"inquisitions" poems
The last kiss from you
Lasted like a huddle in
The snow blitz
Rocking my anatomy
In the frosty glitz
The last words from you
That barged in my eardrum
You were in a hurry
To smell a new leaf
Draped in a diamond dew
The last gifts from you
Was an instrument
Which still I use
To recognize people
Or to refuse!
The last time
You said I love you
I remember I was laughing
Hysterically as if I was watching
Jared Leto’s jaded mimicry of Joker in YouTube
Intriguingly, when the last time I saw you ****
It felt like pretty Ivanka’s embarrassment
Noticing her dad is a lewd
The last time I was chatting
With you on Facebook
I was wondering why
I shouldn't hack your account?
To check your inbox
Yea, it was filled with the message of *******
F- Bombs, **** shaming and tagging you as harlot
All they were asking was your service of escort
Either in full discount or in hefty cash drops!
The last time I wrote
A letter of love to you
I discovered my Keyboard
Began to blurt out
No more, No more, No more…
The last time I had a chit-chat
With you in the Burger King or Pizza Hut
I listened to your hissing clack-clack
That someone else has become your puppy cat…
The last time I became sick
When I was with you
I heard you threw a party
Where you were whispering
To your besties, how
I become your double whammy!
The last time I was
With you in the bed
I felt like I was indentured
To **** a dummy toy
Sans spirit and flesh!
Loving you was like
Santa Claus gifted me
With a Pandora’s Box
As soon as I opened it
You decided to release
Our *** tape of your having ******
In pornhub’s forum of interracial!
The last time I heard of you
Is that you were giving an interview
To The Cosmopolitan’s board of review
Facing the barrage of inquisitions
You calmly joked, the series
Of latest uproar about you
In the social media or Internet
Is because certain people always
Love to rave about Women’s body
Shoving in and out of their pigeonhole
With their one night stand queen trophy
To flavor your form in their fantasmic mouth
You also smirked in a raspy voice
Defiantly declaring “we (women)
Have been locked indoors
With no air, no food, no water”
My last boyfriend is also no exception
He certainly thinks I came this far
Through ******* and deception
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC
every poem gets the exact number
of reads it deserves
<>
nah, I don't think that for
a millisecond,
shoot,
not a ****** nanosecond (1)
truthfully
I'm torn up inside
and my thinking
absolutely
could be wrong
or could be right
absolutely
just like the optionality
of believing in god;
has to be some force
of intelligence that
could create such
microscopic complexity randomly
or just thinking the world
is just a series of accidentally
interactions
so
who's to say what's good,
what's not so good,
and by what standard
one should judge
Is this a poem?
Heck if I know
and what sbout the poems that
get not a one,
a single one, absence of curiosity,
an unheralded execution.
death by silent ignorance,
a master's mastery of exactitude
all because
just because
Is that a collective decision
by an unconscious collective,
the best moderne equivalent of
the unmarked death
of just a single one of
your billions of brain cells (2)(3)
all I know is
that my confusion is confirmed
my constancy is inconsistent
my equatorial balance is
gonzo, dragging me down,
each division wants to piece me up,
and today,
right now
got no answers
at all
how do I define myself?
what categories do I fit
within?
and yet
that answers one question!
**do not write interrogatory inquisitions
at 1:15 am
(unless you're a DUMB lucky *******
who believes they got
answers**)
Jul 12, 2025
Jul 12, 2025 at 3:19 PM UTC
I am seated, bathed in a moon dusts.
I am writing an expose, indubitably no reads
But certain one of my ultimate hush buzzes,
I am clearly happy as I write though I am a bee in a shaken jar.
All this because I am opening up to my crush!
I hold an enormous secret, behind these shades,
Big, abysmal, reserved yet it beams on my face
Only concealed by forged shackles to loyal achates
What is this secret? What’re these shades?
These are inquisitions posted in this piece to my crush!
Now my crush, there’s a question of a constant hide and seek.
