"inquisitive" poems
When eyes talk to eyes
All of world stands still.
Time waits and the nature listens.
They invite the inquisitive while all of existence celebrates eternally.
-The Silent Poet
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
Static, memories
Emanating, separating
The postcard- perfect
Still life speaks
From its storied past.
Invisible, to drift
Among
The florid aphorisms,
Ending in
Deleterious debris,
Aftermath of
The inevitable.
Empty room, echo hollow
Tabula rasa -
Carpet clean, quite candid in it's
Return to callow.
Consciousness athirst,
Absorbing phenomena
Effervesce, inquisitive
Ideas foment,
Sealed inside a question.
The what -
Against the narrow
Scarcity,
And fatigue of should.
A tender malleable
Youth,
Betrayed, under
An assumed decorum -
Residue of truth,
Flattened emotion
Privations of a self
Unheard;
Misplaced affirmation,
Buried pathologies
In architecture
Fear manifests symbolic.
Harboring apathy
The lunacy of pious
Pedigree,
Import contagion,
Fetters of benignity
Doubt and indecision
Into ******
Cognizance,
Fallow spirits
Seep fumes of decay,
Credulity bleeds a human stain.
Social edifice, inoculated
Heirs of neurosis;
Palpable, sensual pain
And transience, though
Tacit - remain,
Our haunted history,
The blind hyperbole,
Maudlin
Forbearance, this haven,
A portrait
Of immaculate condition,
Nurtured with precision
Under sterling pretense.
Provincial domicile -
House beautiful,
Savage irony -
Unseen treasure
Innocence unabridged,
Faces, tiny creations;
Compliant vessels
Wounded,
While modernism murmurs
Its promise.
Brave New World,
In a late model sedan,
Domestic ranch on a
Corner lot,
Suburban natives,
Silence means security.
The misunderstood
Speak louder -
Consumerism beneath
Unvarnished ambition,
Never could
Repair the brokenness within...
© 2011 & 2018 W. S. Warner
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 5:38 PM UTC
I am a ragdoll cat.
Docile and placid, I bend
to your touch, my silky fur invites
your inquisitive fingers.
Easy come, easy go.
My claws are only for show.
Bred for affection, I'm
the perfect pet. I'll follow you
wherever you go.
But the thing about ragdoll cats is
when danger is near, we do not know.
We see predators the same as friends
because it's in our nature
to go with the flow.
Too many times, I've been ripped to shreds,
been tossed around and thrown
to the wolves.
When I land on my feet and lick my wounds,
I go right back to being a ragdoll.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC
A hairy ball of energy
Who loves to run and play,
Whose tricks and tomfoolery
Would brighten any day.
Almost hyperactive,
Without doubt lively,
Incredibly inquisitive,
Exploring constantly.
Chewing on everything,
Peeing everywhere,
Not fond of house training
but slowly getting there.
Extremely mischievous,
Just wants to have fun,
Loves to get pets from us,
Each and everyone.
Yapping so excitedly
At everyone and everything,
Such an incredibly funny
Lovable little thing.
Who looks at us imploringly
With great big brown eyes
That we fell in love totally
Should come as no surprise
This lovely little puppy
Right from the start
Became one of the family,
Captured every ones heart.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 3:46 AM UTC
Infinite.
Like how many times you can take a picture,
with your mind,
of we intertwined.
Like three chords.
Your pick.
Like each idea becoming a suggestion,
an open ended request,
like the innocence behind "inquisitive"
that is lost in "inquisition".
Like the questions I mean to ask you,
but I'm not sure you'll be listening
at that moment in time.
Stopwatch.
Dewdrop.
Like how I mean to hold
you
r hands
r heart
you.
Like the limit of the tangent of x as it approached y.
I want to curve
and parenthesize around your body.
We will diverge.
We are inverse.
We are combustable.
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 11:01 PM UTC
I sometimes take words that were first used by others
(I'm About to admit I'm a bit of a crook)
Re-hash and re-use them, and make my own covers-
Stealing little known lines from an eloquent book.
I've stolen from Shakespeare, yanked words off of Yeats,
And pilfered from Plato and Brown;
I've probably swiped stuff off all of the greats,
And many of zero renown.
There's more to be heard in the wise words of Wilde
Or took from a Tennyson line
Or the thinking out loud of an inquisitive child,
Than could spill forth from this pen of mine.
So if I've stolen from you, and perchance have offended,
(Yes- I'm about to steal Shakespeare again)
Just think but this, and all is mended;
Nothing original came from my pen.
