Best Basal Poems
In the beginning was the word
Before that, no noun, no thing
Then no sound was ever heard
And no passing bell would ring
So therefore no adjective was needed to describe it or deplore it
No preposition required to be positioned right before it
No verb to do something to it or say what act it was pursuing
No need for an adverb to describe how well or badly it was doing
Since not even one noun existed, conjunctions would have been redundant
There were no things to act on and to move across the face of the fundament
So the first word there had to be - was BE, and that was the very first in existence
And from Genesis and Eden to Elsinore, it has had a remarkable degree of persistence
Now, in the Oxford English Dictionary which is venerable institution
There are 171476 full entries of words (2nd edition) all capable of elocution
Of these, about one seventh are verbs, therefore there must be around 24497 give or take, to enumerate all action
And that should be enough for even the most garrulous to get some satisfaction
This is a limited calculation and I wouldn't want to be tied down to it
We can be more free in our estimates so while we are about it, we might as well do it
It seems that once BE had been exercised, the dam broke and words poured out as from a cornucopia.
And verbs would soon exist in an abundance enough to carry you from here to Ethiopia
Except in the culture of youth where it appears this multitude has been reduced to the deplorable "was like"
To them I am tempted to say: "Learn some real verbs"; OR I would employ a phrasal such as
'On-your-bike!'
The possibilities are now endless particularly if you include the phrasal
Giving us enough elan vital to at least maintain a metabolism basal
So to whoever first said BE, whether God or someone with similar propensities
though another name or description:
I say Well done! I couldn't in my wildest dreams with a wish to create a rich life and culture,
have produced a better prescription
Categories:
basal, humor, language, philosophy, words,
Form:
Rhyme
Primal, basal, beyond my awareness
How could I have been so careless
I let the line between real and fantasy
Become clouded through my jealousy
The fire rose, consumed, burned away
And left the ashes in its wake
I still search for just one burning ember
To reawaken feelings of forever
But destruction is all around
I fall to my knees, hit the ground
Can you hear me scream?
Blatant, cold, and calculating
Every part of this wrapped up in hating
The one who did this thing to me
Imprisoned when I was set free
The water rises, to wash away
All the promises we once made
If still one ember ever burned
It burns no more, lesson learned
Still destruction is all around
And I can’t lift myself from off the ground
Can you see me cry?
Detached, impartial, contemplating
Why am I here, why am I waiting
Just what am I waiting for
A broken window, an open door
A key to tell me who I am
So I can learn to live again
Without the fear, without regret
To bring back balance and pay the debt
To clear debris from hallowed ground
Unchained, but broken, I am bound
Can you feel my battle?
Categories:
basal, angst, life, loss, lost
Form:
Free verse
The first word there had to be - was BE, and that was the very first in existence
And from Genesis and Eden to Elsinore, it has had a remarkable degree of persistence
It seems that once BE had been exercised, the dam broke and words poured out as from a cornucopia.
And verbs would soon exist in an abundance enough to carry you from here to Ethiopia
Except in the culture of youth where it appears this multitude has been reduced to the deplorable "was like"
To them I am tempted to say: "Learn some real verbs"; OR I would employ a phrasal such as
'On-your-bike!'
The possibilities are now endless particularly if you include the phrasal
Giving us enough elan vital to at least maintain a metabolism basal
So to whoever first said BE, whether God or someone with similar propensities
though another name or description:
I say Well done! I couldn't in my wildest dreams with a wish to create a rich life and culture,
have produced a better prescription
20 August 2019
Categories:
basal, words,
Form:
Rhyme
Teeming pools of spawning thoughts
Irrational coiling tendrils and knots
Restless limbs and rattled brain
Exquisite need for some slight refrain
Deprived of basal corporal need...
...I am so...tired.
Categories:
basal, angst,
Form:
Acrostic
Absurd Walls:
By Mark Miller 03/08/2018
I sit in wait,
For melancholic relief
Consumes self-trust resistance.
Out from the clear and into the black shatter dust.