The hide and seek played lone and solo have left me shooting blanks,
Façade I invite you in, mirage in whence I heartshoot your affections or meeks
Hopefully these guise and semblance will break with a bang!
Then I break free to my crush!
Then I get to tell her my ardor unreserved and eased,
Show her crescents canyon dimples that curl skyward as her smile
Toy with her smooth creased back and forehead playfully yet in peace,
I finally draw the curtain, I spit out my inside in miles.
I love you my crush
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
**O, My Creator, Deliver Me From These Inquisitions,
Emancipate Me From These Wretched Oppositions,
Free Me From The Chains Of My Weary Disposition,
Envelop Me Within The Folds Of Your Holy Apparition**
*The Sun's Light Dwindled Along The Horizon,
Darkness Bruised The Ledges Of The Sky,
Summer's Vegetation Recoiled And Fossilized,
Within The Dark Soil's Crumbling Underlie*
**O, Glorious Divine Being, Act On My Requisition,
Extricate My Soul From It's Appalling Malnutrition,
This Tattered Mind Is A Degenerating Composition,
Let My Spine Sprout Wings To Carry Me To Redefinition**
*Stars Emerged From The Depths Of The Heavens,
Holes Filtrating The Stale Air Circulating In Slime,
Oozing From A Fatal Virus They Referred To As Time*
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
In a word? Pretentious. Your presence stains the air.
Petty criticisms, as if anybody cared.
You think yourself an icon, and darling, ain't that darling.
To be completely honest though? I couldn't give a farthing.
Your lack of self-awareness paints your harlequin visage.
Your over-swollen ego? Nothing more than a mirage.
Your tacky two-cent romance leaves one little more than bored.
Precisely why is it that you think you should be adored?
Furthermore, diplomacy seems alien to you.
Assaulting inquisitions, implications, most untrue.
It does turn rather humorous, though, given your dull wit,
As oftentimes, you miss the point, for chomping at the bit.
Your eagerness to take offense makes conversation dreadful,
And seems to strip away any desire to be respectful.
Alas, I too indulge in pettiness from time to time,
So please, enjoy my grievance set facetiously to rhyme.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
. it's like...
listening to
the freddy krueger
soundtrack...
and then...
coming across
ashleys abundance
videos...
you seriously can't
make the **** up!
handshakes with your
shadow, all the way through,
in not making diary
inquisitions,
of dietary requirements.
look at me?
i know...
creepy as the ****
that isn't,
even
closely related to punk;
i had to relate to
alternative impromptus...
i was raised on original
*** Godzilla movies...
i was questing for
an alternative to ****
can i confiscate an teenage girl
with raspy voice?
yes? no?
fuck it... lets go!
tits for bagpipes!
god almighty,
this alternative to ****
late teen girls merely talking...
about their dietary schematics...
oh yeah... date no. 1...
me?
i already have my issues...
i'm a heavy drinker...
i'm not looking for a date,
i'm looking for a ******* dog.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
you are a breath of fresh air to the melancholic poet in me.
for once i am not moved to write words of sorrow
of despair or heartbreak or bittersweet longing -
but words of joy,
of eloquent sighs and satisfied sleeps,
of whispered words of love and curious inquisitions,
of two souls revealing themselves to each other,
of vulnerability and crossing the bridge between discomfort
and feeling at-home
in our love
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 2:34 AM UTC
I've come to terms,
That I am going to lose you no matter what.
Either to your hometown,
Or the hometown hero himself.
Yet I will mourn not,
For if this is in your best interest,
So be it.
I feel the blood,
Dripping from the corners of my mouth,
From biting my tongue,
To replace these inquisitions.
Why?
Why? Why? Why?
Such a blissful entity, you are.
A pure blessing to everyone you touch.
Is it possible for Angels to suffer tribulations?
I guess it appears so.
Why would you jeopardize,
The single life I hold dear to me.
Why are you so miserable?
I blame myself.