Which means that, eventually, all that I've ever done
Will be lost in the shadows of time,
Skipped over, or lost, and simply outdone
By your works original shine.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:05 AM UTC
My earth was waiting for your stormy footsteps.
They say,
It's not a crime to love what you can't explain.
So you'll be my secret forever
just like the sea's oath to the inquisitive siren.
I promise to hide you in
the crimson of my eyes,
in the blues of my veins.
Dec 31, 2021
Dec 31, 2021 at 1:13 PM UTC
What a joy
What a joy
My little nephew,
Two decades back
Born abroad,
When a guest here
A ride on
A piggy shoulder
Who used to enjoy,
To whom I bought
A motley toy
Out of himself
Made a brilliant boy.
“As per my choice
Could you buy me a donkey
Or a could you allow me
A tortoise
To touch
When we go to
The squalid market square
Or the nearby church?”
Double mind
Is his nick name
Now crafting
Software is his game.
A small boy
Inquisitive
He used to ask
“Tell me why
Flowers don't grow
On the sky?”
“Tell me quick
Why animals
Don't speak?
Also stars
Don't grow
On the meadow?”
“Why is the sky high
To touch?”
Such questions helped him
Racking his brain
To come up with
Academic research,
That troubleshoot
Societal challenge
And afford
A nation a turnaround
Or for the better a change!
Now, conversant in IT
It is no wonder
To observe
Binary operation,flowcharts
Subroutines,syntax...
Programming languages
Are at the tip of his finger.
His study at
George Mason University
Has turned out a hit
Getting himself
In the Dean's List.
A boy that lends
To parents, relatives
And teachers
A heeding ear
Is really dear.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
365Nectar #42 Don't Be Judging Me
Mon. November 4, 2013 8:26 P.M.
Volcanic velvet voices
vibrate the night
like thunder in the distance.
Booming Bassmen
blaze and burn
like ****** fire on a dark corner
in the dingiest part
of a rumbling city that never sleeps.
Sensual saxophones shudder
singing prayers of saints and sinners
while hot horns hypnotize
in perfect high compression swirls
tithing in the holy temple
of Jazzy Blues.
An alluring flutter
of silken harmonies.
A spine tingling spike
of don't be judging me jazz filled blues.
Scorching strings splinter
melancholy prison walls.
Stomping out a seismic sizzle
tempermental tones of
tickling trumpets
torch the menacing hurricanes of life
with warm rushes of excitement.
A spine tingling spike
of don't be judging me jazz filled blues.
"Take Me" Vixens tantalize
tucked up crowds
with thrilling tongue lashes
of silken harmonies.
A spine tingling spike
of don't be judging me jazz filled blues.
Full flaring flutes
gently ****** with inquisitive fingers
and stir a groan
like a religious ritual.
A playful teasing
floating enticingly
like a sly fox.
Such a succulent piercing
of moonstruck madness
pulsing mercilessly
leaving fields of fire
of a funky boogie menace
for a wild child.
An alluring flutter
of silken harmonies.
A spine tingling spike
of don't be judging me jazz filled blues.
Copyright ©2013 Don't Be Judging Me
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
Lost in the thoughts of ancient realm
Many thousands of years back
Nothing then has stayed the same
Such civilization, understanding we lack
Every ethnicity group had a tale to tell
From every little corner of this mother earth
How we worked and walked, then we fell
Cycles of life flourished again with birth
Each era had it's own vulnerable states
And each state had it's own Queens and Kings
The then ancient calendars with marked dates
Of unplanned wars in those dates boldly clings
The cities that have sunk or drowned deep
Took away with them, their entire civility
In the great oceans graveyard, now it sleeps
To be discovered by people with extreme ability
The now generation, is very inquisitive
On every find of any ancient matters around
But the finds become government subjective
Mostly those found from deep underground...
©sim
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
this same robin
has visited every day
for the past week
watching as I work
curiosity
fearlessness
bringing him closer
and closer
enough for me to identify
the glowing colour
of his breast
the ruffled feathers
of his crown
and his gentle
inquisitive conversation
as he inspects
the freshly turned soil
i respond
to his chatter
knowing but
not caring
that neither
understands the other;
there is something
in his presence
that outweighs
the need
for answers
Jun 27, 2022
Jun 27, 2022 at 12:06 PM UTC
So primitive that it should be criminal
like a limited pyramid of minimal
innocent citizen, inhabitant, or denizen
infinite vision and mission subliminal
principled, committed and disciplined
addicted to the privileged derivative
affirmative velocity, motive inquisitive
inhabiting, uninhibited, where prohibited
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
Google is the gift for
An inquisitive student,
Who is in search to
be knowledgeably potent.
