Gertrude Stein chews the fat
We asked ourself a question
since no-one else asked it
it was are poems about the poet
or about poetry
or about neither
or about both
and now we had asked this question
we had to answer it and we said
if poetry raises all these questions
the answer must be simply
yes
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Are You All Right?
They keep asking me this question
I don't know how to answer
They say it again
And I still don't have an answer
Really, what do you say to that
I could say I'm fine, but that would be a lie
I could say everything, but then they would keep asking me questions
Questions i couldn't answer
That's when I simply smile and walk away
The question that's always asked, but never answered
Are you all right?
That's for you to decide
(2-21-05)
poem by Brandi Young
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I Told Myself
I told myself
You do love me
Is it really true?
She asked me
I told myself
You care for me
Are you really sure?
She asked me
I told myself
You do miss me
As often as you?
She asked me
I told myself
You need me too
Are you guessing?
She asked me
I told myself
You never tell me
Why on Earth?
She asked me
I told myself
You hide a lot…
Is that friendship?
She asked me
I told myself
You think too much
Does he not feel?
She asked me
Tell me, my love
What shall I say?
To all those queries
That she asked me...
How should I answer?
What should I ponder?
Tell me the truth
For she still asks me...
You For Me
And Me For You
Is it the Future?
One last Question
She did ask me.
I don’t have the answers
Yet she keeps asking me…
May be, she knows,
One day, one moment
You’ll let her know
How you feel for me...
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Change
The other day I walked accross the street
i couldnt believe what I appeared to see...
as I looked at a poor boy who came to me
I asked him his name and he didnt know
he just asked me for change.
I asked where is your mum?
he just asked me for change
I asked where is your dad?
he just asked me for change
I asked will someone come?
he just asked me for change
I asked why are you sad?
with no response to my question there was a pause...
but then once again he asked me for change
see, as i watched him dissapear with his pain
I realised that he actualy asked me...
for a change.
poem by Daniel McCann
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An Assumption Of Money To Be Made
If they ever asked why I'm doing all this?
I will answer with a single remark.
To save a life.
If they ever asked what if you fail?
I will answer with a single remark.
I have but, I'm still here.
If they ever asked now that your accomplished what's next.
I will answer with a single remark.
What I do will not change, at least not for intentions of fame.
If they ever asked, if offered money to stop what your doing would you?
I will answer with a single remark.
No I will not be bought.
'So let me get this straight your completely honest? '
Yes I try to be.
'Well I still don't believe you.'
Well I never I asked you to or care if you do.
Your the one who wanted answers to those questions.
I gave you my answers, take it or leave it.
'I have to go because your not going to make me any money.'
That's fine because I've never said I would.
Your the one who assumed that.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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How Do You Write Poetry
There is a question I am often asked,
of which I have no answer for at all.
The question is a simple one,
how do you write poetry?
To be honest I haven’t got a clue.
With me the words just trickle out
one after the other,
if they rhyme that is great
and if they don’t, I just scratch my head.
I cannot tell anyone how to write,
for me it’s just a natural thing.
I write almost everything,
novels, short stories, poems and songs.
I have even written a couple of plays,
but that was a long, long time ago.
However to tell anyone how to write,
I would not know where to begin.
The answer I give to the question is simple;
write whatever you like good or bad.
It’s yours and be proud of it
no matter what anyone else has to say.
The more you write the better you will get.
However, the most important thing
that you should always remember and that is
that you write, write, and write!
9 November 2011
poem by David Harris
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His Answer To My Question Was A Question
His answer to my question
Was a question
My answer to his reply
Was returned
With another question
The game of
Answering and asking
Questions
Did not end
Till I questioned
The very motive
Of our conversation
We came to the conclusion
How to pass time?
Was the biggest question
Asking questions
And creating confusion
Was the answer
So we passed our time
Asking and answering questions
The question now is
Whether we did right or wrong?
The answer is
Why ask a useless question?
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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My Question for M lady Fay
There is a question I must pose
In the vain hope that someone knows
Who’s willing to enlighten me.
Before my birth where would I be
This question always puzzles me
and when I die where do I go.
I have asked priests who hesitate
to answer me, they vacillate.
Because in truth they do not know.
They quote their Holy Book to me
But I have looked and cannot see.
The answer that I seek to find.
Why is it that they pretend to know
from whence I came and where I go.
And yet they will not answer me.
My question is a simple one
I make it clear to everyone.
But no one seems to understand.
The truth is what I seek to know
From whence I came where do I go.
Will somebody please answer me.
20-Nov-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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If you don't ask the right questions, you don't get the right answers. A question asked in the right way often points to its own answer. Asking questions is the ABC of diagnosis. Only the inquiring mind solves problems.
quote by Edward Hodnett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Questions
I don't remember my first question asked
Might have been to my mother while in my crib I basked
Or maybe it was to my father when he kissed me goodnight
Then he said a prayer for me and then he turned off the light.
Many questions I have asked since the day I was born
Many questions I have answered and many I did mourn
Some of them were the truth, but them I had masked
I don't remember why, but I remember they were asked.
Questions are needed to understand our life
Answers are needed so we too might avoid strife
Life is full of questions and are as many as drops of rain
And like rain drops not two questions are really the same.
Questions will be a part of us until that day we die
We will come across them daily with who, what, where or why
I dread not the future, but I do dread the past
I also dread the day, not knowing which question of mine will be last.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Probing Questions
Is there something more to life, than endless days of toil and strife?
Is there something after all of this; a Hell below or a Heavenly Bliss?
Can there truly be life after death, this when we take our final breath?
That question always asked is why; do innocent people have to die?
Why do righteous people perish, while evil seems to always flourish?
Friend is there truly a Living God, who rules above the earth we trod?
And does God truly care for us; mortal beings that return to the dust?
Can anyone have true peace of mind, in this world that is so unkind?
Why’s there evil darkness everywhere, if He is a God filled with care?
And why would a God full of love, simply sit and watch from above?
These are just a few of many more, questions asked about my Lord,
Questions that you may have asked; some in the not so distant past.
Many questions are Satan’s reproof, to keep many from God’s Truth,
Let none of them keep you from, Christ who from Heaven has come,
With answers to these and more, on questions about Heaven’s Door.
The Spirit leads to God’s Word, with the answers to questions heard,
Eternal answers which you will find, fill your heart not just your mind.
Where God not just answers them, but gives new life to all my friend.
Then all the questions are second to, the Eternal Life He’s given you.
And now an answer in my life, is to Heaven I’m going in Jesus Christ.
(Copyright ©06/2007)
When You Ask About Her Sorry But She Already Left
your question must fall away without
an answer
she already left two days ago
or perhaps she knew about your question
and she did not like it
i guess so, but i never asked her
she was too fragile for anything like your poem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Elsa And Joan
Elsa and Joan were truthful girls,
But just for fun they lied only once - on their day of birth.
On the 6th of April someone asked them:
When is your birthday?
Elsa used to say: It was yesterday.
Joan used to say: It will be tomorrow.
I will meet my dearest fellow.
The next day they were asked the same question.
And…the answer was just the same.
I don’t want anyone to blame.
But…. what is your suggestion?
When were they born?
Here I would like everyone to warn:
Getting the wrong answer
I will know for sure that….
You are a romancer.
If your answer is right
I will know that you like to fight,
You are very good in logic,
And… are very found to risk.
Your character is Nordic,
You are not psychic
And ….like to relax
And… have a beautiful sex.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 27th of December,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Thunderbolt
I am the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I am that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt staying bold.
I'm the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I am that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt that remained bold.
You may decide to run and hide.
But I've learned throughout my life...
Those who run let life slip by,
And cry in denial.
Setting themselves up...
For struggles and trials.
When I was young I was often hushed,
I would question too much.
With unedited questions asked.
To connect in my mind to grasp.
I am the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I'm that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt that remained bold.
I am the result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that result of a thunderbolt.
And with a boldness I still hold.
When I was young I was often hushed,
I would question too much.
With unedited questions asked.
To connect in my mind to grasp.
Zip zap crack with answers due.
Answer my questions asked of you!
I'm the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I'm that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt that remained bold.
Zip zap crack with answers due.
Answer my questions asked of you!
I am the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I am the result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt that remained bold.
There were no shoulders for me to hold.
I am the result of a thunderbolt.
There were no shoulders for me to hold.
I am that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that result of a thunderbolt.
I am that result of a thunderbolt.
There were no shoulders with warm holds.
I am the result of a thunderbolt.
I am the result of a thunderbolt.
I am the result of a thunderbolt.
I might have been precocious!
But not braggadocious.
I am that result of a thunderbolt.
I am that result of a thunderbolt.
I am that result of a thunderbolt.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Silent
What is an art
The artist asked
And I could not
Answer and busy
Composing word.
What is a word
Asked the poet
And I could not
Answer and busy
In a picture.
And what is a picture
I could not get answer
Everybody is silent
Including the nature.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Enjoy Your Day
You approached me to ask a question.
And taking my time to listen...
With a response I had hoped,
You would comprehend.
Not only did you not do that.
But you edited my answer...
To 'insert' what you thought,
For you did not offend.
Now you accuse me of not being direct.
You say my answer,
For you is not effective.
You inject words connected to my response,
To something you rather accept.
And I hear your attempts,
To try to comvince others...
What it is I really meant!
'Why are you leaving? '
You asked me a question.
I answered it.
Now I take my exit.
To that do you also object?
'But I think your response,
Should be open to debate.'
First of all...
You approached me.
And the time given...
I did not hesitate.
You wanted to hear something you formulate.
Something in your mind you hoped I would find.
And I'm not wasting any more of my time...
To play a game of ping pong,
With someone who has yet to learn...
The reason or the effective use of the paddle.
And besides,
If I did decide to play...
It would be with someone,
Who had something meaningful to say.
And all you wish to do is to occupy space,
In the hopes someone will come forward...
To assist you in the use of it!
'Don't you think your point of view is a bit arrogant? '
That depends!
Is that your second question?
Or should I be seeking your permission to leave?
And neither question,
Do I seek from you an answer.
But I will give you the benefit...
To decide for yourself,
Which one eventually applies!
How is that?
Enjoy your day.
'You will not be asked back here again! '
Was I not already here when you entered?
Again...
Enjoy your day!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Not The One I’m Looking For
If someone was to asked me,
why do you write?
I wouldn’t be able to answer them,
because quite frankly I just don’t know.
I just pick up a pen and paper,
and then the words come tumbling out,
and when I have finished,
I ask myself was that really me?
That is one of the reasons,
I never question what I do,
because there would never be an answer,
at least not the one I’m looking for.
poem by David Harris
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Self Explanatory
Once a learned young man named John
asked a serious question, an earnest question,
with no attempt at humour, or to string me along.
And the questions were?
‘How do you write like that?
How do you find the titles? ’
The reply. ‘I think like that.’
His reply. ‘No one thinks like that.’
An answer beyond his belief system.
An answer he could not reconcile accept.
Easier to believe own belief systems
than search mind expand limited horizons.
Really was this reply
in truth so hard to accept?
‘If I do not think like that
how could I write like that? ’
Self Explanatory!
No Further Comment Required!
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Buddha says;
The Buddha said:
We must open ourselves to the world
Knowing that what we sense about the world
Is Maya.
and the pupil asked: If what we see is an illusion
then what is the purpose of opening to lies?
The Buddha answered To open our inner eye
to the truth which is found by emptying oneself
of all that you know about the world.
the pupil asked: If all that we see is misrepresented
then what is the use of inquiry?
The Buddha said: You have already asked that question
What is the use of repeating the answer?
poem by George Murdock
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Why Poetry?
'what is in poetry? 'sometimes you ask me,
'you can always love me without poetry,
why bother about words?
your kiss is enough,
what is the use of the metaphors?
we can always make love all through the night
and words become all too useless
and images become too superfluous' you ask more that what i can
muster to answer.
And this i say:
'i agree, poetry is is useless but like the monk who was asked
one day about something that he does
like sweeping the floor
like climbing the stairs
like praying and contemplating...'
let me say
'we have poetry because they are there to be written'
my heart smiles.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Is A Habit
writing poems
when you really write poems
everyday and every moment of your life
even when you're in the middle of your
bread and butter eating thing
or even when you are defecating
writing poems becomes a habit
even when you sleep even when you dream
writing poems becomes a part of your system
you eat poetry you vomit poetry
you digest poetry you poo poetry
you breathe poetry you sweat poetry
you love poetry and you live with your poetry
and at the end you die with poetry
and your epitaph says: here lies the poet,
choked with poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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