"unanswerable" poems
If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.
Both of you are great light borrowers.
Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected,
And your first gift is making stone out of everything.
I wake to a mausoleum; you are here,
Ticking your fingers on the marble table, looking for cigarettes,
Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous,
And dying to say something unanswerable.
The moon, too, abuses her subjects,
But in the daytime she is ridiculous.
Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand,
Arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity,
White and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide.
No day is safe from news of you,
Walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.
53.9k
Knights clad in paper armor
Draw their pen-shaped swords
In preparation for battle
Against the dragon named Algebra
All year they've trained for this day
Poring over musty tomes
Filled with archaic battle plans
Entire armies have been lost
In the dangerous search
For the elusive variable called X
The informants A and B
Have consistently given
Inconsistent information
And the number line
Has completely deserted them
The numbers taunt the knights
Mocking their puny calculators
Confident in their unanswerable status
Yet one by one
The polynomials fall
The dragon bows it's head
The Knights have won the day.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 7:24 PM UTC
I am awake
alive. aware. tired... but, so awake
ready. content? drained... but, ready.
ready for what's next.
soak.
soak while enveloped in His cloak of soundness, of serenity inconspicuously emerging from the crossfire
come to an understanding
a consensus with Yourself
stay.
stay here... in this fractured moment of freedom, of belonging, of peace
A breakthrough.
Gasp for Air before descending back into perplexity.
know
know the Answer
Believe in the Answer to all those unanswered, unanswerable questions
Love the Answer
Thank the Answer
Breathe
आप पूरी तरह से ठीक हैं
आप ठीक हो जाएंगे
आप ठीक होना पड़ेगा
अच्छा?
हाँ.
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 3:36 PM UTC
'Of course I was drugged, and so heavily I did not regain
consciousness until the next morning. I was horrified to
discover that I had been ruined, and for some days I was inconsolable,
and cried like a child to be killed or sent back to my aunt.'
-Mayhew, London Labour and the London Poor
Even so distant, I can taste the grief,
Bitter and sharp with stalks, he made you gulp.
The sun's occasional print, the brisk brief
Worry of wheels along the street outside
Where bridal London bows the other way,
And light, unanswerable and tall and wide,
Forbids the scar to heal, and drives
Shame out of hiding. All the unhurried day,
Your mind lay open like a drawer of knives.
Slums, years, have buried you. I would not dare
Console you if I could. What can be said,
Except that suffering is exact, but where
Desire takes charge, readings will grow erratic?
For you would hardly care
That you were less deceived, out on that bed,
Than he was, stumbling up the breathless stair
To burst into fulfillment's desolate attic.
3.9k
Humorless soul burning plunder
Of fraternity and success
By unnamed ,unseen blood and flesh
Escaping through unimaginable pits of hell
Not leaving a folklore,a story to tell.
A new decease spreading through mankind
From a single human body
Frightening name, shrieking mankind
Whenever this disease comes in contact with them.
Appropriately a plague
Running in tempt
Spreading to face
Something like vendetta ,something unsafe.
Entering into new age
Through the plague of dissatisfaction
Morose ,cruel,not leaving a fly unhurt
Being risen as group of beasts...
Dissatisfaction,a word which shouldn't exist
Flows now through the blood stream of every body
Leaving poison to spread
From toe to head
Keeping love in custody.
Why this plague of dissatisfaction?
Why an unturned page?
why this spread of cruelty?
Why not try but fail?
Unanswerable questions,i think these are for me...
I'll just sit and stare at the poem as the
Plague of dissatisfaction spreads till eternity.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
Once upon a time,
I dare asked for preference on
Characters of fantasy.
I took a tally poll without mere thought
But then the deeply stored epiphany came later.
For if we are judging creatures of imagination then we must
Be grading stereotypes.
We gave each only a few characteristics
And in turn labeled our minds restrictive.
In the world of zombies and unicorns we can create anything we want.
In the realm of fantasy,
Everything and anything exist.
The question is unanswerable.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 6:18 PM UTC
Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.
Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
1.8k
We live for the fat free vanilla cream coffee cups on mornings when we wake before the sun is up, and nights when the silence is trickling icy though. We live for Life. Such a small word, yet remains vague and unanswerable to many people.
A word which concurrently brings upon curiosity and fear inside a simple mind that continuously runs wild with questions. A word who’s meaning can only be defined as a never ending cliffhanger, leaving you with the gut aching suspense of a never resolved story.
We are all blinded by the light paved into the road we created ourselves. Some people look at what a flower has brought into their lives and cherish it, while others hide around a dark corner with harsh opinions and rationalizations. Around that corner a cold reality is approaching, causing a cherished life to be cut short.
That life though, it never dies. For before it shriveled up, it did something amazing. After that flower blossomed, a gust of determination carried it’s knowledge throughout the world to be seen as inspiration. Inspiration, and to once again ambitiously sprout.
We live for the little things that make life worth living. The people. The places. The words. The temporary confidence in knowing what comes next. The cliffhanger. The unwritten ending you’re so eager to place punctuation.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
5/15/2021
Did you ever play in the rain as a kid?
Now it reminds us of all sadness did.
Did you ever stare out of a window pane,
And let your joyless tears fall with the rain?
Did it ever make you feel wet and miserable,
And leave you asking questions unanswerable?
Did you ever wonder how something with
So much life could bring also death?
Mar 12, 2022
Mar 12, 2022 at 10:54 AM UTC
I want a book to fall into.
I want to be a part of someone else's torment
A head congested with negativity and a distracting certainty of that which I cannot know for sure
Is in itself a truth
I want to tumble into pages
Fall between the words and hang on to a question by the tip of Q's tail
Conquer U, E, S, T, I, like monkey bars
And slide myself through "O" down the rabbit hole
Taking me far away to a land unlike this one
Where a distressed and questioning mind are put at ease
Where rabbits have pocket watches, cats grin, teacakes make you taller and smaller
And boys still want you
Forget the "N" because that would mean we've reached the end of an unanswerable question
One I'm tired of asking.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:45 PM UTC
But I was awake then,
wasn't I?
you see, you don't think I remember.
But I do.
there was sunlight-
the kind of sunlight
that filters through
inescapable particles of dust, no matter
how much
I hate
to be able to see myself breathing them in.
the kind of sunlight
that absolutely glares
up off of the oil
on the asphalt
in the evenings
and blinds you hysterically.
the kind of sunlight
that swiftly stills
your rattling skeleton
and begs you to stare
"But mother, only for a minute..."
the kind of sunlight
that makes me remember
my own unanswerable questions
about my subtle deterioration
my inevitable decline
into this utter chaos
that is myself.
and through this degradation, this decomposition, I realize
that I can't help but wonder:
when did these superfluous trees take root?
where were you when the first seed of doubt landed on the surface of my parched, withering mind?
and, my God, why on Earth did you let it rain?
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
We’ll try to answer
The unanswerable paradox
Of tragedy and pain
And attempt to explain suffering.
Why ****** wasn’t born with an incurable disease
And why Anne Frank
Couldn’t have just held off
For three more weeks
Until Liberation.
These questions make
the world become poetry.
And we who ask them
become the world.
Inevitable losses contrived from the actuality
Saying goodbye to the ones that we love
Letting them go
Before we’re destroyed
By the inevitable suffering.
I am a grenade.
I am bound to explode.
Fatalities by the dozens.
Even more wounded.
PTSD for years after
I will leave an emptiness
In the lives of those I love
And those who love me.
Life will end midsentence
Before I have a chance to explain
Or say goodbye
Or say I’m sorry
To those who never got the chance.
Because I knew I was a grenade
And I loved them too much
To even be
One of my fatalities.
[Boom]
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
In the cool night of childhood
I saw the heavenly glass
Through flecks in the dusty sky
Wandered in the vast, wild wood
Climbing in the walnut tree
Lolling on the dawn's dew grass
Cloud coverings shifting by
Prayer budding from out of me
I dozed unanswerable and free
Weary, glad, and wholly good.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
Life. Such a small word, yet remains vague and unanswerable to many people. A word which concurrently breeds curiosity and fear inside a simple mind that continuously runs wild with questions. A word who’s meaning can only be defined as a never ending cliffhanger, leaving you with the gut aching suspense of a never resolved story. Controlling our lives like a marionette puppet with the strings being attached to the four characters L, I, F, and E. But alas, we are all blinded by the light paved into the road we created ourselves. A cracked road filled with the seeds of our generation, aided in growth from our blinded light with ambitions of reaching the sun. We give our seeds a warm reality, which sparks the blossom it’s wanted to expose to the world, the reason it was given a chance as a seed to begin with. Some people look at what that flower has to brought into their lives and cherish it, while others hide around a dark corner with harsh opinions and rationalizations. Around that corner a cold reality is approaching, causing a cherished life to be cut short. That life though, it never dies. For before it shriveled up, it did something amazing. After that flower blossomed, a gust of determination carried the seeds of it’s knowledge throughout the world to be seen as inspiration. Inspiration, and to once again ambitiously sprout from the crack in the road we’ve so blindly created.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 8:30 PM UTC
First the small details begin to fade
The exact shade of brown in his eyes
The slight rasp in his voice
The warmth of his arms wrapping around you
Second the small moments begin to fade
The smell of smoke tickling your nose
as you sit and roast marshmallows over the fire
The smack of rubber hitting your foot
as you kick the ball to the other side of the field
The pain in your cheeks
as you laugh until you cry because of his ridiculous joke
Lastly the important memories begin to fade
The dizzy feeling of confusion
when he tells you he’s sick and has to stay in the hospital
The burning feeling of anger
when he can’t go back to school like everyone else
The choking feeling of sadness
when he no longer can breathe even with the help of doctors
Eventually all you are left with are
a few foggy, rose-tinted flashes
of childhood memories
a never ending ache in your chest
fueled by unanswerable questions
and an hollowness in your soul
from the absence of your childhood best friend
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 2:24 AM UTC
One day... I woke up.
I don't remember how long I was asleep,
or even if I was asleep,
or dead,
or something.
There are just some things in life that can't be understood.
And for a long time, I refused to take that for an answer. I mean,
WHY?!
The unanswerable question and answer.
One day, long ago,
I took a break from the world to visit the cosmos.
I don't remember how long I was gone,
or even if I left,
but what I do know,
is nothing.
Nothing more than you.
And I'm okay with that.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
this is a depth bomb cutting,
a midnight message for me,
a Zola accusatory,
“You make me think about death and doorways and sleep”
no mere paper cut incision,
bandaid and triple bacterial,
a forehead kiss
and an-on-your-way
nope serious business
*death and doorways and sleep
and all that is in between,
nightly rehanging the me-moon,
on that curved tip
the onerous tasks of child raising,
you, the perp, the perpetual kid,
the holy version victim trinitized
too?
hanging your self right on that shining orbital,
leads to unquestionable answer processions
ahead of the unanswerable, they ask,
what’s behind the screen door of
death and doorways and sleep*
life is hard,
but without questions,
it is unquestionably
harder
find the doorways.
this explains so little
and so more much.
reminder: make doorways - open them
11:10pm 4-10-19 ~ 10:31am 4-16-19
~for AH~
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 10:45 AM UTC
what is life about?
sometimes it's impossible not to doubt
and what of those who sell
their souls to dwellers in hell?
we grow up defining right and wrong
their words almost a prayer song
there comes a time when we no longer believe
the ingrained reasons there for delusional relief
why are we so afraid
to declare past stereotypes dead?
we know we shouldn't question
things such as religion
it's natural to just accept
and yes, we've done just that
but are opinions from different perspectives
really as deadly as explosives?
is heaven really in existence
or a lie to forbid any resistance?
we realize much more as we grow
the things we shouldn't even want to know
they say we're here for a purpose
are you sure life isn't but a repetitive curse?
maybe the stars making up the constellation
are souls who have failed in reincarnation
perhaps only those closer to death—
those who are left without breath
maybe they know every answer
the answers to the things we wonder
they merely have no time
to repent for their mediocre yet grave crime—
this world holds an endless grudge
especially towards those who judge
so why are they hiding the truths
hiding them from next generation's youths?
- - -
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC
Diastolic memory fills mind with blood
Heart purges other unforgettable serum
Gushing in and out; valediction, invasion
Scent left on bed sheets binomial theorem
Calculus, physics computing mnemonics us
Trust not sum of it, exponents baying flux
Participles and components abject humbling
Stumbling bio discourse create sedentary crux
Stupefying brain surgeons, those of heart too
Call in mathematicians, astronomers as well
No making sense of it, linguistic doctorates few
To tell of this push-pull sensory denoting hell
Not much time to live after lungs dispensed
Entrenched questions remain to be adoring
Extravagantly historians exploring
Unanswerable examining of this imploring
Must breathe the linens till all dissipation
Your essence in the ether of our resting
Place turned into mad languid laboratory
Conjuring back moments I am requesting
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC
Alone,
on the shore,
near our family home,
familiar wide horizon fills
with shades
of deep
grey.
Drawn
to the depths
I stand here again,
exposed to the rawness,
as thunderous
waves
crash.
Collecting
cairns of pebbles
distracts me for a while,
yet those piles
of perfect
three inchers
won't bounce
across the beyond
no matter
how
hard I
throw them.
Once
you
taught me
how this works.
In awe,
I counted.
So I'm stood
bending low
soaking
wet
from salt
streaked face.
Surely,
I'm
grinding sand
in my teeth
whilst
skimming
these dark leagues;
yelling unanswerable questions,
with each exacting throw.
Unfathomable
pain
expelled.
Again.
The sea
will
soon turn
and
forget
my anger.
Here.
Today.
Where
once
we
collected
shells,
decorated
pebble forts,
with
driftwood
towers
and
seaweed
flags.
Defences
that
don't
protect
us.
How
I miss
you
still.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
The world would be a better place without me
here, polluting the atmosphere,
de-constructing the carefully, tediously sculpted landscape,
and building monuments to a capitalist god.
The galaxy would be a better place without us
trying to figure out the enigma beset before us,
trying to answer the unanswerable.
The universe would be better off if Humans were extinct,
without us killing ourselves over land that we're killing,
without us infecting everything we touch with the plague of humanity.
Without us, there would be harmony,
bliss,
universal peace.
Without us, everything would be perfect.
As it should be.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
Am I selfish if you are all I seem to write about?
Always on my mind. Am I good at nothing else? Is that it?
Are you easy to write about? No. Yes. Who knows.
I know you are easier to write about than I am. That's why I don't write about myself.
Because what could I say?
I have nowhere to begin.
I am entrapped. Embodied.
A cleansing experience and a curse.
What am I? Isn't that one of the unanswerable questions.
How was college?
Who is she?
What are you good at?
What are you good at?
getting overwhelmed at the sheer immensity of life.
How the **** does no one else feel it?
I ask too many questions.
Topic change.
I am the sea. I am tumultuous.
Never stop running form one corner of the world to the next.
Never stopping.
I write my poetry in paragraphs when it's written down and in short bites when it's typed.
I wonder why that is.
It's urgent. This is urgent!
Thoughts like to shoot and confuse. Be my muse. Too loud. Can't tide me over.
I think this Mary is laced cuz my heart is beating… how does that rap go?
Hmm, Tyler?
There is a picture in my head of a happy summer blonde with the perfect matte red lips. She is making fun of me. She stares at me and teases me into a pit of madness. She always watches over me. She is my heart and she wants to hurt me. Masochistic pig. Sadistic wolf. Pink is my favorite color. I try so hard to be pink. Pink tries so hard to be me.
A little disgusting ******
Blackberry currant.
Pink *****
Popping pink.
"ck" is my favorite sound.
**** ****
Pretty little *****
**** ****
I want you to pound my pretty pink ***** pop.
That little **** is going to get ****** so hard tonight. Pound you with my ****
Please?
Surprise me, baby. Don't be like the rest. Because I know too well what to expect.
How did I come from such a beautiful creature? How do any of us get here, and why must I suffer more than they?
Nothing has ever been simple with you. Everything has always been so hard.
Beat beat be still my
pounding head. Before the floodgates open. She can't see me weak.
No one can.
But I am selfish and I'll stay.
No more running away.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
...when today,
we wake up, feeling everything has gone astray...
ask ourselves questions, not readily answerable,
at times, are unanswerable...
...rest assured that...
...a moment comes...we reflect on changes,
and then before us, a new path emerges....
there's this ever growing community,
where lyrical outbursts are a variety...
new faceless names we meet,
minds and pens, together we co exist...
from our muses, enchanting ideas, so to speak,
where every dash and dot, poetic...
every poem of I, Myself, Me,
slowly but surely become Thy, Thee, We.......
come...
be in this corner,
be one of those minds from various nations,
with diverse thoughts and convictions...
where every poem is written with passion,
life's lessons, learned and shared...
come...
restless souls.
seek refuge in this haven,
be eased, calmed, be healed, here,
where every poet is part and parcel
of a world within a world,
a microcosm we call
...Hello Poetry...
Sally
Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
she wrote words in
between the cracks of
sidewalks, so people wouldn't
step on them
she scribbled in notebooks
and left them at bus stations,
where strangers took
them home
she wrote her words in
aquafresh on the bathroom
mirror, and the next
person would have the
arduous task of
cleaning her mind off
and flushing it
she wrote on the stalks of
wheat, which baked into
bread fed rich and poor and
stealing orphans who became
trancelike
she wrote in red sharpie ink
across the train platform
and up the handrails and across
the 90's patterned seats
she wrote pieces on the graffiti
boards in skate-parks
because they were covered
by *** leaves and ying-yang
signs that are anything but balanced,
smiley faces more crooked
than the person who painted it
she scribed phrases into
candy given to children, sitting
in stomachs and spit on the
ground
she wrote everywhere so
someone might remember her, and
they didn't
they remember words across
their cheeks, maybe a glimpse
of beauty in the
twirling joy of a child in the rain
they do not remember a girl with
cropped hair and eyes
that pierce, they do not
remember a writer, only a
book that spans the entire world with a page
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 11:20 AM UTC