Although it makes
One so dependent,
It bestows erudition
That is too consistent.
Google serves us with mail,
That saves our time to sail.
It’s services like the maps
Leaves a stranded person to bridge the gaps.
Gaps? Yes, it bridges the gaps
With all its possible apps,
The interests of the public
And concepts of the prolific.
When Google well handed
Our queries have added,
Whose possible solutions have multiplied,
For which the efforts been phenomenally divided.
With the transforming technologies
In this world of transience
Google has procured
Its own state of omnipresence.
Thus, Google has become the tool
With which the user can rule.
It endows as a surfing equipment
Hence, Google is the gift for a Student.
Jan 7, 2020
Jan 7, 2020 at 1:40 AM UTC
Distant clown, over-grown cow.
Greed, fled, fed, boat-led Sam,
Getting nowhere, near no fear.
Inner, sinner; surrogate's recycle-Bin.
Learned not we have, might constitute.
Flog a sand-bag, get dusty.
Provoke, take a stand for right.
Resolve why the hate. Quite!
Speaking of cows- inquisitive beasts;
Shouldn't be cast the wrong role.
Directors fault; new term. Choice-less.
Exactly. What would you do?
It's not of oppression, strike-down obsession.
Internal bee-stings, are not the painful.
Whatever the previous past, catalyst presentation...
On-going retaliation, stains not a few.
**** Rocks are heavy!
So what of the boat pudding?
Not constructive. World should bear this too.
Culinary dialogue. O'Bam, more custard?
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 7:46 PM UTC
She was a child once.
Eyes wide and sparkling with hopes and dreams untarnished.
An entire future stretching out before her.
She saw the world through a kaleidoscope,
A beautiful mess of endless neon colors,
Untouched by darkness and disappointment.
Pain was temporary; A scraped knee, a paper-cut.
Band-aids could heal every injury.
Her smile was a permanent fixture of sincerity,
Radiating happiness. A gaze full of inquisitive wonder.
When she lay her head down at night,
Her chest was not heavy with worries and cares.
Her mind was not filled with the ghosts of her past.
Sleep came easily, a quilt of comforting warmth enveloping her,
Sweeping her away to the land of dreams.
Blissful in her ignorance she lived, unaware that one day,
The monsters under her bed would make a home inside her head.
That her heart would fracture and die.
That the world she had known was a lie.
She wasted all her wishes wanting to be older,
Age was overrated, but nobody told her.
At 8 she was so innocent, at 10 she was just fine,
13 was disillusionment, the start of her decline.
At 15 she was in High School, they told her, "be mature".
Society screamed conformity, now she was insecure.
At 16 she was lonely, desperation took its hold.
Love slipped through her fingers like drops of liquid gold.
Now, at 17, she's stuck in a recession.
She thought the therapy had dispelled her depression.
She looks in the mirror and despises her reflection,
She is bent, bruised and broken, a mess of imperfection.
Past mistakes, her tormenters, they tear her apart.
Her body, a cage, imprisons her heart.
Each breath is a burden as she lay in bed.
She can't sleep at night, theres a war inside her head.
No one ever told her the price of growing older.
They never said she'd have
A crushing weight put on her shoulders.
Suffocating in this life, poisoned at her core,
Once she was a child,
A child she is no more.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
The Little Bird came a hopping up
And flew into his arms.
She cooed and chirped and occasionally burped
As she snuggled from all harms.
Her eyes so blue and so inquisitive
She searched his face for a smile.
Then saw what she was waiting for...
Spread across a country mile.
Her feathers so fine and very blond
Flew around when she did move.
As the music began to play and sway
Her body began to groove.
Her love of music, things so fine
Came naturally to her.
When Papa played his old guitar
It caused her feet to stir.
She laid her head upon his chest
And let out a great big sigh.
All was well in little bird land
That, you could not deny.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her feathers a muss
The face of an angel shone.
Asleep in the arms of her grandpa
Little Bird and him, alone.
Good night Little Lucy Bird. Sleep tight Princess.
Aug 4, 2010
Aug 4, 2010 at 12:39 PM UTC
Tell me a story, she asked.
Inquisitive, just like her mother.
Open that door and that'll get you to your storyland. Behind which lie stories never heard and rarely told. And there is where you can weave magic with words and watch them come into reality.
