"inquired" poems
There once was a young man named Feste, and he was not a very good young man.
He was a thief, and a sneaky one at that. He would go to all of the stores in the market and steal anything that he pleased.
He loved to steal from the baker and the butcher especially.
He would go to his hiding place in the forest after his deviousness and eat away his stolen treasures, brooding on what a “clever little boy” he was.
The baker and the butcher knew though. They noticed him coming in most days and leaving in quite a hurry. They could not actually catch him in the act, but they knew beyond a doubt what he was doing. They were having drinks together one night though when they devised a clever scheme to stop him from stealing ever again. The butcher carved up a juicy ham, and the baker baked up a delicious pie, but they added a little something extra to it…
The butcher made sure to quite a bit of alcohol into the ham, and the baker did the same with his pie. They both set their two traps in the store, right when the spoiled thief Feste came strolling into the market with his eyes gleaming.
The baker watched him walk into his shop,the pie disappeared.
The butcher watched him walk into his shop, the ham disappeared.
They both smiled and went about their work.
Feste rushed to his hiding place and devoured his stolen goodies so fast that he didn’t even realize how peculiar it seemed to taste...
Not long after, he started to feel strange. Numb and stupid. He ran towards the village, acting a buffoon. The villagers stared and laughed at Feste acting so odd. His mother found him though and brought down the fury.
“Feste! Why are you acting like a **** fool?" She demanded.
He threw out a few words in a drunken stupor and swayed in place.
"Wait.. have you been drinking!?” She screamed.
“Noe maum! Allll Ie had todae is pie and haam!” He stammered in a drunken sway.
“And where exactly did you get those!?” She inquired.
Feste had a look of terror on his face and grew silent.
He was found out to be the no good thief and was punished severely, because his mother thought he stole the alcohol as well as the pie and ham, and he couldn’t prove otherwise.
Feste never stole again and he even apologized to the butcher and baker, though they still do have a laugh now and then…
The End
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
They brought a great big elephant
Indeed, they brought him everywhere
It is a massive elephant
Still, nobody seems to care
For that reason, I inquired of this elephant
Because I simply could not ignore
So I asked them why in the hell
Would they bring an elephant for?
An elephant is so obnoxious
It drives me up the wall!
When people readily ignore it
Just because it's against the law!
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
So I scuttled up, until I found a voice like Japan, I read him his rights, turned out the lights, and laid right back on the sand. They said, "Sir, he was much of a father to me, but we were labeled his kin, right in our family tree." "Oh wow", I said, with a gentle, smooth voice, he went missing last August, but now he wants back you boys?" "Oh yes, he sure is a feral man. We think that's why he dried up and flew to Japan." Right then, the two of them went silent just like two second story men, so I inquired, "What happened then?" "From Monday thru Sunday he took to prayer from the bible, and on every other weeknight he watched Japan's Top Model. He threw gallant parties to a harem of wives, he read each of their palms, and looked in their eyes; some time later, when everyone was about to leave, he'd turn on Happy End and start a wild **** By this time I was tired, the sun began to set, I grew tired of my beach patch and yearned for my bed. Although soporific, I tried to be polite, I said, "Let's finish this conversation some other time." "Of course!", they said, "We're off to bed. We'll see that you'll do the same." Then they stood up quick, and reached down and picked up my chains. The beach we laid on was black top, asphalt and tar, the bed I craved was behind a row of private bars. The two of them, them both, were children of mine, because my memory is shot, this might've been their millionth time. i got locked up in a county that's dry as a beach, like Elizabethtown, Kentucky, where I was raised till 13. No one, not even the warden, knows really why I'm here, even some man from Cell Block Five, asked me last Sunday, why was I here. My beach perhaps, it's love at last, concrete, gravel, and stone- a 6' x 10' room with bars and a porcelain throne. It's mine I cry, each night I die, with glee, with smile, with rite. But it makes the other guys run at me, and try to start random fights. I don't remember the boat I took, but I remember the tour, going to Japan at Epcot Center since I'd never gone before.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:30 AM UTC
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn
I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute
In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight
Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last
Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light
She taught me much that I’m still making
From her life that now I’m grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving
The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly
The vision of my eyes, bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As Depression stole her ev’ry dream
The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I’m now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving*
*In honor of my mother, Edla Sylvia Fitzpatrick, on this International Women's Day
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
why my existence was just one unending question?
even in the formless and endless pitch black (his HP alias),
could hear Him smile and communicate:
if not You, then who?
We love your dreams where answers run wild like an
Oregon waterfall,
only you understand that the whole world encapsulates into:
love thy neighbor as thyself!
which must be recited as a poem
standing on one left leg
then, smiling,
god extended his only finger, touching each of mine eyelids:
sleep, friend for we need your questioning dreams,
your faith unfurled and unfulfilled
for in your unending inquiry
is all of our
in the beginning, our anti-matter rooted creation,
the Holy Dark
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 3:07 AM UTC
Midway upon the journey of life
I found myself riding
zigzag down dark streets,
for there was no straight way
through that teeming urban grid.
Thus I travelled deeper into the night,
while rosary beads swung hypnotic
from the mirror, reflecting the revenant eyes
of one raised by an invisible hand
from salt water rocks where
as a boy, he said, he should have died.
Deftly navigating changing lights
of amber, red, and green,
he humbly inquired after my beliefs
and the state of my soul.
As to this I could not say,
so I drew it out and held it gingerly
by the rough edges, examining
as best I might in that dim backseat
its wrinkles, creases, and scars.
In the reflection he saw all these clearly,
and with gentle resonance spoke
of things impossible to know,
less difficult to believe,
and blessed me so
that on passing out the door
I found my soul again soft and warm.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
going to the horror films
at ten years old
i wanted to be bitten by the vampire ladies
you know the ones
red brides from the netherworlds
with heaving *******
divinities of evil
with that dah look
in silky white gowns
a little messy from sleeping in the dirt
culture vulture goth girls
with upside down crosses
slags all gauzy bats in the belfry
deranged
but after all they where
dead
and dreadfully appealing
and I'm pretty fussy
so what the hell
they walked like floats
in marshy air
never touching the ground
above frozen dark crypt terrains
with twinkly bare feet
and black high glossed toenails
staring out of blood spilled eyes
drooling cloudy mouth hollows
and a yearning hungry countenance
encouraging me
to get closer
to bite me all over
pierce me
with needly fangs
puncturing little holes in tender me
making me leak like bad plumbing
until i sloped into the bog below
of course, i was panicked
all trembly
but i had a big one
for these evil shadowy ******* too
so i thought
yes
no
yes
no
yes
no
are you gonna **** me?
i asked
they drooled
ooow okay, i thought is it gonna hurt?
they shook there heads yes!
and drooled
real bad?
i inquired further
ah ha
they lingered glaring
drooling
i guess, waiting for me to make up my mind
oh okay anything for you
you dark dreamy girls
dilapidated queens of hell
with ballet derrières
"down and down I go
round and round I go
in a spin, lovin' the spin I'm in
under the old black magic called love"
after all at ten years old,
i already knew i was
a horror *****
and just a little turned on
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC
Always a question
Something oft inquired
Wondering and whying in those
Get-to-know-you games
Any superpower, yours to have
What would you be?
Seems a simple query
But just as the Titanic learned
Icebergs seem much
Smaller from above
Answering to “what
Superpower would you want?”
Speaks so much more,
Runs so much deeper
It's a fight or flight response
Invisibility, teleportation
What are you hiding from?
Super strength, unlimited power
Why, do you feel weak? Unworthy? Small?
My response to such
An inquiry
Wings or none, I don't care
Simply put, I long to be
Free
What are you? Who do you wish to be?
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 12:39 PM UTC
I searched for God among the Christians and on the Cross and therein I found Him not.
I went into the ancient temples of idolatry; no trace of Him was there.
I entered the mountain cave of Hira and then went as far as Qandhar but God I found not.
With set purpose I fared to the summit of Mount Caucasus and found there only 'anqa's habitation.
Then I directed my search to the Kaaba, the resort of old and young; God was not there even.
Turning to philosophy I inquired about him from ibn Sina but found Him not within his range.
I fared then to the scene of the Prophet's experience of a great divine manifestation only a "two bow-lengths' distance from him" but God was not there even in that exalted court.
Finally, I looked into my own heart and there I saw Him; He was nowhere else.
But
In my heart .
Writer :
Jalaludin rumi
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 8:41 AM UTC
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn
I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute
In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight
Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last
Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light
She taught me much that I'm still making
From her life that now I'm grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving
The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly
The vision of my eyes bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As depression stole her ev'ry dream
The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I'm now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
The dying hero said
To his wife and his beloved children
"I obliged you not to follow the same path I took."
With those words,
His daughter inquired,
*"Father, how come not if it was a beautiful path
with those roses and dandelions,
showered by a blazing yellow hot sun
glittered with cotton candy sky
and a bouquet of trees and a choir of angelical wind?"*
The hero stared blanky at his daughter
His heart gasped a beat and mouthed the words,
*"Singsong the truth without coated sugar,
the world needs the intellectuals
with skills and talents,
neccessary for humanity to survive,
be a doctor who cures the sick,
be an engineer who builds
be a lawyer, be a farmer or a fisher,
anything will do but not the one I am."*
Silence.
*"They are nothing without words,
They are nothing but robots,
without the tune of the tongue,
without the ink of the heart,
the world for them is all but rigid,
round but pointed,
with air but not breathing.
Words can **** but words can also heal."*
The girl paused, then stand.
*"Father can crack the caramel paint
and reveals of what's the truth,
I am who I am
and I am what father can do."*
It was midnight.
The hero died.
A dead man and a dead will.
His deed still lives in pages,
and in the veins of his female kid.
A rebel daughter was born.
Her words were nothing for an empty soil.
A dead will and a dead man.
He wrote poems.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 10:34 AM UTC
We were in this small cafe on our morning
tea break
Me and some of my work colleagues
Someone inquired after my wellbeing
How I was
I motioned with my hand as if to say 'So, so"
Then I said
"I'm still a bit shaky"
'Why", they said, "what happened to you ?"
I answered "I was in a car crash last night"
"What!!!", they all said really concerned, "you shouldn't have come to work today, you should have stayed at home... you might be in
shock!"
Then I said 'It was only a dream'. I went on "Yea, I dreamt I was in a car
crash
I was driving down this terrible winding
mountain road
Like something you'd get over in Italy
It was like a spiral staircase, going round and
round
All these terrible bends
And the car it's getting faster and I know I'm
starting to lose control
So for a moment I look down trying to figure
out the controls
But suddenly when I look up again we've
overshot a Bend
And We're heading straight into a wall
It's like everything goes into slow motion
You know there's no avoiding it
You can only brace yourself for the impact
And then BAM!! POW**!!! .....
And then I can't remember what happened
after that.
Maybe I became unconscious"....then looking
at them all around the table I said
"Maybe I'm still unconscious, maybe I'm just dreaming you guys sitting here
right now
Maybe the dreamworld is the real world
And the real world but a dream...(tapping my finger on the table) a solid dream"
Then I took a sip of my coffee and said
"One thing...the coffee tastes nicer over on
this side".
May 31, 2023
May 31, 2023 at 4:35 PM UTC
In a slow oak and elm ING breath
Ent felt tears in the air
She inquired the feather like dancer
From where a river now streamed
Say, your sobbing must stop
Just enjoy being unlocked
You do not know tree pain
With my long hard locks
Knotted under the weight of usefulness
for you are still yet a seed
Riding the wind of dreams
No rings yet formed on fingers
rings to be broken for fires timber
Your tendrils are bendable
The beginning fragment of a future
So show no pain and suture a smile
I know capons
who fell free from home
Only for gravity to shatter dreams & reclaim them to the unknown.
And the dandelion said:
My short life comes with long memory
While my youth may seem naive to tree
I have only arrived and I must die to be
You will remain when I am reborn
deity
And as your locks begin to leaves
And birds flock like river ocean streams
I know pain because I remember birth
I will die a thousand times before you know me
Yet these tears should not offend
I cry to womb the happiness within.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
It faces west, and round the back and sides
High beeches, bending, hang a veil of boughs,
And sweep against the roof. Wild honeysucks
Climb on the walls, and seem to sprout a wish
(If we may fancy wish of trees and plants)
To overtop the apple trees hard-by.
Red roses, lilacs, variegated box
Are there in plenty, and such hardy flowers
As flourish best untrained. Adjoining these
Are herbs and esculents; and farther still
A field; then cottages with trees, and last
The distant hills and sky.
Behind, the scene is wilder. Heath and furze
Are everything that seems to grow and thrive
Upon the uneven ground. A stunted thorn
Stands here and there, indeed; and from a pit
An oak uprises, Springing from a seed
Dropped by some bird a hundred years ago.
In days bygone—
Long gone—my father’s mother, who is now
Blest with the blest, would take me out to walk.
At such a time I once inquired of her
How looked the spot when first she settled here.
The answer I remember. ‘Fifty years
Have passed since then, my child, and change has marked
The face of all things. Yonder garden-plots
And orchards were uncultivated slopes
O’ergrown with bramble bushes, furze and thorn:
That road a narrow path shut in by ferns,
Which, almost trees, obscured the passers-by.
Our house stood quite alone, and those tall firs
And beeches were not planted. Snakes and efts
Swarmed in the summer days, and nightly bats
Would fly about our bedrooms. Heathcroppers
Lived on the hills, and were our only friends;
So wild it was when we first settled here.’
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A costly privilege at rare times
Inquired my dad, "How much the onions?"
The seller, with a gasp,
Replied: "It's for 55 Rupees a kilo,
And you're holding almost two times."
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
We search hopelessly for the love of our life. Basic reality leaves us to compare in most of the choices that we make ,
Problem is we choose the things appealing to our eyes and leave the the rest alone
Perfect point to understand the worth of a gem, some cut and polished and shine like the sun but once touched by the hands of man the worth of the gem is less valuable in comparison to the love we find the value of a beaten soul that's been torn and hurt by another, when you see her bruised face you pass her by for she wasn't appealing to your eyes.
Have you ever inquired the behind the scenes of a gem at the glance of it when it's dug from the ground, beneath the dirt and mud tossed and turned and beaten by mother nature and her wrath, it's initial find much like the passing of the bruised , is tainted by this world we live , ever wondered in your closed mind the true value of it's worth go beyond what appeals at your first glance , wipe the Earths **** from the gem and shine it up now do the same for the person you passed that another person abused, take them in let their bruises heal get to know their true worth, for the next time you walk about on a life journey in search of a gem or true love , don't pick the ones that are so appealing to your eyes , dig through the rubbel or see through the bruises and there my friend is the finest most expensive beauty of a gem and the true love your in search of to spend the rest of your life with. Beauty is only skin deep but knowing what's beyond the skin and outer core of appeal is the find I would treasure much more than the fakeness of the appeal
©kimmied1105
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
You never know when you might lose something.
A bracelet, a bill, a pencil that you chewed nervously.
But sometimes, you lose a person;
I was in a classroom,
with great big tables
and walls that echoed the teenage chatter
of my class.
My love, he sat beside me.
My friends, a tad bit too loud
laughed behind us.
A modest couple
chuckle in the back.
A brilliant, clever man
with cunning yet tired eyes
look at me happily, solemnly.
A smile was traced
by his beard laced with silver
and his accent inquired professionally.
I remember how much fun he had,
how he filled the void in my soul,
how he shared his stories and wisdom.
I lost him; I miss him.
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
He sleeps on the top of a mast. - Bunyan
He sleeps on the top of a mast
with his eyes fast closed.
The sails fall away below him
like the sheets of his bed,
leaving out in the air of the night the sleeper's head.
Asleep he was transported there,
asleep he curled
in a gilded ball on the mast's top,
or climbed inside
a gilded bird, or blindly seated himself astride.
"I am founded on marble pillars,"
said a cloud. "I never move.
See the pillars there in the sea?"
Secure in introspection
he peers at the watery pillars of his reflection.
A gull had wings under his
and remarked that the air
was "like marble." He said: "Up here
I tower through the sky
for the marble wings on my tower-top fly."
But he sleeps on the top of his mast
with his eyes closed tight.
The gull inquired into his dream,
which was, "I must not fall.
The spangled sea below wants me to fall.
It is hard as diamonds; it wants to destroy us all."
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Three women were out golfing
one day and one of them hit
her ball into
the woods. She went into the
woods to look for it and found
a frog in a
trap.
The frog said to her, "If you
release me from this trap, I will
grant
you three wishes."
The woman freed the frog and
the frog said, "Thank you, but I
forgot to
mention that there was a
condition to your wishes- that
whatever you wish
for, your husband will get 10
times more or better."
The woman said, "That would
be fine." For her first wish she
wanted to
be the most beautiful woman in
the world. The frog warned her,
"You do
realize that this wish will also
make your husband the most
handsome man
in the world, an Adonis, that
women will flock to him."
The woman replied, "That will
be okay, because I will be the
most
beautiful woman and he will
only have eyes for me."
So, **** - she's the most
beautiful woman in the world.
For her second wish, she
wanted to be the richest
woman in the world.
The frog said, "That will make
your husband the richest man
in the
world, and he will be 10 times
richer than you."
The woman said, "That will be
okay, because what is mine is
his, and
what is his is mine..." So, ****
she's the richest woman in the
world.
The frog then inquired about
her third wish, and she
answered,
"I'd like a mild heart attack."
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 5:34 PM UTC
Many doctors had failed to heal her;
her wealth was gone; unable to cope,
seemingly having no options left, she…
faced the idea of being bereft of hope.
A difficult issue of continual bleeding,
had bothered this woman for twelve years;
purposely maneuvering through the crowd,
she hoped to meet Christ, and draw near.
“If only, I could physically touch Him,
my personal need can be forever met.”
Summoning the last of her inner strength,
she pressed onward without any regret.
Her health was dramatically worsening
and drastic action was now required;
since Christ was visibly close by,
perhaps healing she urgently desired
would become available to her this day.
Moving boldly with faith towards Him,
silently reaching out for his garment
with her weakened, slender limb…
she briefly caressed the hem of His robe.
And suddenly- her discomfort was gone!
Without warning, virtue leapt out of Him;
and now He wanted a face to gaze upon.
To everyone’s astonishment, He stopped;
then came the simple, unexpected question:
“Who touched me?” He patiently inquired.
Initially, there was apparent confusion,
from not knowing who, He was addressing.
Scared and embarrassed, she fell face down
at His feet, ready to weep and apologize.
“Rise up my daughter, from the dusty ground;
tell me your life’s story of suffering;
since your faith was successfully released,
My strength has cured you of your agony;
return home with my blessings and peace.”
.
.
.
Author Notes
Loosely based on:
Mark 5:24-34
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
Today while coming back from work
Make a visit to market of humanity
I saw, our respected friend scruples sales...
...... Maturity... with happiness
I stepped-forward to him...... and asked.....
‘You are here?’
He said, “What I can do! For everything you have to do marketing!”
I asked “how do you sale maturity?”
He replies “it is a matter of investment!
Now definition and priority changes.....
Maturity..... means.... maturity of policy, bond, fixed deposit....
Then only you can purchase happiness in this market.......”
I again inquired,
“What is ‘its cost’.......?”
He replied,
“Your investment is depending on how much happiness you want to procure!
Some time it is free, if you will exchange your getting on happiness with new! “
I left the market, with a plan to make a search
about our getting on happiness to get a new !
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
“If you knew that
It was my last day
What would you say to me?”
I inquired.
“Do me a favor.
Give your last day to me
And take my life,”
She replied with a good f*cking smile on her face
That numbed my soul.
****
She still loves me
Way better than I had ever asked for!!!
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 9:57 PM UTC
Two years ago a teacher here on HP messaged and informed me
that she used my poem in her classroom for a class assignment.
I've never felt so honored, I pictured twenty kids
With copies of my poem in hand analyzing it
When I inquired where on earth this school was?!
She must have been here in the states
Because she quickly disappeared
She just signed off
I never heard from her again
To tell her Thank You!
Thank you for sharing my worthless words
And giving them value..
Some of my poems/songs
Have registered copyrights
So please ask permission before plagiarizing
Although I won't be flying across the sea to sue anybody
Because face it, having my words circulate
Even further
Is very appealing.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Everybody said we were erstwhile, rather quaint
and could never pay our back rent ?
You listen to the silence of seashells
I grow colchicums for nurseries.
I often inquired what was your favourite animal
You always replied "Ursine"
something to do with Bears ?
Perhaps we should voyage to Newfoundland
and see them face to face,
recalling the word "Reseverez Vite"
Would that be any quicker ?
and dry your eyes
I love talking to you in the cyan light.
Often I thought a cup of Guayacanera
could tide our differences.
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 5:18 PM UTC
To the tune of "Like a Dream"
Last night a sprinkling of rain,
a violent wind.
After a deep sleep, still not recovered
from the lingering effect of wine,
I inquired of the one rolling up the screen;
But the answer came: "The cherry-apple blossoms
are still the same."
"Oh, don't you know, don't you know?
The red must be getting thin,
while the green is becoming plump."
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