Not only as partially,
The source of your pain,
But also for not acting sooner.
For making you miss that test.
I've seen your self-destructive streak.
I've seen your cynical nature.
Yet I said nothing.
Did nothing.
And now it's too late.
I can't save you from this.
Not even if you wanted me to.
O how I wish that weren't so.
How I wish I could accompany you,
In the week to come,
But you must face this alone.
How could you be so selfish?!
Yet is it selfish of me,
To deem your actions selfish?
For it is of my own selfish desires,
That your life cannot be diminished.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 2:33 PM UTC
He loves me
He has given me everything I have ever needed
He has always been there for me no matter what
He and I have the most pure relationship
It is so easy to make Him jubilant
He is always there for me with one call
I live a very serene life with Him
He bestows me an answer to my never-ending inquisitions
He is my everything whom I love unconditionally
Why would I a walk away from Him... and go to h
I
m…
his whispers
made me lose control of everything
wanting to obey his sweet sounds
that echoed in my ears
making my heart beat so fast.
his hands
slowly brushing across my thigh
would make my mind go numb
and would send shameful shivers
up and down my entire body.
he unveiled me
slowly examining me from head to toe
telling me exactly what I needed to hear
to feel confident, comfortable enough
to give him what he wanted.
Why would I a walk away from Him... and go to h
I
m…
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
It felt like starvation; now only death can ease insatiable inquisitions.
Marveled by celestial decisions, And while the findings are marvelous, I still question existence.
My mind was traveling parsecs; I couldn't digest the doctrines—I was losing my religion.
Question it all.
I'm mad enough to go to war, but I can't save the world.
One must taste the dirt before all can be unearthed.
The further I ferret the rabbit hole, the more is known of which I don't.
I know there's nothing after this.
My environment, the catalyst, called for perspectives few could ever witness.
The story's just beginning.
The pieces coalesced for the nascent stages of my thesis.
Instead of hiding behind my intellect, I set sail on the Ship of Theseus.
Jan 30, 2024
Jan 30, 2024 at 11:54 AM UTC
Unfettered falsehoods that lure by practice of pretense
Make subject to a tyranny of questionable inquisitions
That claim themselves both by treaty and inheritance
Pursue with a vigor blind narcoleptic dancers with a ferocity
That embalms the bones with the tears of a million fans
Who in such tragedy represent that image and behold him
His limb freshly bleeding reading his words in lamentation
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 6:07 PM UTC
i always fidget with my itches
then itch raw with each digit
of the rigid way we squirm with
words we feel to be explicit
but rearranged we're indifferent
without the frame we're elicit
no stopping shame that exhibits
the way your brain always listens
even in pain it's persistent
you can't prohibit the accident
of unwitting existence
don't say sorry to the superstitious fiction
stay judicious
just ease your mind with the lyrics
and grind the grass to find distance
don't mind, the path meets resistance
the system we're in's nonexistant
i'll build a fire ladder for each fallacy
and scale every rhythm
just cleaning out all desire
mind going off like a piston
mankind don't need this fine attire
but the dior keeps us christian
not built to feed to designers
only a liar does glisten
yet we find ourselves requiring
our own kind of inquisitions
in addiction and prison
a shiny label don't listen
so without your permission
i'll find my own set of prescriptions
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
He asked me why we couldn’t do it in the basement.
The answer isn’t a simple one;
I couldn’t tell him about that poem you wrote me.
I blamed it on my irrational fear of spiders
To sidetrack his incessant inquisitions.
It was the only place I used to be able to be myself.
With trying to improve the area,
It turned into more of a hell.
The carpet feels like knives on my feet.
The ground is much colder than I remember it being.
A place that was once so dear and warm
Is now filled with empty wine bottles and full ashtrays
And a sewing machine that just represents
All that I’ve tried and never succeeded in.
I could hide this from him, but not from you.
Next time he asks if we could do it in the basement,
I should say sure, why not, because
It’s not like I have a past that will keep up the empty bottles and full ashtrays.
It’s time to face my irrational fear that has
Absolutely nothing to do with spiders.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 1:45 PM UTC
The World's Times chronicled
Crusades and Fatawas,
Jihads and Inquisitions,
Coups and Genocides.
Such resourcefulness
The Construct.
Another Cathedral rises
In a destitute country.
Do-able
We're told
From the leader's lips
We'll always have the poor.
Uh huh! The poor!
That's what was said.
We can always put them to work,
And there won't always be work.
They'll need membership cards,
And birthings and burials,
Like always.
See the pyramids along the Nile
You get up every morning from your alarm clock's warning
Another temple
Will grow from
Rice paddies;
A synagogue,
A mosque will
Cinch tiles
On the backs of peasants.
I've had enough
Laundering by recluse
Single mothers,
By crooks posing as shepherds,
And Holy Wars
*so oxymoronic
cleanses too*
Any Divines
Benefitting from
Our labour and wages;
Our drachma, denarius and shegel,
Aren't worth the worship.
Yet the lenders are good
At getting their pound.
*Don't drop a coin
In a wishing well,
Pay cash for a mass
Where they'll ring your bell.
Choose a charity,
There's so many,
That need a
Pauper's Penny.*
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
Shamans
Psychics
Schizophrenics
Mystics
Medics
Psychoanalysts
Politicians
Hypocrites
It’s in your head
It’s out of mind
It’s before our eyes
but most are blind
Buy Dark
Deal Light
Write left
Felt right
Free consciousness
from the physical fight
to dominate
through fear and hate
Religion and government
feed from the same plate
Inquisitions
Constitutions
Impositions
Insoluble solutions
in poisonous bruise
Drip-fed
in 24hr news
Brain dead
Twisted views
Controlling hands
that turn the screws.
© Verso-(David Moule) 06/03/08
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 5:34 PM UTC
This is the publicity of reputation
Masses clinging to a vacant infatuation
The content conspires with a devious deception
As the catalyst to this god-like apparition
Illuminated humanity cast into perfection
Swiftly ascending towards a fixated reception
Is that profundity pouring from quotation?
Or just a rhythmic scheme lacking inquisitions?
'' He's the one, who likes all our pretty songs....But he knows not what it means.'' - Nirvana, In Bloom
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
As I'd imagine, would be eternal,
somewhat infinite
If such a pleasure existed
Would not all delve into wandering hunt?
Can finding be so easy
as to search something into existence?
Perhaps we are barred such by our existential
inferiority that even perceptions of secluded wonders escape
our shorthanded inquisitions
As we linger in the potency of misdirection,
so closes the curtain that shields the unknown respite
Sans sleep
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
**the depths beyond light
of dark primordial fears
ensnared in a trap of
winding dangerous paths
'tween passion and fire,
horizons like ink clouded seas
of menacing madness and
drunkenness' sanity midst
psychobabble's inquisitions
rushing rampant to devour
an overgrown hypothesis
of imagination's luxuriance
and anesthetics' coherency,
taming perpetual motion
of windswept emotions
lingering in shadows of
moonbows after resolute
mind bending storms of
teeming reigns &
elusive transcendence
amid skillfully evasive grapples
beyond liberated rationality**
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
Your gut feelings are more than superstitions.
Do you feel that?
I do not understand how you do not lead
inquisitions
about the
superposition
of your
existence.
You may choose to be blind.
But the universe will laugh, heartily,
at that.
As will I,
and the smoke,
it will curl from my lips as the corners of my mouth transcend into a delectable giggle.
And I will laugh, heartily,
at that.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 9:20 AM UTC
poetic fractured retractions
gnashing night prayers,
scribbling braille,
written sideways
dipped amid holy water's retention,
compromising statements
of disbelief's proclamation
spinning music the color
of nakedly sick ****** yet
burnished souls keep on ticking
half past total trade-offs
in a spoonful of smoky reflections
sans sugar's acid trip,
anointed of rose red
****** false pretenses
dancing off center
in disillusioned
pirouettes of pseudo redemption,
whirling out of control on
staged tapestry's loftiness
surrendered ballet slippers
in blistered half promises,
as twisted metaphors sprightly
tuned out spun anomalies
below birds on a rusty wire tweeting
admissions of blue's cobalt execution,
rendered inky alterations' inquisitions
'pon pedaled pink fluff profundity,
exhaling paroxysms of engaged poetry
in vehemently enraged deliverance,
naught one is ever as they seem
through pigmented film 'neath
figment's imagined looking glass
of ingratiated grand delusions
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
Was life truly; ever so sweet,
As in the sun-worshipped, One World,
Beneath feathery banners, all unfurled,
Celebrated rhythm of the Mexica beat,
Applauding the gods with dancing feet,
While eagerly anticipating the final breath,
Of the honoured warrior’s, flowery death.
Lost ancient world, carved in stone,
Temples and plaza’s of grandiose plan,
Before the great pyramid of Tenochtitlan,
From lowliest slave to the highest throne,
Gathered before gods to whom they atone,
With obsidian blade priests begin the flood,
Of a sacrificial ceremony sealed with blood.
But do not weep for the ritually slain,
Or condemn this misunderstood race,
This culture both in and out of place,
Who flourished before interference from Spain;
Immoral inquisitions wielding torture and pain,
Led by Cortez’s murderous gold greed,
Condoned by religion’s, fanatical need.
A pyrrhic victory for invading Spanish-whites,
Conquistadors, who murdered, pillaged and *****
A savage slaughter that not even children escaped,
Brave Mexica vanquished in the one sided fights,
A nation revelling no more during hot sultry nights,
A lost civilization weeping for countless lost lives,
And yet, and yet . . . Mexica spirit; forever survives.
©Paul Chafer 2014
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
All of your relations
Acquaintances, Lovers, Ancestors,
Stand buried in the rock
Which you left for the stars.
All of your dreams
To be anything but
A passenger of exploration
Hurdling towards the stars.
All of your advancement
From fire to fission
Brought you to the edge
To the unknown light of the stars.
All of your history
From nomadic to communist conquest,
Dwindles to bygone feuds of nothing
Specked with glimmers of the stars.
All of your prayer
Inquisitions and moral apostasy,
Matters not to the mirrors of Fate
Refracting illumination, reflecting life
Parsecs of attainable depth, here we are.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
That smile, right?
He was smooth.
He could tell you the sky was
green and you'd believe him.
Soon you felt special.
You were the escape,
the safe haven, right?
Promises were made in seconds,
and were supposed to last forever.
Like when you talked about running away.
Leaving one town for the next, heck, even
a new country.
All doors seemed open.
Until you started to go through one and
BAM!
You smacked into the glass lens of a
CNN news camera
Alone.
The smile was gone.
The promises broken.
Now it's inquisitions and allegations.
It's the 6'o'clock news and tear soaked pillows.
It's memories that were burnt into your mind
waking you up at night.
But who hasn't been taken in, only to be shoved out?
I mean, it takes 2 to tango, Monica,
but we all have dance cards that we wish weren't punched.
I guess the only difference between us is
your guy was married
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 12:52 AM UTC
Locked up fingertips of ghosts past seem to knock on my door with all types of inquisitions,
pessimism,
is never something I adored,
furthermore,
what better place to place your plate then a palate in need of some swords?
Better yet,
bask in those regrets you've used to mold your destined route
and present a fool with a new tool to aid him in his doubt,
without, the heartbeat the brain is awfully useless,
multiple choice check list, you can take it or you can use it.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:09 PM UTC
*
I was never sure if she was
locked away in a tower somewhere
Or if _she_ was the dungeon master
and _I_ was the one on the rack
*
May 24, 2021
May 24, 2021 at 3:48 AM UTC