She's been searching for that door ever since.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
“Be Alive In Everything”
I had heard it before and for a moment in time
I had awaken and was alive
But when fear, adversity, uncertainty and sin left me stranded
I raised my protective shield and ran with the wind
My soul stirred, whispered, cried for release
I wanted tranquility, happiness and contentment
I hit my knees unashamed
Prayed for strength, guidance and humility
No longer to let life pass me by
I took a leap of faith
Acceptance and forgiveness paved my path
Unwavering love and perseverance carried me
God’s Beautiful Artistry
With blind and deaf awareness
Be Alive in Everything
Revel in life
Find the detail
Be precise
Touch Everything
Explore
Be Inquisitive
Touch it
Taste it
Smell it
Feel it
Record it with Clarity
Be Alive in Everything
Now Go Paint the Rain
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 7:50 AM UTC
I was greeted by
unearthly
midnight
or stellar light
I'm hypnotized by
the evening clouds
I espy
the busy
passers-by
or the silly
vagabonds
The round
earth doesn't pause
Proxima Centauri
doesn't pause
Ursa Major
doesn't pause
Colours change
The game
continues
I close my
eyes
This is how I can perceive
the sound
of silence
This is how I meet myself
I'm neither
a nihilist
nor
a hedonist
I'm simply
a monotheist
A gust
of wind blusters
My gossamer
scarf flutters
I open my inquisitive
eyes
I discover the mysterious
scene
Jun 16, 2022
Jun 16, 2022 at 10:08 AM UTC
My quest began, before Inquisitive questionnaires, questioned my solicitude.
I traveled round the globe, In search of a Gold, to meet my goal.
In frnt of me, stood a beautiful angel, with a beautiful body.
,nothing wil hold me baq,
the way she walked was so dramatic, which made her attractive, by love I became assertive, but her vioce was fantastic, So I grew attentive, In other to be romantic, which made me sarcastic.
her smile waz beautiful, Which made me Boastful, but yet doubtful, I became Playful, I Never knew she was powerful
her luscious gigantic figure, was Perfectly executed to perfection, Suddenly I became frantic, Now I have to be more strategic.
i only grew anxious, which made her precarious. i turned perplexed, while she remained unagitated, her behavior waz sassy. i grew crazy,
the meaning of loneliness, was created frm her lovely eyes, i wish you could see the angel I see when you stand in front of me, i fell in love with someone, Who separated me frm everyone,
i adore how u make me smile, even from so many miles away, you energize me in standing up tall, Love me again like you did the first day You are pretty, you are sweet, but im still a bit naïve with my heart"
If d sea were to be a burning fire under d sun, and the blustery wind were to blow it, profusely like a stormy rain f volcano, upon d land, i will never leave.
i will always be there for you, i am your little friend, i will always be in love with you, all the way till the end, My eyes blinked twice, Fully opened in tears
Tonite my heart seems in pieces, My eyes drop tears that itches, Now I am here making wishes , Trying to picture u near me within inches.
It was only a dream!
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
The people in this place
—what are they doing here?
They come and go like actors in
a play whose star will very soon
begin to show himself,
although we have no clue
which one he is, for they‘re
all so like tin apostle
spoons, not truly separate beings
but figurines, a passive foil
to the inscrutible hero.
Is that him, that thin
pale figure who just now
is fleeing the inquisitive
crowd? But in a while he too
is slowly reingested, merged
into that far-off world
we can no longer be in.
The people in this place—what are they do-
ing here? They come and go like actors in
a play whose star will very soon begin
to show himself, although we have no clue
which one he is, for they‘re all so like tin
apostle spoons, not truly separate beings
but figurines, a passive foil to the in-
scrutible hero. Is that him, that thin
pale figure who just now is fleeing the in-
quisitive crowd? But in a while he too
is slowly reingested, merged into
that far-off world we can no longer be in.
The people in this place—what are
they doing here? They come and go
like actors in a play whose star
will very soon begin to show
himself, although we have no clue
which one he is, for they‘re all so
like tin apostle spoons, not tru-
ly separate beings but figurines,
a passive foil to the inscru-
tible hero. Is that him, that thin
pale figure who just now is fleeing
the inquisitive crowd? But in
a while he too is slowly rein-
gested, merged into that far-
off world we can no longer be in.
The people in this place—what are they doing here?
They come and go like actors in a play whose star
will very soon begin to show himself, although
we have no clue which one he is, for they‘re all so
like tin apostle spoons, not truly separate beings
but figurines, a passive foil to the inscru-
tible hero. Is that him, that thin pale figure who
just now is fleeing the inquisitive crowd? But in
a while he too is slowly reingested, merged
into that far-off world we can no longer be in.
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
I love love, I love hate, I love love before it's love, I love love after it dies
I love sunny days, I love rainy days, I love overcast , and I love the snow
I love walking, I love breathing,
I love listening I love speaking
I love interactions with factions upon factions and I truly love being alone
I love the rich, I love the poor, I love Liberals and Conservatives
I love they got meanings of the terms twisted and preach so vehemently about the superiority of their ideology
I love those who speak logically, I love those who listen, I love words that were written to be spoken, and those that were just to be written
I love racists, I love blacks, I love whites, and every ethnicity with any pigmentation that falls between them or against them
I love all cultures equally, And I love cultures that hold themselves to a higher esteem than other cultures
I love Cops and I love Criminals, I love Order and alcoholics and crack addicts who just keep gettin back at it with bare minimals
I love Devote Christians, I love Krampus, I love Christmas,
I love Baphomets, I love Marvin Gaye, I love The Doors Greatest Hit list
I love Batman, I love the Joker,
I love marijuana, and both those who are and are not avid smokers
I love the freedoms I enjoy everyday and I love that men are systematically taught to hate me on a spiritual level with such passion that they would strap a bomb to their chest just to end my existence
I love the Persistence, Of time, Life, Movement, The Cosmos, and I love that it keeps on existing so fluently that we feel almost lucidly that our existence is significant =)
I love the inquisitive look in the eyes of babies asking questions without the means to ask questions that, in due time, will only be answered by questions and answers that evoke much larger questions. And I love both those questions and the appropriate answers.
I love those with and without an appreciation for the nonsensical
I love you
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
Give it all you got
Only option left to choose
Tip your cap
Turn your back
Throw up that deuce
But, who woulda knew
That clarity of concentration
Comes from unexpected deviations
From our anticipations
Suddenly
Shipwrecked
Lost at sea
Starin at that deep blue green
Like, it's just you,
And me
And we are the masters behind these sails
When our stories told
It'll be the stuff of fairy tales
The true master misses miserably alot
What matters most is
We take all our shots
So this is my position
Listen up
I don't give a ****
About you *****
Who don't give a ****
You on the sidelines of the game
What's it gonna take for you to lace em
And step it up?
I see you suckers pacin'
Over self-made situations
Like destiny isn't something we participate in
But what if we switch stations
Movin' makin'
Anxious Amplification
Got that body breakin'
Beats to shuffle strutin' feet and
Our music's the motivation
Our life, our part
Art over every evocation
Trumpets triumphantly proclaim the pontification
Sifting, shifting the breeze
The time, they are a' changin'
The rhythms's exquisite equations
Derivative of internal escavated wisdoms
Whimsical inquisitive exploration
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 6:58 AM UTC
The people in this place
—what are they doing here?
They come and go like actors in
a play whose star will very soon
begin to show himself,
although we have no clue
which one he is, for they‘re
all so like tin apostle
spoons, not truly separate beings
but figurines, a passive foil
to the inscrutible hero.
Is that him, that thin
pale figure who just now
is fleeing the inquisitive
crowd? But in a while he too
is slowly reingested, merged
into that far-off world
we can no longer be in.
The people in this place—what are they do-
ing here? They come and go like actors in
a play whose star will very soon begin
to show himself, although we have no clue
which one he is, for they‘re all so like tin
apostle spoons, not truly separate beings
but figurines, a passive foil to the in-
scrutible hero. Is that him, that thin
pale figure who just now is fleeing the in-
quisitive crowd? But in a while he too
is slowly reingested, merged into
that far-off world we can no longer be in.
The people in this place—what are
they doing here? They come and go
like actors in a play whose star
will very soon begin to show
himself, although we have no clue
which one he is, for they‘re all so
like tin apostle spoons, not tru-
ly separate beings but figurines,
a passive foil to the inscru-
tible hero. Is that him, that thin
pale figure who just now is fleeing
the inquisitive crowd? But in
a while he too is slowly rein-
gested, merged into that far-
off world we can no longer be in.
The people in this place—what are they doing here?
They come and go like actors in a play whose star
will very soon begin to show himself, although
we have no clue which one he is, for they‘re all so
like tin apostle spoons, not truly separate beings
but figurines, a passive foil to the inscru-
tible hero. Is that him, that thin pale figure who
just now is fleeing the inquisitive crowd? But in
a while he too is slowly reingested, merged
into that far-off world we can no longer be in.
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
I am not a fancy poet.
I do not use intricate words
or phrases to catch the eye
or ensnare the senses.
When I write,
it is not to elicit attention from
an inquisitive audience,
or gain fame.
I write to simply ***** my thoughts,
in untangible notes and scribbles,
and hope it can conjure
some sort of peace in my mind.
I share my poetry,
for the hope that perhaps,
you too can relate to me
and free your mind,
while we both try to
make some sort of sense
out of my word *****
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC