"unquestioningly" poems
When I was just a little girl,
And as little girls were taught then,
I played with dolls and a teaset,
Made mudcakes for food,
Wore skirts, made my hair into ponytails as I was let.
I saw the boys with the abandon which comes with free wear and play,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.
When I was older, a teen
and as teen girls were taught then,
Walk, talk, rock softly
Don’t draw too much attention
Or attempt to explore too much.
I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with freedom to play, sit, be as they want ,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.
When I was sixteen, oh sweet sixteen,
And as sixteen year old girls were taught then,
Don’t wear clothes that show your frame,
That’s indecent and you will be in another home and will incur alot of blame.
Don’t wander, argue, or express an opinion,
You’re a girl, being humble, quiet and gentle becomes you.
I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with freedom of movement and speech,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.
When I was older, and passionately sought a particular career,
I was admonished as many other girls in my time,
It’s not a career for women, late nights, more men to be around,
When you get married, that’s not going to work and troubles will abound.
I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with the freedom of pursuing their dreams,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.
When I was married, and setting a home, working and raising a family,
I left my work as many other girls in my time,
For my husband to follow his work path,
Unquestioningly, unflinchingly, resolutely.
I saw the men then with the abandon which comes with freedom of being in control of their lives,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.
But this is just the surface of my questioning being a girl,
When boys and men around tried their stunts on girls and women,
I questioned my existence.
When many girls and women I know,
Were told to stay mum on men close who took advantage of them
I questioned my existence.
When In the workspace,
Women got paid less than men because their salary were subtly looked at as secondary salaries,
Or needed to speak louder to be heard,
I questioned my existence.
When the onus of keeping a relationship working was the woman’s responsibility largely,
I questioned my existence.
When a woman got hit by her spouse,
Its she who may have provoked him.
When a man strayed,
Its she who was not a good enough wife that he had to look elsewhere.
I questioned my existence.
The atrocities many men are capable of,
The filth many men spread,
**** hate, aggression, manipulation and more
Abuse, gaslighting inside closed doors,
Wearing a mask of sophistication outside
Animalistic and entitled beings to the core.
My apologies to men who are not,
And I know some,
But they are but a handful,
Too insignificant in the larger way the world works.
But then I see me,
A harbinger of change,
In my home and around.
Raising my son differently,
Advocating for change purposively,
Actioning resolutely what’s right,
Woman for women with all my might.
I see so many more women now who retain their selves and are beacons of hope,
They don’t sit around and just mope.
And I am glad I am a girl,
And I question no more,
I question no more.
Feb 16, 2020
Feb 16, 2020 at 4:28 AM UTC
When I was a girl I loved cars and Kim Possible
And green rocks I’d find in the pebble fillings of our school playgrounds,
Because they were rare and therefore special.
I read twenty books on gemstones and minerals and stared at the pictures for hours
Hoping one day I could be beautiful and solid and reflect the colours
You can’t see
If you burn your retinas looking directly at the sun.
When I was a girl I became a driveway because I thought
If I paved myself with tarmac or cement
I’d be hard enough to withstand the weight of everyone around my heart
And grounded enough to support myself,
But the construction workers forgot to check for groundwater
And I caved in when people decided
To unapologetically and unquestioningly park their ***** in the handicap spot,
Mistaking the importance of my handicaps for the importance of their egos.
When I was a girl I became an asteroid,
Seeking a gravitational pull around a star that would give me a name and meaning.
But instead I found a black hole,
And before I realised my mistake in universal direction
Her gravity obliterated me
And absorbed whatever the **** was left
Of the force I could have been.
When I was a person I became a tree,
Rooted to the earth rather than separate
And absorbing the light for sustenance.
I’ve forgotten what it means to be hardened,
But even my cells have walls around them
And now I’m as afraid of the ground as I am of the sky
And brave enough to reach into both
And just maybe find some answers in the crust or clouds.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
Ants in formation on a sidewalk,
carrying shreds in their maws,
and releasing it for their brethren to appreciate,
in the cramped tunnels beyond sun's light,
where it is consumed forthright,
unquestioningly and rapidly,
a fervor denying taste or thought,
only frantic static coming from the queen,
to usher in more dirt and leaves,
replacing those yesterday,
dry and forgotten.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC
Would the song bird's
Sweet melodic tweets
Be as well heard
And as jovially received
If he had no one to please?
Would the mighty ant
Work so ferverously
If he had not a constraint
To honor his Queen unquestioningly?
Would the gentle bee,
Giving life to all of Nature
Pollinate the fruit and the trees
Without the sweetness of the nectar?
Does the sun that gives me warmth,
Shining on my apple cheeks
Bring me bliss with its hearth,
And expect nothing and has no needs?
All of Nature and all of Life
Revolves around fulfillment and pleasure.
Yet the sun, this ball of light,
Has no reason to deliver.
I thank the birds, the bees, and the trees
For giving me this moment of splendor.
Yet they are already well fulfilled -
It is the sun who satisfies our wills
While it burns, oblivious, in its slumber.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
Pretentious prize life unwinding splendid endurants
Licentious Khidr illuminates in it neo verse lee
Like In tro vert eyes knott the sea spontaneously
Nature deceives one apple a time returned
When life giveth to empty pleas neatly
Even when don't make sense literally
Follow where poets pout analogy
About How the needy are poorly
Helped up off their knees and
Why wholesome matrimony
Is a holy introvert baldly
Hungry unquestioningly
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 12:37 AM UTC
You'll hear a pop and
a life time of
silence, this malice is unquestioningly
slow. Rapid hand gestures
blur and halt, as the shallow
drifter stumbles
on.
Soft skin
entangles, as your breath fogs my glasses.
A vivid note twangs forever
onward, though this ink quickly
dries.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 9:08 PM UTC
it was the first time we met; i was freshly 18.
and that Fiorentino barbuto--i guessed aloud that he was 24.
and he laughed at me, but softly.
i got into this italian's car unquestioningly,
the 'plan A' having been compromised.
Whitney Houston in my ears;
his hand drifting over my thigh;
the gold bracelet on his wrist.
desolate hilltop, well outside city center.
it was nighttime. so many twigs and leaves;
bottle of red;
political conversation;
sitting on two tree stumps;
trying to speak spanish;
city below.
we stood up.
his left hand took me; i bet he bruised me somewhere.
(i had shaved all over, thank god)
he caressed my face with his right,
his thumb dragging against my jaw
as he surely longed for someone who had left,
and i longed for the one i was yet to meet.
i saw the golden lights through my eyes pressed shut.
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 11:27 PM UTC
The days of your infantry
Where all things were always the same
When all eyes were always on you;
Your days when you ****** from the bulging
******* of your mama,
Your days when your glorious promises
Glittered like gold and diamond
Your days of joyous innocence are long
Gone.
You became of age
Your strengths and might
Threaten your mama,
Your Papa couldn't stand your stubbornness
Your friends had to leave,
You're now call Orisa
Ebora ti n fi eje s'omi mu.
Whenever your mama question your arrogance
You turn the road down-upside
Up the fairy flame of fire
She was roasted alive while we all stood and watched
We could not even grace her a goodbye party
Then your Papa died a horrible death
They said Sanponna struck him,
Some said it was Ayilala.
Bode Saadu,
Ogun, Eesu,
Pleaded on our behalf
Yet, you remained unquestioningly wicked;
When you are happy and you want us to rejoice
With you,
Your banquet is hosted in the village square
Where sun is the special guest of honour
The lid of the pit of hell is uncovered
And the demons would pour out with aprons on their necks:
The event is never much different
-Down the tankers, Up the fairy flames of fire -
Now, your days are grey
Still, your rage is same
You know no forgiveness
You have no compassion
At dawn, the children called you orphan
At dusk, they were roasted like your mama
Everyday we wake with the fear of the unknown
Yet, we cannot stop paying our homage at the
Cemetery near your play ground.
We groan in the chains tied around our necks
And in our agony, we hope that someday, maybe
Your evil days will pass.
But, for now we call you Bode Saadu,
The land of the unknown god.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 6:02 AM UTC
I've seen you cry one too many times this year.
and it's too late for an apology- but I will say this:
You waited anxiously for nine months for my adoption papers and immigration requirements to make or break the family you wanted to raise. Thank you.
When I came home crying in the ninth grade, begging to change schools because the girls in my class wouldn't stop calling me ***** you tore up your roots and left all your friends so that you could give me an opportunity to be happy. Thank you.
After you caught me lighting fires in the kitchen during the last stretch of middle school, you dug to the depths of your wallet and entered me in therapy sessions. Thank you.
Midnight of the week I was supposed to go to London, you came down to the bus stop that I was waiting at with all the emergency vehicles. You checked me into a psychiatric hospital as soon as I was released from police custody in the hopes that a clinical environment would help me heal faster. Thank you.
When you found out that I had put myself into a dangerous situation, you locked down my personal things and put passwords and restrictions around me so I would be safe from the predators of this society. Thank you.
All those times I chose not to come home, all those times I locked myself in the bedroom and wouldn't speak- It was guilt. How could I face the one person who has essentially given up everything for me, just to tell her I'd made another mess that she'd have to clean up?
How could I come home to the thought that I'd failed yet again?
How could I say to my mother, who has sacrificed unquestioningly each and every day so that I could have the comfortable life I've lived, that I wasn't able to be the bigger person?
That I lost another friend, that I'd broken a law, that despite the happy home environment she'd done everything she can to create– I still found myself wanting to die at night. That I still couldn't see past the disappointments of my errors.
You've done everything for me without complaint, and on this day I couldn't be ****** enough to even say "good morning."
It's too late for an apology, but I will say this:
I cannot see myself being big enough to support the two of us in the way that you have. I cannot imagine giving up the freedoms and the niceties that you have for me. I cannot grasp the concept of selflessness over selfishness.
Mom, I love you.
Please forgive me for being so difficult.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC
At the swell of music I can fell the intersection of screaming of voices
They, like me, have been waiting for years
The plentitude of the thousands’ cadences
Are for the hunted, are the hunted
United, we stand in. This is unworthy, unworthy
Bestilled, we are here, standing like statues
Quietly, unquestioningly, indebted to ourselves
They said that, they said that: the mother voice
The mother’s voice
Oh, in the change of meter, she laughs and coos the answers
Your answers: we’re eying,
I’m the umpteenth man. Always. To ask,
Uncontented by the simplicity of the question, or the answer
Struggling for its complications, so, at least,
It can be done, it’s yet complete.
Wish against wishes, a silence doesn’t care
Then again, neither does the noise. Neither does the music.
If it were but love that made the moon rise, the moon rises
The ******* moon rises, it would be sorry night
A sorry state of affairs. Rest knowingly, and endure
The calamities of waning stars, twilight, and the coming day,
Marvel in the complexity of speech, and twine my fingers,
We’ll make it through.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
Even now, my precious Lord,
I’m fully aware of the spiritual bleed
emanating from the wounds of my heart;
despite the ongoing pain, I’ve experienced
that genuine explosion of Your holy seed…
which was planted within the frailty
of this tear-filled, human existence.
Your timeless waves of abundance continue
to inundate the morning cries of sorrow
and to overwhelm my life’s resistance.
The fabric of my heart has been ripped;
from this unseen rupture comes a new flow
of unexpected compassion for Your people.
Draw me ever closer to You, merciful Lord;
position me within Your Kingdom’s plateau.
Allow me to enjoy the boundlessness…
of Your unabated surge of loyal love,
that seeks to unquestioningly consume me,
since I’m free me of sin’s punishment
and covered by Jehovah’s promises from above.
.
.
.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Joel 2:12-13
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
I tell her sleep…sleep now
There is only the place where love isn’t
and it is dark and quite cold
It’s alright to sleep
Soon enough the war cry will begin anew
Get on with it
Keep on keeping on
Get a move on
All of these and more
Assaulted with cliches she falls in line to avoid the blood letting
Bear witness to the unruly beat of my neglected heart
She beats her wings to battered on the inside of the bars; to no avail
So she sits on her perch and stares out through the thick black lines that separate her vision into columns
love with fangs comes to call occasionally
It will feast gently on her large artery
Just barely tasting the sweetness of lifeblood on the surface
Shuddering in ecstasy in recognizing its preciousness
and in the thrill of the innocent being so shamelessly,
unquestioningly,
trusting;
giving,
blind.
It drinks willfully from that fount of pure emotion
Lapping up the attention like the syrup of life
But forgets that it’s not the only one that needs feeding
and shuts off the tap when her heart begs refilling of any kind and her wings are tired
scrambling over the wall
retreating to a safe distance to watch the scavengers fly overhead
waiting for her cries to fade
til’ she becomes only a papery shell
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 2:05 PM UTC
I lay down
and let the green chlorophyll
envelope my soul
above, the blue eternity
of the clear Indian summer sky
at my left ear,
some small being,
scuttles about in the moist
hummus of the days decay.
at my right,
the silence of a rock,
quietly mourning
it's separation from the mountain
and underneath me,
grass continues to grow,
oblivious to the oppressive
weight I have laid upon it.
ever relentless ,in the search
for the warm of the sun...
