Gimmickries
sometimes i am trying to figure
out if you are only trying to impress
me with your questions
perhaps you want to project wit
and on the other hand i try to answer
each question
with definitive answers like lands
with exact boundaries
delineated from the river and the sky
here we are again
wanting to make a point
but missing everything
here we are again lost in the labyrinths
of our pretenses
my face is masked with bitter realities
and there you are
chained with the shackles of your
freedom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Questions?
i am tired of questions
all of them
too familiar and all
with ready
homemade answers
canned questions
and answers
in one book
scanned for years
and you all know them
canned laughter
canned faces
canned souls
canned and caned and chained
bones
they rattle and they shake
and roll
i have no answers.
i am throwing all these questions away.
i live everyday. i look at the trees
and the forests.
i simply live. Now.
i have no more questions.
neither will i demand
any answer from you.
go, go, find yourself.
i stay here wanting to find nothing at all.
i guess, after my 48 years
there is this truth
that i find: there is nothing
nothing to find
nothing to expect
nowhere to go
it is just this and this and this.
the one that i have in my hand
the one that i keep on holding
i enclose it and keep it warm
and alive
and you do not even care
this is it: me, myself, and I
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What I Project
what i project in all those years
is what you get and you swallow
me hook, line and sinker
and you get so nosy with all
your questions leading you
to all your self-framed answers.
what i am inside me
you must know is what i am
just between my body and my soul
my left hand does not even
know what my right hand is holding.
the shadows in that cave and
the real body that you may touch
bathing in the river
you must have known by now
are two different kinds of
illusions. What i have in my
hand is the real one: it is
alive and it is jumping
and flying and i am chasing
it now, so please, excuse
me, i got to go, i still have
many things to do, so many
questions to make so many
answer to fabricate, so many
quests, i do not even have
to take my rest.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Winters Over
I made it through.
Another winters over.
She was bitter.
At one point I didn't know if I could make it.
Yet I did.
I made it through.
Another winters over.
She was bitter.
At one point I didn't know if I could make it.
Yet I did.
Time for some repairs.
Make it even better for the next year.
I must be prepared.
For the harsh realities that bring so much despair.
I made it through.
Another winters over.
She was bitter.
At one point I didn't know if I could make it.
Yet I did.
I made it through.
Another winters over.
She was bitter.
At one point I didn't know if I could make it.
Yet I did.
Stipping off all these cloths.
I was so overloaded.
Like a snake I'm shedding my skin.
Replacing it with something better then.
Putting out my sign soon.
Home made and hand crafted.
So green all I used was my surroundings.
I made it through.
Another winters over.
She was bitter.
At one point I didn't know if I could make it.
Yet I did.
I made it through.
Another winters over.
She was bitter.
At one point I didn't know if I could make it.
Yet I did.
Still their is no single silver bullet when it comes to life.
No antidote to some difficulties.
Sometimes you must face things headon with a little sweat and hardwork maybe you'll come out on top.
Provide a helping hand to those who still have not.
Just because your better off doesn't mean so is everyone else.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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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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In Your Fidelity With The Word
in your fidelity with the word
despite what mood you keep on siding with the word
giving it a face
and a soul
and a certain motion like the planets in their orbits
what then? what shall all these words reward you?
a story to tell? a poem that you can read for all of those
who are weary on the journey?
a novel to spend time with
or kill it since it bores you to death?
yes, i must ask, what shall this fidelity give you
as a reward for your affections
and loyalty to its nuances, moods, and context?
is it the liberation of your soul from the prison of doubt?
oh, you keep on saying you are free.
is it the liberation of your mind from the unpopularity of reality?
oh, you keep saying you do not need it.
is it the liberation of your body from the shackles of your organs?
mind boggling, why should my organs be my prison?
is it this prolix that keeps you bored?
or is it simply the questions that keep on growing
that keeps you alive?
are you more interested in the answers?
i am just asking. Are there answers?
my dear, at the end, there are only questions.
These are the realities of our world. The open mind
is the gift. It is the reward to your fidelity
of the bosom of the word.
kiss it then, and make love to the beauty of the
question mark.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I choose the questions
You think I am wise
Giving you the questions that
You cannot answer
On a wide domain of answers
A question or two shall be taken
And you will answer them for me
Haven’t you tried thinking
If we shift roles
Ok, so you try asking the questions now
I do not answer
I could have answered you
Because I can, but I won’t
I think, I have become real myself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Now?
now the questions are asking you
what now? quo vadis?
where to? what for?
why?
yes, why above all.
the questions are asking you
and you must answer with the very same questions to the questions
you beg, and they beg too
the answer to the questions
but you have no answers really
you have learned the art of wisdom
its own ways
its own manners of not answering with answers
who knows? no one knows?
oh, ahh, i must start from where wisdow
was born
here i am and i know nothing....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Always Asking Questions
We all want peace we dont want misery
So many of us wont let us be these things
But we only are confused
We feel stronger as we grow older
But still we feel bemused
Always asking questions
Were always asking questions
And the temptation is to just step back
Well we give what we lack
We will always be asking questions
Why rich?
Why poor?
Always asking questions
Were always asking questions
Why this?
Why that?
Were always asking questions
Why this?
Why that?
Always asking
Dont stop asking
Dont stop asking questions
Always asking questions
In answer to this question is just shut up
You dont know
I dont know
Nobody knows
This is an answer to every question
This is a place to begin
Always asking questions
Always asking questions
Why this?
Why that?
Why this?
Why that?
Always asking questions
(why this why that? )
Always asking questions
(why this why that? )
Always asking questions
(why this why that? )
Words: william bryant
Music: howard jones
song performed by by Howard Jones
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Untitled 6
now the questions are asking you
what now? quo vadis?
where to? what for?
why?
yes, why above all.
the questions are asking you
and you must answer with the very same questions to the questions
you beg, and they beg too
the answer to the questions
but you have no answers really
you have learned the art of wisdom
its own ways
its own manners of not answering with answers
who knows? no one knows?
oh, ahh, i must start from where wisdom
was born
here i am and i know nothing....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Question Anyone
We have in life
a surfeit
of those who step to the mark
to declare
what should and can be done.
Ideas pour
from their open mouths
enunciating in grave tones
and solemn decrees
making claim
to the Wisdom
of the Knowledge Tree.
Regard these not
or follow those
who claim Secret Lore
and urge 'follow me.'
Hard Truth:
Every one claims answers
but cannot tell you what is the question;
every one thinks their answer
if true for them
is also true for you;
from that silly stance recoil.
Every sage can tell you what to do
but none can identify the first step.
All can see the path to follow
but none can answer
if a first step
is consistent with several paths which may follow.
None can answer
if you deny their answers offered,
(which are commonly either or choices)
but note life most often shows either/or
most often is neither/other.
None can tell you what is scientific about the scientific method.
None can separate in a simple sentence the difference between
book learning and common sense.
No sage alive can claim to know why Progress Now
has crashed so low-
despite all the Smart Ones
gone before.
Why is it that ignorance always fills the void
that Knowledge leaves?
Why are there always a surplus of answers
but few good questions?
I don't know
but I know what I don't know
hopefully,
that makes me one step ahead
of those who know the answer
before the question.
I think
those that always know
what they think they know
without ever asking
what is the question
that their knowing
is the answer to-
don't know
anything.
Best to smile faintly,
turn
and leave.
In life,
deep wisdom states:
we must learn to ask our own questions
so that answers are our own answers
drawing upon our own experience.
Ask not what the wise think
but ask instead
what questions did they ask
when it counted
as now,
at the brink.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Question
I don't have the answer
So why ask me, why?
Why do you ask me a question
When there is no reply?
As though the answer was this?
Did you know all along?
That so much space
Is weighed down in white silence
Who told you these things?
These imagined replies?
To the unanswered question
The question why?
There is no reply
But bad weather
Rough roads
There is no reply
Leave the rain alone
There is no reply
No reply
No answer to why
Leave the question alone
No face in the sky
No key to the door
No there is nothing, but nothing
So leave nothing alone
And turn round and go home
Watch the sea from your window
The waves rise and fall
Nothing but madness
And nothing at all! !
The moon's silver crescent
No time to recall
What is left
What is deaf
What is blind
To ritual?
To sign?
There's no pattern no season
No face in the wall
No reason too reasonable
To make no sense at all!
There is no reply
To pain
Love lost
To prayer
Why ask me these questions?
When there's no answer there?
yvette m smith july 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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Face Hard Mirror Realities
answers there are many answers
but most are not prepared to look
most look search in wrong places
most will not even ask the questions
most do not want to face hard realities
most will not endure unpleasant changes
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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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How Deep...How High...
My favorite song of all
Is an Irving Berlin song
It starts out with a question
And ends with one more
My favorite song of all time
Its title are the lines
'How deep is the ocean,
how high is the sky? '
A song made up of questions
where two of them are
answered by the one
same question-answer
'How much do I love you?
I tell you no lies'
'And if I ever lost you,
How much would I cry? '
'HOW DEEP IS THE OCEAN,
HOW HIGH IS THE SKY? '
Two different questions
The same answer twice
The answer still a question
(Now don't ask why!)
A hint of something elusive
Something undefined
A fitting answer to that
something I'm trying to find
My favorite song of all time
So poignant so sublime
It never fails to make me cry
How deep...how high...
poem by Sonya Florentino
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evasive (EDITED FOR one letter only)
the answers are shy
they have not matured
they always are not
confronting the questions
which keep on roaming like
Nazi soldiers looking
for the kill of the innocent
ones
the answers are arrows
with blunt tips
the questions are the black holes
of our universe
who dares to answer all of them
not me
i see all the questions
and i am but a little boy stupid on the street
looking for mother
and afraid of what a father can do
to defend the senselessness of
my posture
the questions are alive
the answers need a redemption
i take the side step
write a poem and then sleep
who knows?
the answer is nothing but a dream
yes, a dream
something ephemeral
yes, an illusion
something like a mirror
yes, a moment,
something that must pass like the shadow of the moon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Evasive
the answers are shy
they have not matured
they always are not
confronting the questions
which keep on roaming like
Nazi soldiers looking
for the kill of the innocent
ones
the answers are arrows
with blunt tips
the questions are the black holes
of our universe
who dares to answer all of them
not me
i see all the questions
and i am but a little boy stupid on the street
looking for mother
and afraid of what a father can do
to defend the senselessness of
my posture
the questions are alive
the answers need a redemption
i take the side step
write a poem and then sleep
who know?
the answer is nothing but a dream
yes, a dream
something ephemeral
yes, an illusion
something like a mirror
yes, a moment,
something that must pass like the shadow of the moon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Waste Not This Time
One said don't waste your cancer, but, be ready with an answer,
This, during each step and phase, all throughout uncertain days,
As some would ask with a sigh, that very simple question, why?
Why has something dark as this, befallen one who loves Jesus?
Questions shall be of all kinds, believing and unbelieving minds,
Everything from before and now, covering all the whys and how;
Some answers may be ignored, if you refer to a Sovereign Lord,
Who, in my life has complete control, over issues, big and small.
This is the point we must stress, with every question we address,
With questions regarding my life, I must point all to Jesus Christ,
The Author of my life and time, unfolding my life, per His design,
Who, works all things for my good, this in my life, is understood.
Working out in this life, all things, peace in my life, Christ brings,
His peace when times are bleak, and His strength when I'm weak,
With God's Grace sufficient for, the unknown, behind every door,
As Christ leads me, with His Grace, through every trial that I face.
This is a time to acknowledge Him, He, who saves us from all sin,
As a witness to all who may not see, that we all shall face eternity,
And that, I face this knowing Christ, the Author of my Eternal Life,
A life, all must know Christ to see, glorified life with God eternally.
-
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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Science goes from question to question; big questions, and little, tentative answers. The questions as they age grow ever broader, the answers are seen to be more limited.
quote by George Wald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Sided
i am a fool.
it takes me
a long time
to realize
that i am the only
one interested
to know more
about a long
lost friend
to my ten questions
he has all the answers
which i think
is fair enough
he never ask for
once
any question to me
and mind you
i count
the missing years
35 in all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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