Although, I cannot explain its purpose or meaning for there is none.
Awareness prevents comprehension to the future posture rectitude.
Only leftovers illuminate on that origin which brings me to this momentary lapse.
Where time and space have no relevance.
The feeling of structure fades into the microwave static.
Only the emotion healing sustains.
Somewhere, out there in the cosmos lies the basal complexional of coexistence.
The complicit deranges.
The peaceful transits,
Our group comfort loneliness
Between the minimal change of selves,
Through the pulsar's suddenness
I return and am one with myself,
Time wraps around the feeling dissipates,
Gone like childhood memory from everywhere.-
Categories:
basal, analogy, beautiful, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
The debate between free will and fate has taken a hard right
turn to neuroscience, Brodmann area 4 the primary motor
cortex of the brain located in the posterior frontal lobe
(the one cut out of the one who once flew over the cuckoo's nest).
This area of the cortex has the pattern of an homunculus!
a little man, a troll, the all-wise, mandragon, the golem of Jewish folklore.
This little man has a that, when fully engorged, is
equal in size to his entire body. However, diseases
such as Parkinson's, Alzheimer's, Huntington's, Lou Gehrig's and
Creutzfeldt-Jakob
are gunning for him. His basal ganglia are garbled
and he ends up giving poor advice and making bad decisions.
Who can say what happens to his soul or cells or if all will be given or
well?
I was listening to the famous astronomer on public radio
who expressed the certainty there is no death, your soul
is immortal, it exists outside of time (but not space?). That's because
time exists only in the human mind (as does the universe
including the professional baseball season which is canceled when
you're dead).
By Spring, my problems will be solved or ignored, either way is good.
Groundhog holds the knowledge of death without dying
for man needs help from every creature born.
Will the holocaust wipe the smile off the face of our romantic comedy
or will laughter outlast the outburst?
About the dark times will there be singing?
Yes, there will be singing and some of the songs will be sidesplitting.
Solving the murder reveals the city. Nature of kinships and economic
sustenance,
who loves whom and why, when things happened and how they lost
and found themselves
in what happened. Because a meter-making argument cannot appear
from nothingness, purposelessness, just cold.
He does not go where he was supposed to go. He is in the desert,
Sonoran desert, counting cactus buds and ocotillo blooms.
This is the afterlife for which he has always longed.
Categories:
basal, children, death, games, lost,
Form:
Verse
I, from the gray Wolf I'm diverged,
basal, ancestral we are
Millenniums we have witnessed,
historically we're culled
Yet, we were here before humans,
are we next to disappear
.
James Andrew Fraser
'Night Creatures" Coyote, No 3
18th January, 2015
Categories:
basal, animal, beautiful, identity, places,
Form:
Verse
Transition – Upside down world
The world is heavy, upside down.
Catch us quickly or we’ll fall.
The natural law no longer holds.
We’re juxtaposed in earth and sky.
The world is crumbling, upside down.
Can’t you see that wrong is right.
The basal self’s let loose and free.
There is no order to this crime.
The world is wailing, upside down,
crying for the newborn babes,
who cannot claim their own,
and know not of the deathly spite,
that lurks in human hearts.
The world will turn, right side up.
when Jesus reigns supreme,
and those who seek him soon will find
a heavenly home on Earth.
3/9/17
Poem Written In March 2017
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Categories:
basal, change, earth, heaven, jesus,
Form:
Free verse
Thy birth on January 13th –
cervical contractions
would not abate
the pesky master (papa), strove
to synchronize seminal bait
thence, forty-two weeks
after ma parents did pro create
imminent lviii plus years ago to date,
this present baby boomer doth
indubitably and inherently equate
nineteen hundred and fifty nine
bequeathed birthed mine kempf ill fate
neurological manifestation,
sans obsessive compulsive did grate
behavioral motif and analogous
to frontispiece per story I hate
of my life and hard times,
when all of a sudden out blue irate,
the onset of emotional nadir,
where ballistic ordnance bombed away
fancy free, innocent, naïve boyhood
decrying, detonating,
and describing me own Pigs Bay
Allied, linkedin, and synced Luftwaffe
and Panzer division invasion that clay
like materiel within southern cerebral hemi
sphere inroads usurped no delay
riding roughshod via synapse straits sporting
scoring sorties using every
axe n newer on dread did
Swiss hide dill naught
to decimate with spirited ghost
of William Tecumseh Sherman
determination tuff flay
leaving not one iota (oft times)
referenced as gray
matter unaffected quite aware
of rebellious confederated voices
yelling “HOORAY”
Sabotaging orbitofrontal communication
incorporating connection between anterior
cingulate gyrus cortex heightening activity
bridging (via atom sized pontoon bridges)
greater activity upon basal ganglia, which
synoptic description does nothing to alter
the predisposition to ingress of un control
able imbecilic, inexplicable, and illogical
fixation particularly during onset of puberty,
when an emotional kamikaze nose dive
at nadir of near lifelessness, the shadow
of me former self nowhere tubby found
on account of deadly symbiotic relationship.
Categories:
basal, growth, hate, hurt, self,
Form:
Bio
Sacred texts, secular art
Oratory, verse, harmony in part
Only this, the noblest art
Takes a soul's stirrings, the
Heart's songs and echoes
Every emotion in the human experience
Tortured souls, angelic praise
Human sounds and otherworldly tones
Echoing love, pain, ecstasy, death
Sounding the call to action, to war
Admiring the beauty all around
Verse after verse, strain after strain
God endowed through singing of hymns
Everyman stories, beginning to end
Basal desires, emotional pains
Earth-stilling melodies, harmonic delight
Always with you, no matter what age
Singers, artists, composers, as one unite
Tearing asunder, your heart as the stage.
Categories:
basal, art, beauty, feelings, first
Form:
Acrostic
Once a friend of mine invited me for lunch
A celebration he planned for his book launch,
The book was on traditional Indian cuisine, I knew
No very different from its modern cousin or new.
I was hesitant to join for my stomach was upset
He pleaded with me, let the plan not get upset.
I must join the friend’s party, how could I say no
For it was a special event in his life, I should know.
He would take care, being an accomplished chef
For me, he assured, food would be entirely safe.
I decided to not enter into a friendly row
But to go, occupy a chair in the back row,
Enjoy the lunch as best I could to the last course
And not utter a word about stomach, of course.
I went for the lunch on a winter day quite chilly
Vowing to avoid the food items with lots of chilli.
Through morning my friend made things all ready
For the party he threw, guests had arrived already.
While cheese and toast rested untouched for a while
We proposed a toast to his success as a chef of style.
Matching the rhythm of our warm and soft whine
Rose red wine rose and swirled in shining glasses thin.
I was delighted to see on the table dishful curd
So much good for my stomach, I shouldn’t discard.
The fat naan was so liberally buttered all over
None possibly would have eaten in their life ever,
Flat bread made of finest flour of well bred wheat
Looked like blooming flowers on the floral plate.
The flavor of famous basmati rice as it would rise
I would favor to have it instead of bread to be wise,
Sprinkle of spring onion with smell of spring in fish curry
Added to the gastronomic delight, a treat far to carry,
Meat in gravy with basal green layer of fresh basil leaf
Could meet the culinary acumen of any expert chef,
The salad of beet root, leek, lime and touch of olive
Could beat any such combo in the world, I believe.
Before scoops of ice cream could bury the red berry
The dessert disappeared as if in desert heat in a hurry.
My friend’s hospitality won the hearts of one and all,
Thanking him amply we departed before the nightfall.
We expressed the appreciation for the food aloud
As much as our satiated minds sincerely allowed.
December 3, 2017.
Categories:
basal, food,
Form:
Rhyme
This is the greatest
non-fiction.
Who on earth will
believe her action?
My chick,who was
like my security
agent;
who strengthened
me at lent.
Now became a
jackal.
Desiring me a basal
Is this not the
highest form of
irony?
My friend,companion
and crony,
at my back "bless"
my name
by gossiping an
extra negative fame
about me,her lover.
I thought she is a
real flower.
Even Abraham will
not believe;
this kind,type,form
and category of
deceive.
It sounds chinese
film in nature.
Ananians is the
feature.
Someone I hugged
and kissed.
Now to me,she
hissed.
Ah! I am the
living dead
the suffer head,the
poor head.
Eureka wasnt as
surprised as me.
Earnestness love
should be.
Yesterday,my sweet
sugarcane
that took away my
pain.
Today,the number
one antagonist,
who attack me,the
protagonist.
Tomorrow is
transparent
darkness.
It either be
happiness or still
sadness.
Categories:
basal, lost love
Form:
Lyric
Fighting Cancer of the Skin
By Franklin Price
8/12/2015
Fighting cancer of the skin
for me is number one;
whether from the war in Vietnam,
genetics or the Sun.
Doesn't really matter
Operate to keep ahead:
basal , squamous carcinoma;
no melanoma I am glad.
Plus forty years contending.
Burn and freeze and take a stitch.
Not the most fun thing I've done.
In fact, it really is a *****.
Doesn't really matter.
Very glad I'm here to say,
“Life is great I'm glad I'm in it,
keeping the alternative away.”
I've got the best of wives,
family and friends that can't be beat,
a paid for house and car to drive,
and look at me; enough to eat.
Thanking God for all I have
Some may think it is not much
It's more than many others;
can still see, and hear, and touch
Still walking on my own two legs
Brain is working still some tact
No artificial anything
I'm so happy, that's a fact.
If not for skin, my health is great
Better than most, my age, I've seen
Not longing for the other side
On my side the grass is green.
Categories:
basal, appreciation, health, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Sabotaging orbitofrontal communication incorporating connection between anterior cingulate gyrus cortex heightening activity bridging (via atom sized pontoon bridges) greater activity upon basal ganglia, which synoptic description does nothing to alter the predisposition to ingress of uncontrollable imbecilic, inexplicable, and illogical fixation particularly during onset of puberty, when an emotional kamikaze nose dive at the nadir of near lifelessness, the shadow of me former self nowhere tubby found on account of deadly symbiotic relationship asper the invisible nemesis – i.e. electrical impulses faux nattering nabobs of mien nativity whereat unseen thriving sensational riffraff quenched powerhouse ousting nestled milkmaids, or rather pressing said resources sans vitality into dangerous, frivolous, and horrendous self destructive antics, where ballistic charges drugged eminent domain former nerve cell size occupants, thoroughly re-engineering sense and sensibility with pride fullness and prejudice on par with dousing one with an opiate that completely upends functioning healthily, judging lovingly, and managing productively versus expending precious time and energy self absorbed into manic, neurotic, and/or psychotic actions, manners, thoughts, et cetera, which irrationality got embedded within the neurological interstices, which even as of this moment hound me akin to wild beasts circling ever closer to launch mortal kombat against their very housing.
Categories:
basal, addiction, age, anger, angst,
Form:
Bio
He was the most basal, nasal
Bottom slowest, lowest
relative in their family, Jess Mamily.
They were fearful and tearful,
When his parents brought him to Sunion Reuion
He was dorky, dinky, odd, a clod.
Don’t play with him, said the Suion cousins, there were dozens.
So he sat alone, writing a story, penning a poem, a friendless gnome.
His penning paid off, he wrote a killer of a best seller.
He made two hundred thousand, maybe a few dollars more.
For the Jess Mamily the public knew was adored by the ten score.
The cousins began to knock on his notoriously famous door.
But he did not open it, remembering their mistreatment of him.
A Sunion Relative, but shunned no more.
On the Mamily size, Jesse had an always sweet cousin, Jim.
Not thirty four, not even a dozen, only Jesse and him.
This cousin was embraced by him and he shared his wealth.
Their friendship firm, both happy with monetary health.
Categories:
basal, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme