Category: #PoeticAnswers

#PoeticAnswers 32 – Why Does The Earth Look Flat If It’s Round?

It could be described as
“A short-sighted view”
Which has caused the resurgence
Of the flat-earth theory.

For years, we’ve been saying
“The world is round”.
From Pythagorean proclamations,
All the way to Parmenides and Hesiod,
Scientific and mathematical minds
Across all of time have
Looked and succeeded to prove
That the world is spherical.

But now we’ve come full circle,
And we’re sinking in a downward spiral
Because it’s more than just gravity
Getting us down.

Logic has given way to celebrity
Scientologists and other idiots
Create endless conspiracy,
From the fallacies of evolution,
And vaccines ruining those in infancy,
We are in a world where progress
Has become the opposite of congress
And politics and facts are alternative.

Through combinations of science, mathematics,
And literal space travel we have literally seen
That the earth is a sphere.
I’m sorry if the correct use of literal has confused you.

Light travels in a straight line,
Despite who you are as a person,
I know you see straight.
Place a mark in the ocean
And swim to it while we hope the sharks get you
And then look back.
We won’t be there, because the land rolls away,
And, to be honest, we’re just not supportive.

You can search for the edge
Like a desperate U2 fan at Glastonbury,
But it will not be there.
You still haven’t found what you’re looking for.

But if you keep swimming, you might come around to the right way of thinking.

Question from Denise K. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 53 – Why Is The Sky Blue?

Some things are best explained by science
But today, it would be more fun if it wasn’t.
I’m not denying the truth by any means,
I understand the logistics of
Light particles and molecules
Traveling through the air
But I’ve already used up my
Metaphors regarding the visual light spectrum,
So today, let’s pretend nothing is real

It’s because in the beginning,
God used all the colours of the rainbow
To paint a world of many colours and cultures,
Radiant and vibrant, with so many hues and views,
Only to realise he forgot to use the blue paint.

Or maybe it’s because God
Tried to make the birds blue
With oil-based paint,
But they flew too close to the sky,
And it dripped and smeared
And that’s why the sky is blue

Planetary orbit is a lie,
And the Earth doesn’t go around the Sun,
Nor does the Sun go around the Earth.
But we yoyo in and out of
The inky black and blue of space
Which gets a bit brighter when it’s close to the Sun.

Because the sky is in a
Constant state of sadness,
But it’s not sentient enough to
Take the blue pills,
So it doesn’t know how to feel better.
It just feels clouded all the time.

Or are we all just colourblind,
And it’s not blue at all,
Just a colour that only the
Special and unique can actually see,
Secretly so much more,
Only visible during art and existential crises.

Question from Lynn P. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 100 – Why?

I don’t really know why
I do what or do or why
I put myself through this
One hundred day quest
To write poetry.

And even though
Some of it wasn’t my best,
I can say I put
Myself to the test
And passed and
A hundred poems can
Attest to that.

But you see,
This was something
I never thought I could do,
And when I said
“I write poetry”
I felt I had to prove
Something to myself
And to others because

I didn’t get a BA or Honours
In English or Literature
Or something relevant to this.
I worked my way from the bottom,
Primitively stringing as many
Words together as possible and
Aiming for the stars but
Preparing to miss.

But on the way down
I found some catharsis.
And a million different
Ways to play with words.
I found my life’s
Meaning and definition
In a thesaurus and dictionary
And found my voice
Through trial and error.

And now I can say
The things I want to say
The things I need to say
The things I didn’t know how to say
The things I didn’t know I wanted to say
In a way that let’s my
Incoherent and bipolar mind
Sound somewhat like it’s sane.

You and I have both found
Ourselves asking why I
Chose to go down this path.
I’ve asked myself this question
A hundred times in
A hundred ways and
I’ve arrived at
A hundred different answers
That twist and bend and
Find their way back to
This place.

This place where
I’ve not found myself but
I know I’m getting warmer.
This place where
I know I’m going to keep looking.
I know I’m around here somewhere.

#PoeticAnswers 99 – Are You Sure We Exist?

I think that I think I exist.
If thinking equals being,
Then I think that I exist.
But it’s not a conscious
Decision to will myself
Into this existence
And this is evident by
The persistent indecision
That I find myself facing
On a daily basis.

Because I’ve lived
My life thinking
“I think, therefore I am”
But I find I am in
A constant battle of
Positive versus negative
And logic dictates
I wouldn’t wish it
Upon myself so
Who did?

How would I know
If this wasn’t just
Some kind of crazy,
Inconsistent coma dream
From one too many
Car crashes, causing
Flashes of different lives
To flash across my eyes
In a systematic series of
Fortunate and unfortunate events.

Maybe this isn’t even me,
Maybe I’m someone else’s
Fantasy or hallucination,
A nighttime thought creation
Or process of dissociation,
A cultivation and culmination
And overall manifestation
Of stress and frustration
Or a figment of a
Perfect stranger’s imagination.

But at the risk of waxing existential,
I don’t think we’ve considered
The absolute potential of
Being part of an extraterrestrial
Game of The Sims.
Being trapped at the whims
And mercies of martians
Or deities who let us
Virtually have no control
In our lives.

Question from Justine F. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 98 – What Would You Do If You Couldn’t Fail?

I wish I could say
I would take the time to
Do something sensible, like

Resit that maths exam
Or ask you out or
Wish for peace,

But the gravity and
The bitter reality
Is this:

I would stop trying,
I would stop learning,
I would stop being me.

I would become bored,
I would become complacent,
I would become a failure to myself.

I would probably become depressed,
I would probably stop caring,
I would probably kill myself.

Question from Michael Clark from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 97 – Can You Write A Poem In Another Language?

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Translation:

Humans are not computer data.
We are not simple codes,
Boiling down into ones and zeros.
If anything, we are hexadecimal.
Many sides, many shapes
Multifaceted.
But this is still not enough.
If we are told we can be
Anything we want to be.
But only if it fits in
The molds of our peers and predecessors.
Humans are not computer data,
We are flesh,
We are water,
We are fluid
We are new
We are change
We are living.
We are not ones and zeros.
We are not computer data.

Today’s question comes from fellow poet, John Simpson. Check him out!

#PoeticAnswers 96 – How Do You Say “I Love You”?

Sometimes.”I love you”
Isn’t something I can say.
Sometimes it’s just an
Outstretched hand in an awkward silence
Or a look of admiration in a moment of pride.

I say “I love you” in
Early morning cups of coffee and
Unexpectedly ironed bedclothes.
In unsolicited text messages and
Midnight instant messenger conversations
And emails of kittens at work.

I say “I love you” in
Long walks in the sunset
And sacrificed jackets in the rain.
In shared tears and
Inappropriate laughter at
Inappropriate jokes.

But most of all,
I say “I love you” with meaning
And without speaking.
By showing you my hands
As I gesture “I love you”
In a language that
Only we understand.

Question from Sarah P. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 95 – When Did You Realise How Good You Are?

It’s was never exactly obvious,
It was more like the longest
Dawning of the day, except
It wasn’t a twenty-four hour
Turn-around time for it to
Come around, it was more like
Several years of night skies and
Never shining out of the darkness.
Feeling a sort of substandard
That could only be applauded
By best friends and parents.

But since starting to write
And stage these poems,
I’ve seen real people,
Rooms of strangers
Clinging onto every word,
I’ve heard them laugh,
I’ve hugged them when they’ve cried,
I have had statements from people stating
That they can relate to
The work that I’m making.
Even though it’s not anything
Particularly groundbreaking,
The fact that it can actually
Mean something to someone.

This never happened overnight,
I never expected any of this,
I never expected to find this bliss
Or happiness in performing
Poetry.
I never imagined feeling
Good about myself or
Having other people
Appreciate and listen.
It doesn’t feel real,
It doesn’t feel every day,
But in this moment of
Existential realisation,
I’ve come to realise:
I’m pretty fantastic.

Question from Megan C. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 94 – How Did Your Gig Go?

I wore my heart and soul
On my sleeve and vocal chords.
My heart jumped out my throat
And my soul dripped onto the floor
Like invisible rain,
Letting me get out the pent up rage
And depression that has
Inspired and incentivised
My life’s work.
Or at least my work from the past few months,
Because I’ve been writing everyday
For a hundred days.
It feels like a hundred seconds,
And tonight felt like a hundred minutes
As I took my time to tumble and stumble
Over each carefully crafted word and rhyme
That took a hundred hours of my time
To piece together like a jigsaw that
Didn’t want to be solved.
The audience listened but
I don’t know if they heard the
Meanings and cries for help
Dispersed among the one lines
And stanzas of depression-infused
Derivative metaphors.
But I stood on the stage,
And I got to speak.
I spoke like a man too afraid to stop speaking,
Too afraid for the stage lights to fall,
To afraid to lose the moment and
Get lost in the moment.
Adrenaline and benzodiazepine
Running at the same time,
Dancing with each other
To an off-beat rhythm that they’re both playing.
I stood on the stage
And I felt alive.
And it felt fantastic

#PoeticAnswers 93 – Would You Memorise This Poem If Your True Love’s Life Depended On It?

If it meant that
Every word I had to say
Was another pulse of your
Heartbeat then I would talk until
My lungs gave out and my voice box breaks
Until all I can do is whisper a prayer on repeat
Because the only way I could let you die is if words themselves ran out.

If I had to
Memorise a poem to
Keep you safe and warm
Then I would write the most
Simple, precious and beautiful poem
With the most precious and beautiful words I know on repeat;
Your name.

Question from Michael Clark from Facebook