Long My psyche Poems
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One need only open an old chest, or turn on a light in an attic, to journey back in time. Every scrap of clothing, old photograph is a life and a history. Essence remains.
As I often write at night, while many of a more rational world slept -- pacing, muttering poetic phrases aloud in a possessed manner, to keep my marriage intact, a seldom-used backroom of our house has become my addiction sanctuary. Soon it was a habit of mine, exhausted after composing for many hours nonstop, my psyche too spent to carry myself the distance needed to reach our conjugal bedroom at the other side of the house, I simply stretched out on a tattered sofa adjacent to my writing desk, and quickly dosed off. Strangely I began having a recurring trance-like dream of an ancient tormented soul beseeching help. He seemed trapped. For it was male. Distressingly disoriented. I asked what was wanted of me, tacitly aware that our languages were foreign to each other, yet we clearly communicated through some indeterminable articulate mysticism of the mind? His replies were confusing, mostly speaking in haunting, meandering riddles. After this went on for several more consecutive nights, somewhat spooked, I finally told my wife of the strange happenings. Swearing to her that the encounters seemed ultra real~ too real, dreadfully fearing that it could not be merely sleepy imagination alone, but perhaps, manifestation of a demonic entity. Following lengthy, involved research, it turned out that my wife harbored some old Indian artifacts, long forgotten, saved in a file cabinet near to the desk where I wrote, a headdress and eagle claw necklace her cowboy uncle had acquired somehow in the late 1800's, obviously sacred items that once belonged to a powerful medicine man. Well, the next night, in deep prayer, in consultation with higher divine elements, I helped the suffering deceased Shaman, whose spirit was firmly yet attached to his personal earthbound paraphernalia, ascend to a metaphysical realm long awaiting his overdue blessed arrival. His spirit was the size of a mountain as he lifted from the earth into a seeming celebrating night sky.
The Unknown
While standing on a razor-edge end of my mortal time,
I’m not sure of what lies beyond and what I shall find.
Death’s dead, cold eyes stare me down now, as I wait;
My spirit sweats and shakes, as my blood turns frigid.
His skeleton face is scary, horrid, pallid, and macabre.
His apparition floats freely full of fear this frozen night.
A little girl long dead steps toward me from this oblivion,
Her face sad, streaming tears as she hands me a wilted rose.
This strange netherworld has that dull, cold pallor of death,
Just like the smell, sensation, and sadness of a charnel house.
The moon on this eve is one blood red, insidious in intent;
Fixed high in the cold night sky it gives one no hope at all.
The little girl long dead returns and holds my left hand gently:
She says, “It’s not yet your time . . . this is still only a dream.”
She adds, “The River Styx lies ahead—cold, dark, and deep.”
She says, “There is yet time to change your life for the better.”
As I started to awaken from this intense and revealing dream,
I could hear a faint voice whispering deep inside my psyche.
It told me now a certain message that I shall never ever forget.
Follow your heart and conscience, find the goodness in your life.
Listen to God and what the better angels of your nature tell you.
This shall keep you on that path of the devout in the eyes of God.
The image of God is reflected in Man himself as he seeks to fulfill
Always His Divine Destiny!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
January 1, 2016 (Lyric)
As I lie neath an early summertide planets-aligning
eve of a celebration,
silver shooting star's sparkle above the endless
bridge of the cosmos-
a bridge where those who have passed from
earth before us stride.
Some of them children who run and shout in
astral play,
young and older couples with snowy crowns,
people of all races, all ages,
in reuniting bliss with loved ones.
Friends from their past,
and pets with eyes of welcome.
Thousands of angels as bright as many
Milky Ways on gold-gleamed chariots aflame
with newly parted souls,
escorting them to the entrance of the
starry-blessed bridge to begin their heavenly
journey walks.
I dreamt in God's colors in rainbows arcing
in glorious spectrums,
synchronizing with music of hereafter
coursing in my elder veins,
delighting my psyche.
And I recall in deepest sleep,
memories of the goodness of many
strangers,
so pure and unbenighted. ~
ENAMORED :
Your smile comes easily like folding clouds.
Stretching side by side in different styles.
I wish I would have you at my side.
If only you can decide,
I will rise up and show you how much I regard you,
And it would be obvious how my happiness depends on you.
I admire your beauty,
Your voice and everything.
Whatever way others think,
You're always pretty and cute.
Who can compete with you?
If I hear your name in any news,
I get so much enthused.
One time that I spoke to you my psyche became hooked.
In a trance do I see you in my room,
Where life looks so inspiring for us two.
Therefore allow me to be your beau,
So we'll forever hold our hands together as we move.
True love comes natural,
And it's so powerful.
Time to time it accruals,
And it's factual.
I don't want to buy yours with money,
To uphold you with lies.
Or for you to be forced before adoring me.
But accept my proposal with pride,
For the journey not to be flurry.
If you accept to give me a try,
You will never live to worry,
You'll keep soaring higher and higher.
Nor will darkness steal our glory,
Just to cause us to look shy.
We will crone in the morning dew,
And love ourselves without getting tired.
We'll dance gracefully on the moon,
For our union to be transpired.
The night will seal our fidelity with truth,
And no one can break our love rules,
As we'll stay forever under the same roof,
Enjoying tranquility and perceiving good.
Rattled into action,
I’m no damsel in a tower.
I’m Sleeping Beauty, grown—
not rescued,
just rested.
Wrapped in gratitude,
a quiet kiss waiting.
So I crush every mistake,
every “no,”
every moment I felt less than—
they were the broth
that brined my spine,
seasoned my soul.
I do not recount sorrows
steeped in regret.
I do not carve my psyche
with clever metaphors.
I do not dance
through the dust of broken dreams.
I bask
in the brilliance buried
beneath defeat.
Not lost.
Only redemption.
I sip from the same scorched cup—
the bitterness now dulled,
the burn made warm.
I steep old wounds in truth,
brew them into wisdom.
Every ache a root
pushing me into new life.
Every silence
a seed I didn’t know I’d planted.
The knowing always strikes first—
a hush pierced by sirens,
pulse breaking in the bones,
a hunger without a name,
a reaching
for something that does not yet exist.
Even the thorns I cursed—
named after lovers
I mistook for home—
became compass needles,
pointing me back to myself.
I do not recount sorrows steeped in regret.
I do not carve my psyche with metaphors.
I do not waltz through wreckage.
I bask—
in the hush after heartbreak,
in the shimmer beneath scars,
in the beauty that bloomed
when everything broke.
Not lost.
Not ruined.
Only—
becoming.
And still,
I bask.
You are as real to me as any other living thing
I can see. Alive and indestructible
Words are one of very few things that cannot
be taken from us
Even if conditions are such
that those words must only live
inside our minds.
Even before the completion
of one work of art on paper,
you have already been born somewhere
in my psyche
Until it's time to knock on the door and
come out
You
have always been with me
You are one reason I was born
to express you, share you
We, together, touch others
with honesty, beauty, smiles, tears,
even regret or angst
Whatever it is they need most
at the time
Your rhyme so satisfies me
like nothing else. We are a team
To write is better than the best dream
It's the closest I am able to come to eternity
There is no time. Time does not exist when
we are composing.
There is nothing else and
nothing I want for
when I'm with you
When I leave this limited space,
we will float away together
a feather
for the future
Whatever it may be
Thank you, Poetry
Night time rituals, that little space of time,
Cathartic relief, along with sweat and grime,
Tribulations of the day wash away, too,
Pool down the sink hole, tomorrow starts brand new.
Night time rituals, bring with them repose:
Weary souls long their weary eyes to close.
Strange to remember, I once felt that way,
Now pain too hard to overcome must still be kept at bay.
So, from night time rituals and sleeping I abstain,
Wild is the gallop of a mind that's slipped its reins.
Sleep is when it gets me, I run for my life,
Run from myself, dreams twisting like a knife.
Drumroll in my ears
Signal danger nears:
Like an arrow I am off,
No spluttering nor cough,
Scaling each fence,
I revel in my strength,
But the faster I go
More obstacles grow.
Hidden in tall grass,
Bold as brass,
I'll rip him asunder
The hunted now the hunter.
Exhilarating chase across a ravaged mind
Preyed upon so long, soon now I shall find...
A bench so familiar, leers into view,
"A wooden resting bench" but now there’re quite a few,
Important, sure, to someone, but that person is not me,
Misfiring neuron in my psyche
I wake up happy, I love to push my body,
Even in dreams, I'm proud of my dexterity.
Doubts creep in, so stealthily at first,
Recalcitrant swimmer who slowly must immerse
In waters so freezing she could die from shock
Can't bear it any longer, I'm diving off the block.
First hits dread
Limbs made of lead
Wasted muscles
Unsteady shuffles
Rasping breath
I'd rather death
Than be pushed around
Wheelchair bound.
Cruel apparition
Subconscious admission
That from my dream those benches
In reality, are trenches,
Where bloodied I fall
No further steps at all,
Scrambling up a battle
My body just will not tackle.
But my own will grown so strong
I'm toldl I’m hearing wrong,
That I won't mend
I cannot, will not, comprehend.
Unbeknownst tummy why, (around
about 2200 hours October 5th, 2018),
a slew of forgotten incidents quasi
lee linkedin, and questionably
nsync, though lightly browned
with Alfred Lord Tennyson's,
"The Charge of the
Light Brigade" - ("found"
via Google search), nonetheless,
said decades old reminiscences
and remembrances, viz
early father forcefully
came barging unstoppably,
and furiously galloping
out of the blue - painfully crowned
ning me noggin like
a crash test dummy
on the prowl akin
to a frenzied blood hound
tearing at light speed - unbound
(defying laws of physics) just now
forgotten instances I feebly
try to expound
inexplicably purportedly
buried in a “mound”
long forgotten everyday details,
when all my (deux than
young restless) children abound
did with limitless energy ground
me with fatigue as the world turned,
two beautiful hearts lovingly pound
ding with oblivious innocent bliss,
ah such ordinariness unwound
recollections roared back resound
ding lee - into my mind
with out a sound
re: collections long since past
suddenly didst rib bound
did (mainly, when thee and the Punim
spent time at playground
as young little girls),
who oft times found,
ye or Shana clamoring
for this dada to push
both of thee simultaneously
on the swing or merry-go-round,
or later on during that evening,
or another occasion found
the three of us
laughing (ho...ho...ho...) as we played
one or another round
of Mancala, Uno, Scrabble,
Sorry, (where this papa clowned
no matter, he got his game pieces round
lee sent homeward bound),
those supposedly forgotten
days of yore suddenly rumbling
within thy inner sanctum all mound
joyless deep under ground
came barreling thru my psyche
analogous to a class 5 hurricane
like gang busters
lashing out and drowned
at my whole being.
The time I got from eternity made me a part of you,
as my desire flared like the blazing galaxy of the cosmos,
I was keen to see the day my dreams would come true,
when your love will pull me though the void of oneness.
The sense of yearning came in the zero hour of awakening,
soaring on the dreaming wings of the silenced time,
stalled in my sky where you glided like a consumed star,
its catching cadence created a surreal symphony in my heart.
The rhythm of celestial music harmonized with my essence,
where the ethereal emotions sank in the space of rhapsody
that wrapped you and me, blending us together forever,
consecrated the concept of capturing craving called love.
At the acme of surreal desire of magnetic longing,
the private space between us imploded to nothingness.
Our fused souls then turned into oblivious singularity,
suspended in the deep space of invisible obscurity.
As your captivating allure sucked my psyche within you,
bending my self-control and deforming my sense of time,
I gravitated with my stellar passion at fervent horizon of fusion,
lost myself within your infinite depth of black hole love.
As we approach our golden years, nothing prepares us for what lies ahead. Everyone reaches it... it's inevitable but that doesn't mean we are really prepared! After a lifetime of happiness and struggles, nothing prepares us for suddenly feeling abandoned, not having purpose, a raison d'étre!
Unless we can replace our active life with some activity that keeps us looking forward to getting out of bed every morning. Without that activity to inspire us, we can sometimes sink into a deep depression.
I have always been one of the lucky ones... always able to approach the future searching for something new and interesting to feed my ever hungry brain! Mostly creative in nature which was surely not what I envisioned right out of high school.
In an era of the post-war world, insecurity was foremost in my psyche. However, inspired by a classmate, I reluctantly ventured into the world of advertising and I have never regretted it to this day.
Life is unequaled in the joy and happiness it provides in spite of all the heartaches and struggles! Bottom line, I wouldn't have wanted it any other way!!! It was and still is my raison d'étre!