Best Baser Poems
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...
Categories:
baser, forgiveness, holiday, jewish, sorry,
Form:
Free verse
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.
Categories:
baser, anger, angst, anxiety, betrayal,
Form:
Free verse
A heritage no man can sell,
a history no man can tell;
so much we share in Jesus' band,
nothing to fear, in storms we stand.
To lordly things we are kindred,
mansions of gold, pure and sacred;
to endless beam, to saintly streams,
to heaven's gaze and holy hymns.
Our dreams are shaped eternaly
by faith and love in God's alley;
no baser thought our spirit fills,
as we approach heavenly hills.
We who are born of Christ Jesus,
Hallelujah is our chorus;
pilgrims we are, on earth we roam,
yet pressing on to our glorious home.
Categories:
baser, beauty, forgiveness, freedom, god,
Form:
Couplet
The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation
The Not-So Distant Past:
The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.
They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.
Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,
and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.
The Present:
19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,
a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.
I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,
our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.
Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,
babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,
yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,
needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,
for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.
Categories:
baser, allegory, angst, black african
Form:
You were born in a war ravaged state
You lost your man to the caprices of fate
You fell prey to your wayward ways
Victims of betrayal, greed or circumstances
You were drowned in the tide of darkness
Depraved incidents of forced sex and perversions
Rooted in carnal desires and unsated frustrations
The fleshpots in town frowned upon as receptacles of sin
Wisdom of society’s views wearing very thin
Thwarting those in heat from living out their dream
Objects of titillation and subjected to derision
Unfortunately placed or forced in a profession
Reckoned as the world’s oldest
Harlots you are, courtesans at best
Buffers to man’s baser side without respite or rest
Mistress to royalty or a gangster’s moll
You’ve mastered the act of a defenceless doll
Apparently enjoying the bizarre and the extraordinary
But behind this masquerade is the quintessential mercenary
Pandering only to the philandering of the paying strata of humanity
You frequent raunchy night-clubs and sleazy bars
Walk the streets and lurk around dark corners
You are often just a number in the telephone directory
Or recommended for unusual skills, honed to a speciality
But you seldom blackmail, reflecting your innate nobility
Possibly you booze to drown your pain
And get your high on heroin and cocaine
You are accused of ruining marital ties
And of driving your lovers to a life of vice
Who squander fortunes, just affording your price
Hail lady of the night
Only death can release you from your sordid plight
You are the paramour without the strings of a wife
You are the reprieve from loneliness and strife
But alas, you suffer damnation in your earthly life
Categories:
baser, social, sympathy, tribute,
Form:
Rhyme
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)
Categories:
baser, allegory, celebration, happiness, introspection,
Form:
Couplet
On strange days
like these
baking cookies
is an arcane art.
For it is winter outside
how we transform
the inside
into mystic summer.
For i know the golden ratio.
i have surrounded
myself with graduated cylinders
that recall the lore
of cups and ounces.
Retorts of pots and pans
where i can observe
the powers of this world
returning and combining
into simmer.
Such smells
waft from the oven
as ginger swirls
and cinnamon sworls
like molten mountains jumble.
As the elements combine
eggs and butter
await their transformation.
Some believe that
transmuting baser metals
into gold somehow proves their worth
but they have never
crafted cookies.
At my round
small wooden table
my imaginary children enjoy
the coming holiday of doughy
spell-making.
They beam at me
with their gumdrop eyes
and jelly bean smiles
and write Latin script
with licorice and raisins
on their raiment.
As the homunculus
i have constructed
out of hen’s teeth
and oatmeal.
with a retro fish tank.
skips like calendar with
an extra leap year.
hiccupping time.
Mice in the wainscot
squeak as Saturn
rises auspicious
in their whiskers.
As my roller
impresses and passes
i fill the silver trays
the cuckoo clock strikes thirteen.
While i in a black forest script
write of spells
of life and death
and of the perfect
distillation of a sugar cookie
in baker notation
Sprinkles on the flour
that has spilled upon my table
from the shifter….
Categories:
baser, art, fantasy, food, religion,
Form:
Free verse
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
Categories:
baser, imagination, muse, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
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
Categories:
baser, anxiety, culture, internet, metaphor,
Form:
Rhyme
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
Categories:
baser, passion,
Form:
Rictameter
A whim of pleasure
Speaks to the wind,
And a sigh of murder
Cannot win.
Who’s to say one pleasure is
Better than another?
Pain and pleasure,
Life’s two sovereign masters.
Pushpin is just as good
As poetry?
Pursuing my pleasures
In a void of toxicity.
The lowest and slowest
Are life’s basic needs.
Sex, drugs, and fine foods
Is all simple-likes need.
A step higher into cultured reliefs,
Art and music indeed;
Such dignity,
Not like the baser needs.
Step one more,
The mind of science and/or spiritual needs.
*****sapiens source of
Elation,
All found in empirical seeds.
Though it is better to be
A human dissatisfied than
A pig satisfied;
Better to be Socrates dissatisfied
Than a fool satisfied.
Ours species two sovereign masters;
Pain and pleasure…
Nature’s selective possessors.
Categories:
baser, philosophy
Form:
If you fear an inappropriate tryst
In Day's, bright light will subsist
If attendance to your whims is remiss
For each foible pare one, entitled kiss
If my address too awkwardly I press
Only the passionate syllables stress
If my aimless loitering you detest
Grant each day one, solitary egress
If sanctimonious attitude does distress
Let charitable heart baser traits bless
If beaming eyes, shapely figure molests
Focus my stare on your stately crest
If my squeaky voice your nerves test
I'll drown the variation with lemon zest
If feigned loyalty, I laboriously confess
My lips with time's shadow compress
If from my wit sentient mind does desist
Only time-tested Limericks will enlist
Categories:
baser, best friend, body,
Form:
Rhyme
How I recall my thralldom as a man!
Base troths with idols, rituals of lust,
Hellish haven, hot blood; too late thou learn'st
Drowning desire and pleasure-profaned ban.
But sin may lead where virtue never can:
I - burning, thirsting, bleeding, dying - thirst
For love. Abandoned I, by mandrake curs't,
My lech'rous limbs cry out t'embrace a lamb.
Dear God! My bed a beam becomes. Blessed
Light, in which tearful floods and baser blood
Are rudely mixt, melded, hammered into good,
Grant unto me eternal love and rest!
Our natures thus cros't, I, like bedded bride,
Delight to sleep here, ever at Thy side.
Categories:
baser, allegory, faith, love,
Form:
Sonnet
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
Categories:
baser, dream, inspiration, motivation, spiritual,
Form:
Monchielle Stanza
Lucifer
arch evil angel
Vanquisher of souls
Whither goes thou menacing spirit
throughout the earth,
to and fro
Desiring always to corrupt the innocent,
to yield to baser instincts
Urging weak vessels of faith
to destroy themselves
in so many horrible ways
Satan
arch evil angel
Thou hast fallen from grace
Often appearing now as an angel of light,
wearing a most deceptive face
Your unholy ministers
have transformed themselves
into ministers of righteousness
Taste not their rotten fruit,
doctrines of lies ...
presented always in an alluring disguise
They teach prosperity:
to fill up your house greedily
Give it all to yourself,
don't share it with nobody else
They teach seductive wizardry;
Be anything you wanna be,
because God created us to be free
But nowhere in none of this
do you hear them say anything about living holy
Your evil ways
no longer appear glamorous to me
Thanks be to God,
I'm no longer deceived by your trickery
O Destroyer
arch evil angel
The hour of thy judgment
is nearly upon thee
So breathe your nuclear breath,
kill as many as thou can possibly
Cast down from heaven into the earth ...
thou will now try to destroy
so many souls in such short time
Thy fate, the burning lake awaits thee
A bottomless pit,
out of which thou shall not ever climb
Categories:
baser, evil, religious, spiritual, truth,
Form:
Narrative