You lash out, speaking ill of love,
reeling from wounded feelings.
And your pain fuels the anger
that battles forgiveness for control.
Someone has hurt you:
and you want to send that hurt back.
A rebuke of love lost to time;
and yet, kept alive in memory, nonetheless.
Betrayal shook your foundations,
as an implosion of trust
broke your heart into a thousand pieces.
And using anger to shield yourself
from the jagged edges of reality,
you refuse to acknowledge your part.
Your cry is added to the countless others
whose tears morphed into anger.
We are all subject to our baser needs,
whereas desires, hopes, and failures
form the clay from which anger takes its shape.
Anger allows you
to evade sharing any of the blame,
and yet, you can't see that;
blinded by your pain.
And corrosive feelings consume you;
spitting up the vile contempt
that self-pity wallows in when love dies.
Someone’s sitting on my bench!
Of course, it isn’t mine
And so the person perching on it
Isn’t out of line.
Still, every time I’m out here,
It’s the place I choose to sit
And plunked down someplace else
I’m liking not one little bit.
There’s really nothing I can do
But grumble and complain.
(From giving in to baser moves,
I simply must refrain.)
I’m sorry, honey.
O.K. I accept your apology.
No, wait. Hold on.
What is it?
I mean it. I'm really sorry.
Are you?
Yes, I am.
How would I know?
I’ve thought about what I’ve done.
That’s it?
And I’m never going to do it again
Even if you find yourself in the same situation?
Yes, even then. … I'm determined to overcome my baser instincts!
Even if there's no one there to catch you transgressing?
Yes. Even if I'm by myself.
Then you really are sorry.
And ashamed of myself, before God, for letting you down, honey.
Thank you. I accept your apology now whole-heartedly.
Let's go to synagogue now. Let us praise God and ask for His forgiveness, that we may atone for all of our sins...
Hoc est corpus*, hocus pocus
Legerdemaine, a shift in focus
Hoc est corpus, from the Mass
Hocus pocus, parody crass
Transubstantiation phrase
Ridicule, to baser plays
Papists, Protestants at odds
Declaring doctrines with regards
To our Lord’s communinion meal
Causing strife, divisions real
Luther replaced trans with con
Zwingli’s bread, alone anon
Calvin said we participate,
Joined to Christ when we partake
Hocus Pocus, thus a slur
“Magical”, what was inferred.
After Christ’s blood, more was shed
Strange remembrance, but ‘nuf said…
----------
*Hoc est corpus meum, Latin for ‘This is my body’
From what I can find, Hocus Pocus was the stage name for a magician who performed around 1640. Somewhere along the way, someone noted a similarity of sound between 'hoc est corpus' and 'hocus pocus', and observed (sarcastically) that the Catholics must believe magic occurred during the reciting of the mass to change the wine and bread into the blood and body of Christ...
I ponder and ask myself Why did I not become a writer.
The career path that I chose involved much more speaking than writing.
I have always wished that my voice tone was much baser than tenor.
Being a shy kid, I never thought that I would be a speaker.
I often think about Frost's 'Road Not Taken'-the difference it made.
Life happens, roads often get blocked, and the river will change course.
Life will also give us lemons, forcing us to make lemonade.
Sometimes up becomes down, people change, and things are turned around.
083122PS
I sensed I was being watched by an animal.
Human? Probably not; something baser.
Perhaps a rabbit, a rodent or a bird of some sort.
This is the Yukon, if it is something white, it will be difficult to spy.
I stay silent, in one place, slowly moving my head, watching.
Hoping it is not a polar bear; they have huge paws and teeth.
I see the animal’s breath before he appears from a thicket.
A moose elk, apparently unafraid. I take out my camera.
Knowing there is probably one chance.
I am right.
Sometimes from nothingness
Fantasies will appear
The fertile mind awake,
Envisions hopeful scenes
Future paths we may take.
Sometimes from nothingness
Come visions from afar
Teaching us life lessons,
Help us find better ways
When ignorance threatens.
Sometimes from nothingness
Whispers of truth prevail
Command mind’s attention,
Channels our baser mood
To nobler dimension.
Sometimes from nothingness
Creative juices flow
Direct one’s energy,
Engage grander pursuits
In partnered synergy.
Written April 3, 2021
the void absorbs
vast array of energy orbs
viewing with non-judgmental eye
arms open in embrace, none does it decry
life giving light of the sun blesses one and all
even though but a handful few stand tall
those dwelling in deep dungeons dark
they too feel the throb of love hark
man endowed by power to discern
way to shed baser instincts yet to learn
empowerment instant in the void of stillness
with head and heart aligned attuned to oneness
in time recognising that everything is vibration
outer eye sees but temporal manifestation
ego mind stagnation in a narrow view
whilst love each instant renews
oh hermit, cultivate mindfulness
flowing continuum caring gentleness
vibrant within, outpouring love unceasing
moment to moment in sync with our breathing
18-January-2021
We see their subterfuge
A low animal cunning
Geniality a camouflage
Deviousness concealing
We recognise but judge not
For as at this coordinate
Moving in a narrow ego slot
Baser instincts precipitate
Whatever for them we do
Casting pearls before swine
As they stir the toxic brew
We pray that love may align
Outcomes inconsequential
Yet no need to trauma bond
Sidestepping the inimical
We flow on with no demand
Our suggestions unsolicited
Find in hearts no resonation
We walk away love unrequited
Immersed in our own meditation
23-September-2020
The baser instincts
within a higher calling
—pain rewrapped in joy
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)
In Vino Veritas, But Whiskey’s Better
In wine there is certainly such real-truth to be found,
And in whiskey there is even more of it to go around!
Wine may maketh one truly sagacious, whilst whiskey
Elevates one to a level known as “For Members Only!”
As modern-day bards seeketh true meaning in their daily
Thoughts—whiskey is man’s key to his baser instincts.
The soul doth prosper even better when fueled so truest
By the cryptic, elixir-like qualities of wine and whiskey!
And doth pray tell, I sayeth this must be so, and why not?
Well, both elixirs help to free man’s deepest inner spirit!
Wine is that exquisite medium for introspective reflection,
Whilst whiskey excites one’s self for immediate attention!
Let it be said though that wine and whiskey do complement
One another in man’s quest for real-truth in this crazy world!
Amen! Amen! Amen!
What more can one say?
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
January 7, 2018 (Couplet)
Erstwhile
A bucolic
Was an ephemeral
Dalliance with a redolent
Resembling the petrichor in the night
The propinquity of the black
Dressed harbinger was an
Epiphany
Of loss
Demesne
Stillness was felt
Until efflorescence
Of baser passions steam in rage
With the tragic loss of three tormented souls
An outlaw was passing when saw
That serendipity
Has to be found
Inward
Example for A Day In A Town Poetry Contest
3-13-2016
Facebook, Twitter, Instagram
are they merely apps, or what I am?
I crave the love, as much as life
I get from all my faves and likes
Am I validated by others thumbs,
their trite largesse, or is it some
much baser instinct that's in play
a need to fill that I can't weigh
A hole inside my tender psyche;
the person that I cannot like
Myself, yes me, the very one
who presses "like" for everyone
Killing is killing
But I say NO
It takes a truly evil being To commit such blasphemy
To steal the show.
Say what you will
About U.S. complicity in this crime
That we should exit Syria, Afghanistan and Iraq
That we have the blood of innocents on our hands
I say, it goes much deeper this time
It goes to the core
Of what makes us humane
And gives us the capacity for compassion
To say NO to our baser instincts
And to choose to step back from the Game
Look to your heart
For it is there you will find
The scales of justice
That determines the good from the evil
And separate those who see, from those that are blind
Beheading is a heinous act
That leaves me physically ill
It goes beyond the pale
And leaves me questioning
How & why do they kill!
Hamas, Syrian terrorist
They call it, holy Jihad,
How arrogant to claim it is Holy
When in reality, its just plain evil!
And they will stand before and answer to their God!
- See more at:
http://allpoetry.com/poem/11625615--Evil-is--As-Evil-Does--by-Bar-Ponneck#sthash.HKvTk3sP.dpuf
What reverie has changed her eyes
that she the page no longer sees?
what memories move her mind to turn
to fathom deeper mysteries
than the exciting tales she reads?
Oh, the thrilling story written--
if she the words to pen could lend--
telling how her heart was smitten.
See just where she turned away
from the song so finely crafted--
marked with slim finger for the world-
fairer lines are therein grafted.
A heart from baser thoughts kept pure
could write poems for the ages;
calmly she contemplates great thoughts
unknown to history's sages.
Copyright 4/30/2014 Faye Gibson
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