I smell the hope of the earth
as I lay upon it
and relax into the simply,complex world that lays beneath.
and it unquestioningly,
receives the stress,
that leaches from me...
and in the sky....a bird flies...
unencumbered.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 3:08 AM UTC
how awful goodbyes are.
do not mistake this as easy -
do not mistake my relief
as happiness in the act.
breaking your heart was
the hardest thing I've ever
done, and I will forever
feel your grief in my bones.
I'm sorry I loved you until
I didn't; I wanted you to be
the permanence etched into
my very blood cells but
nothing ever happens
the way you want it to,
and the way things happened
with you took every last
ounce of me and destroyed it.
so in a way, please understand
that you crafted this undoing.
in breaking my heart over and
over again, you set the foundation
to break your own - and you may
not understand that now, but
I hope someday you look back
and understand the way you broke
the girl who loved you steadfastly,
unconditionally, unquestioningly.
remember that I didn't wake up
one day and decide to love you
no longer, understand you chipped
away at my love until it wasn't
anything anymore. understand
I wanted more than anything in the
world to never hurt you, but you
left me with no other choice.
remember it wasn't me
who wrecked the house we
built together - understand
that you set fire to our bed
long before I left it.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
In this moment, I love the face of a dead man,
Repeated by chance in the guise of a stranger.
His lips quirk the same way in
Sweet sarcasm,
And in that moment,
Three years beneath the earth scatters,
Ashes to the wind.
And you are here.
His shoulders span the same width
And I know- cupped in my
Needful, grasping palms-
Their touch before I even
Pass a phrase to their owner.
I know, his abrasiveness is softened from a scour
To a pleasant heat
And those who hate it
Love him fiercely, unreasonably, and unquestioningly.
I know this
And yet this man
Is nothing more than a mirage left
In the wake of a fire storm.
After the remnants of goose-flesh have failed to leave my skin
I'll take it.
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 9:23 AM UTC
The rock we forge upon the world,
The slab made of belongings and people,
The place that seems to unquestioningly exist based on feelings of responsibility.
The only schedule we have being barraged with other possibility's. Good and bad.
A realistic windshield outside of which the unknown is kept out.
The jungle planet exists and we stay in circles. Well defined patterns of green blues and purples.
Love work and honor and loss of our lifetimes. Collect in our heads all the yellow and white lines. Green lights and stop signs. Friends and our bloodlines.
Speeding past poison, driving through lightning, electronic storms of the unknown and the frightening.
Our foundations are spaceships as we float through the spaces that pass all the places that we've never known. The difference between us is great and the genius we've built all around us keeps life in our homes.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 1:58 AM UTC
I don’t want to start this poem out with uncertainty,
But it’s instinctive, you see, and I’m not sure why I’m here.
You ever feel like that?
Returning to the same places, the same people,
Half of them passively accepted, not chosen.
That’s what I feel sometimes when I traverse across a page
With a cursor and impulsive fingers racing across the keyboard.
I’m just a traveler and yeah, I guess there’s glimpses of destinations,
But I don’t have a map.
All I have are my past footsteps.
Collecting pages in the breeze, greedily grasping.
Yeah, there’s no getting off this ship.
This is a place I must return to,
Like a mother’s grave.
I tread lightly, with dignity, knowing there’s purpose
In me arriving and visiting, but sometimes not finding the words to say,
And my throat dries up like a bird’s nest.
At least my fingers are active, they dance.
I come to visit this sacred place, so that when I do visit
The inevitable gravesite with daisies in hand,
I can leave a piece of me that’s a little more permanent,
A little more solidified, love in a glass bottle.
I might not get off this ship, I might very well be stuck in that bottle.
A treasure tossed in the rolling ocean,
Lost in a sea of oblivion.
The waves continue on in their cosmic, rhythmic dance,
Until they, too, forget their purpose.
Until that day, they dance.
Like the planets in their certain spirals.
The world will dance, meaningless, absurd,
Unquestioningly.
Dance how you see fit.
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 2:10 PM UTC
Leave me alone maybe means
go away yes but be here
in one call. When the ground beneath you
shakes keep going but turn back when
mud stops being thick.
Avoid getting too lost.
The unknown place after the reed
is off limits. Maybe
I put up the chainlink
because I want the trespass.
But that
way we only go so far.
The hope is that
you’re still an animal
by the end of this abuse,
unquestioningly
returning to the long-haired girl sweeping land with her herding call.
There in a blanket of mist, she stands barefoot and unmoving like a scarecrow.
She moors the cows to her side of silvery dawn.
—unquestioningly
because what is there to ask?
It is known to work, the ancient
Scandinavian song of lure.
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC