funny they are!
Don't they understand?
I'm too far gone,
Lost in the storm
Now I have to think about thinking
What will they pile upon me next?
Layer after layer of thought
Yes, with each new discovery
Must come a discovery of my previous ignorance
Tell me more!
My mind enquires!
I must know!
I must see fact!
All else makes me turn with thought
Writhe within the taut skin of unknowing
Yet with each puff of the bag
You impose isolation
My mind grows deeper
Gives me more space to lounge in
To cry in
I will hurt for an age
I'm already weighed upon
Already stuck inside a cage
I have built this around myself
You have not piled the bricks upon me
I asked,
Sought after every little thing to make my life a misery
Had I only stayed in the flowery patch beyond these walls
Ignored the problems which had me recede,
Away from the world
To hide behind confidence
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
"Konnichiwa"
A voice calls out,
foreign, disembodied.
Once again but louder-
"konnichiwa!"
I walk dripping from the shower
to the bedroom.
Upon my bed a fresh white towel
lay folded and
upon that my 'phone.
Vibrating,
It's her.
Two women in my room
-one does the bidding
of the other-
The ring-tone
female and Japanese.
I place the 'phone
upon the dresser,
take the towel
from off the bed
and dry myself.
I lay upon the fresh sheets
and sigh.
She calls again.
The voice enquires:
"Konnichiwa"
the tone becoming
increasingly irritable.
I stare at the ceiling.
She calls again.
I turn my back on her enquiry
and lay staring
with my eyes closed
waiting...
re-edit
words and foto Tommy Carroll
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
Who was she?
Netanya
asks Benny
who was whom?
Benny asks
sitting in
an armchair
that woman
who has just
dropped you off?
she works in
home and ware
at the store
Benny says
so why'd she
drive you home?
Netanya
enquires
moodily
I don't know
she just asked
if she could
Benny says
I bet she
fancies you
or much worse
I bet you've
been inside
her *******
Netanya says
don't be daft
she's pregnant
Benny says
is it yours?
is that why
she's friendly?
Netanya asks
are you mad?
we just work
together
at the store
Benny says
so you say
but you would
wouldn't you
Netanya says
steely faced
Benny stands
and walks off
into the
back garden
Netanya
follows him
I’m sorry
I should trust
what you say
she tells him
that's ok
he replies
he didn't
know the girl
who gave him
a lift home
a least not
in the sense
Netanya
had implied
so in that
sense Benny
hadn't lied.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
In a tectonic motion
Mountains have formed
Ridges deepened
In the blink of an eye
In the breadth of a gasp
I recognize myself
Asking why they assume
That we find who we are
Within the singular grasp
Of a mere single soul
For I feed a thousand of them
And they feed themselves alone
Your so-called meditation
Must be taken elsewhere
You must see that it was
Never yours to begin
Watch the rearview mirror
As it enquires the wisdom
I am but a multiple
Left merrily unresolved
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 11:02 AM UTC
My reflection
looks back at me
from the winter
darkened window
every now &
then - borrowing a bus
or a passing truck
to use for a brain
& then: the emptiness
of night flooding
in again or
a clutch of pedestrians
huddle against
the driving rain
drifting through my face
like long lost ghosts.
Rain
turning to sleet.
"So..?" my reflections
enquires of me
"...what are we
going to do then?"
A BMW
its accusing eyes
I watch the traffic
of its thoughts
having to admit
that it hurt more
than a
bit
that, I "...just
don't know..?"
Some crazy zombie leaves
throw themselves at the window
as if trying to
devour my face.
I hope the glass
will hold.
My reflection saying
nothing, but:
I could see it
thought I was
a disgrace
as to the who
the hell
I thought
I was
a police siren
screaming through the smile
I had nailed on
I could feel
I was not
going to
like me
for a long, long
time.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC
Mr and Mrs Proper Smith
are at the gallery
and the next work in line
that confronts them
is a **** woman with green leaves
to conceal her privates
Mrs Smith moves away
with quiet and dignity
but Mr Smith lingers, eyes on the leaves
Mrs Smith clears her throat
and enquires politely:
What are you waiting for, dear?
And comes swiftly
the reply, equally polite:
Autumn
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 7:50 AM UTC
Every house has a story:
Every piece of land has a past and also a story to tell
When l was a little girl:
I would dig deep into the earth looking
For proof to these stories: a perfumed bottle, a piece of rag,
You name it: I know there was a story.
I remember our first home,
After, moving out of my grandparents’ home
An old run down board house, with the open ceiling
Two bedrooms, no build in bathroom,
Somehow, my parents made it our home
For my siblings and I:
Something about the Iron bedhead caught my attention
The color of black, a little rusty, on the rims
But, l likes that old head board.
My parent got rid of the old head board
Just to keep up with modern times
I wish I could have kept that thing
I know where it is buried: in the gully
Those childhood memories of me
Digging into the earth for artifacts
Every piece of land is unique;
As well as every person is different..
Even the poet within me, seeks,
Not for treasures, but for answers,
I recently made some enquires about
Old man town man piece of land
Everybody wants it, but nobody can get it
Lots of stories can be told about this land
But not enough about the man character
They is lot of things I wish I done different
As a young adult, but I guess,
it wasn’t meant to be:
Today I am calm, yesteryears I was
That, poem that never was publishes.
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 11:02 AM UTC
Viva our Anarchist, viva our Revolutionaries
those magnificent dudes in their underwhelming cabral
with shining mad grins showing unwashed brown teeth
they devised another supernova anarchical dastard deed
Here comrade
we anchor his neighbour to his parked car outside
remember the neighbour is same national as the Mata Hari girl
we make the neighbour engage him about the car
just casual enquires and info about the car and knowing a possible
buyer for the car
off course there's no buyer
all this is just the anchoring bit
Then
We steal the car,yes we steal the ****** car
No one's gonna talk, we have them all in our pockets
we already told them he's loaded and a parasite
a leech bleeding us the working classes
everybody hates him, there are all on our side
Bingo.......!
He's gonna go spare, that will do his ****** head in
he's gonna think neighbour has something to do with the theft
he gonna hate that neighbour, he may even go confront him
but not only that, he's also gonna hate the Mata hari girl
because neighbour and Mata hari come from the same country
so that's his love life ruined and no friend for our man
Isolation quickens mental breakdown plus all the grief and stress
Ahh....is that devious or what ........
we're not anarchist for nothing
we create emotional hurt and pain for the man
we give him grief and stress, we frustrate the ******
we foil his plan to go meet the Mata hari gal
it's all suffering and depression all the way......
( But we know he's not meeting the Mata Hari girl,
we know there's nothing going on in that end )
( Yes, we know that, silly, but the punters we are using
as gang stalking perpetrators, don't know that)
(Keep up with things, we manipulate them and all the other
foot soldiers with lies, delusions, distortions and make them all think, they are controlling the man, do you want further training
we are rogues and con-artists, that's what we do, silly!)
Our intrepid leftist Anarchist have foiled a non-event again
The used and manipulated crowds are all smiling in satisfaction
A car has been stolen with community approval, another Tax they say.
The man has not hated or blamed his neighbour he is not an emotionally immature or unintelligent fool
the man has not anchored any of this to Mata Hari, who is also
just a pawn as are all the other contributors to this saga
This is how the Anarchist Leftist divide people and infect communities with Hate, division, unrest and ill wills all round
This is the politics of Hate and Division
This is how things roll in Modern britain today......!
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 2:23 PM UTC
NOW, WE IS: 60!
A Year 8 child
enquires how old I be?
"I be
just...60!"
He gasps.
"My God...you're very active
for 60!"
60 for him is
a distant planet
in a galaxy far far
from here.
Yea...another
dimension.
I smile my 60 year old smile
perfected by now.
I am starlight
that will only reach him
when he is
60 himself
if he ever
remembers what he has
long ago
forgotten.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
**she pretends~polite irascibly
enquires:**
“So far, and so early,
when your day begins,
when the main brain
rebels with that creature of energetic ether,
be it midnight or any hour
thereafter,
before daylight
brings you new clearer
and brighter brilliant visions of the
hereafter,
and the earnest hours allow your disquiet
pre~tense that you’re going about you busyness, which is a plain brown paper wrapper guise,
to write more poetry’s
that thy thine, your
“eyes~command, nay, demand?”
“And where are my love poem daily promised, premised that it’s a requirement
for our cooperative living arrangement?”
“I am familiar with your many ways, poet,
all your names, viewpoints, specialties,
your secret personas, insider insights that
fool no one, so start your every twenty four on a left foot forward, questioning us, yourself, where shelter lives, even inviting any and all passersby to come inside your scheming mind, and stay awhile, jointly**
compositing
upon your uncomfortable
Adirondack thrones, while permitting the sun to burnish brown caramel your inner sweetness, and the wind to bring you scents
from faraway places, to pluck and insert in a variegated languages plurality, to spice up
those written words you ridiculous store in your tiny iPhone, typing one letter at a time,
trying not to fall behind what the mind is
churning and breeding?”
“Furthermore and finally. confess, confess,
your shame, shame,
shame!!
it is my
name
that
deserves the unvarnished truth,
without my
everything,
your poetry will
wither like
a week old roses,
that she/me/da boss
is the one true
authoress
behind the
boy/oy/toy/pretender
to whom I give my very
soul’s inspiration…
Nov 16, 2024
Nov 16, 2024 at 8:21 AM UTC
Ask why ...
It is an almost unnoticed rivulet of enquiry
that can lead to a torrent of understanding.
an ember to ignite a vast blaze of discernment
Ask why ...
not a statement, not a command,
nor a suggestion, it is a bridge
spanning a chasm between what is and what could be
Ask why ...
it will stir up the cobwebs of complacency
**** at the known routine, lay naked hidden motives
habit and convention are shaken
Ask why ...
it forces excavation of purpose.
gets to the very marrow of impetus
it clarifies, it challenges, dismantles
Ask why ...
it insists on lighting the murky shadows
enquires, at the foundation of reason
it is the beginning of a quiet revolution
Mar 20, 2025
Mar 20, 2025 at 5:16 AM UTC
THE MAKE UP ARTIST
She staggers battered and bruised, neglected but subjected
A one time beauty, an enigma full of grace
But now a simpleton,a travesty admired by dogs and spied upon by scavengers
As she trudge on in line with debris leaving her shanties
Alas beckoned upon by a stranger, so charming but too good to be true
She enquires, are you another "sweetsayer" with vision 2030?
In defiance admist a covered nose saved from rotten breadth
He says I am a Make-up artist. A maker of beauties and a moulder of youths
Lets go to my parlour of dreams
Let me wash the mud off your feet
Treat you like a queen so nice and sweet
Restore your youthfulness and bring the world under your feet
Put food on your table while i watch u sleep
She feign a sigh and wonder
Have met this stranger four years ago
With charming smile and lips glossed with blood of dreams aborted at foetus
He asks if I'll need a manicure or pedicure
But will it cure the madness of of poverty and battered ego?
Follow me to my parlour of dreams he says
And let me watch away dirt off your feet
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 3:06 PM UTC
"Heart for sale"
One heart for sale, one careful lady owner.
Reasonable condition all things considered.
A little worn, a little weary but still a few miles on the clock.
Beats well when loved.
Has been broken but due to much care and attention is now available to a new home.
Looking for payment in kindness, happiness, love, smiles, companionship and respect.
Occasional chocolates treats would be desired but are not entirely necessary.
Will beat as long as you love and cherish it.
Will always beat for you and only you.
Will make your life endlessly happy given the chance.
Comes with free packaging.
Although outer wrapping maybe mistaken for packing noodles and bubble wrap, it is essential to hearts well being..
and as such must be bought together as one item.
All enquires to the number below.
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 12:52 PM UTC
ZAK'S PRAYER
Little Zak
(just a little scrap of a chap)
with a deep Barry White voice
enquires(as he enquires
about everything) :
“Why is your hair white? ”
He listens patiently to the explanation
how after a head injury
“I went white overnight! ”
Being a good Christian child
he tells me
he will pray for me
for the “black to be back! ”
I’m very tempted
to dye it for the next day
just to prove his prayer
right.
When his fervent prayer
doesn’t turn the situation around
...he frets:
I tell him
God & me
are both happy
with it…like this.
“Really? ”
He asks.
“Really! ”
I affirm.
“Have it your own way then
but man...
It makes you look
old & grim!"
I grin
tell him that I am what I am
but that I can live with it:
"Ok..!" he sighs "...have it your own way!"
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 5:45 PM UTC
It is just past 07:30
and dark of course,
we are in Ireland.
Looking out the window
at our famous mist which
doesn't exist,
My lady enquires
of the weather:
" Rain Dear " ?
Bit late for that I replied,
Santa Claus will be long
gone by now!
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 2:31 AM UTC