...To me it seems morality
is what holds us back from the edge,
what keeps us from just destroying,
and leaving all enemies dead.
But more and more I think that it
was not some product of our mind,
but a product of evolution
that developed slowly with time.
Since no predator can stop us,
since we defeat even disease,
did we evolve our moral sense
to check those who act viciously?
Were the ones who killed unrestrained
killed off by their own aggression?
Were those first real moral stirrings
what kept folks from being undone?
Were the humans who lacked such thoughts
winnowed down, soon too few to breed?
Did evolution select those
able to resist killer creeds?
Is that why so few people now
have those brute, psychopathic brains?
Are those people just leftovers,
from a strategy now disdained?
If so, it means our moral codes,
are not something we made ourselves,
but just evolution’s response
to minds that can make living hell.
It wasn’t some higher calling
that kept us all from being wrecked,
morality is nature’s way
of keeping our species in check.
Categories:
winnowed, animal, evil, humanity, nature,
Form: Rhyme
in lobes, winnowed fans
far-off look scans the future
flight of butterflies
tease, tickles eyes, curious
beauty in obscurity
3/31/2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIER CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Categories:
winnowed, future,
Form: Tanka
The mistral cold wind blew incessantly wild,
Winding in the streets, its glacial currents in and around
The apartment blocks where all frosted windows
Were tightly secure. Still the bleak wintry chill entered
From tiny ruptured chinks and spread inside
Annihilating the miserly heat emitted
By old cranky air conditioners and gas heaters.
Occasional bursts of strong wind blew
Some soft snow up like winnowed chaff.
One hopes the homeless found some place to rest.
Categories:
winnowed, winter,
Form: Free verse
The sun is blazing torridly,
And the wind piping drearily,
I'm about to lose my mind,
Because I'm running out of time.
Battling with the winnowed tastes of the ages,
One can see the dimness of my sealed eye and soul,
I'm no longer fluent as a rill, that wanders silver-footed down a hill,
Because I'm swept off the field of battle like a monsoon.
I'm almost kicking the bucket with Idle hopes, like empty shadows,
Maybe I'm going home for the last time,
Looking pale and grave as a sculptured nun,
But I wish to survive.
The breathless hours like phantoms should disappear,
These evanescent words shouldn't snap like a whip-lash,
Because they are painted sharp as pang,
Till death like sleep might steal on me.
Until then, I'm giving the world the best of my poeticalness,
That's all I owe.
Categories:
winnowed, world,
Form: Free verse
There's always a cost in circumstance lost,
When the pitied mistakes start to bleed ...
But I never meant that these errors be bent,
By the demons of weakness and greed.
We can never take back the words of attack,
Like hot arrows flung loose from a bow ...
Deception, so tossed, can bring a high cost,
More precious than we're apt to know.
So fast thru my hand, those moments in sand
Then winnowed time's glass in a flood ...
I plotted and schemed yet I never dreamed,
That the price would be taken in blood.
Yes, these lies I own, but yours stood alone,
And we've both underrated their quarry ...
But by heaven and earth, for all that it's worth,
From the depths of my heart ... I'm SO sorry.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Apology" (Any Form) Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
winnowed, analogy, feelings, heart, love
Form: Rhyme
The deep delved path winds in the wood,
chasing with ghost-breaths and leafy hoods,
arbor-brawn the winnowed path crooks along;
whispering with what future song?
To ill desire and inches from hope,
plodding the cool of Earth alone?
...and the road behind pretends to love,
waltzing with garland worlds,
old friends long time not heard ---
gray and forsaken on the projector wall,
how wan this dying rose!
and pallid the day which broods...
Old Lucifer playing his lute at every high road;
Life had once played a tune more fair;
and soft the notes in the morning air,
with wife and child ---
the world had watched without despair,
a man to be called a man,
with land and two strong hands
to till the new earth-wares;
But his monsters had come
and bid him to stare too long into the glitter of gold,
and the gusting crooks in the road...
alone, forsaken...
a mere shadow of a man;
Though they called him king,
(he cried alone)
Categories:
winnowed, corruption, loneliness, loss, metaphor,
Form: Rhyme
Winnowed was the produce of my heart
And fortune favoured me upon that day.
For what remained was worthy of respect
And helped me rise above the fumes and fray.
The consciousness of good was well received
My soul and heart were like soaked bread in wine.
Although I did not doubt the creative word
To gain this mark of honour made it mine.
As being so prolific is a feat,
And work well done is cherished and admired
Then I shall rest and let my mind roam free
Replenishing again my inner fires.
The labourer is worthy of his hire.
The words will come to those who that desire.
Categories:
winnowed, feelings, writing,
Form: Sonnet
Who are we
in ego's deductive dark winter
decomposing fallen embryos
nurturing healthcare?
Who are we
springtime consumers of inductive light
and dark wet nights
nourishing ecstatically growing life systems?
Who are we
in diastatic summer's full regeneration,
bright light warm absorbing flows
of water's baptismal promise?
risk,
opportunity
for future replenishment?
Who are we
producing fall's winnowed harvests
branching
flowing
flying scattered seeds of time's intense dense integrity?
Advent of four-prime spiral seasons,
light's empowerment
balancing heart-root rhythmic systems
flowing Earth's nurturing river
of rich polycultural
polypathic
polymorphic becoming
Understory for Earth's Ground of Being,
RNA soil languaging DNA soul regenerators,
revolutions enfolding evolution's bilateral Tao way.
Categories:
winnowed, earth, humanity, integrity, light,
Form: Free verse
I'm scrapin' the marrow
I'm scrapin' the marrow from the
splintered bones of my last hero
Sustenance
Flecks of sustenance as I cower
Cower under this shelf
This outcropping of old white guy
Trepidatiously I peer out at a
Skynet world
Shadow governments
Shady leaders
Populations being winnowed
Pared back by progress
There was a time (and I remember this time) when it was said "Man will never walk on the Moon"
And now when it is said "Worldwide famine is impossible"
I ain't so sure
Weavin'
Weavin' the sinew of my last hero
Weavin' a cord
A sling cord
Need a pouch
Here's one
Need stones
Here's two
A guy once told me "You have to give a bit of yourself to the effort"
I understand that now as I sip from the skull top cup
of
my last hero
Categories:
winnowed,
Form: Free verse
The grapes are crushed and trodden,
winnowed the golden grain;
if winter comes tomorrow
my heart shall not complain.
Richer this tardy harvest
than one could ever dream
who has known the taste of famine
and drank a drought extreme.
Copyright, 7-19-2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
winnowed, longing, love,
Form: Lyric
Your tight-fitted, neon-pink top glows in the dark surf,
While your fluorescent G-string sparkles in my brown eyes.
Each, firm buttock, the well-rounded quarter of savory Roe,
My raised shaft in mock-tandem salutes each, titillating swivel.
Your silver bangles reflect the golden sun beams:
Your silver locket refracts steam from my eyes.
Your lubed pigments with drying sun strokes bind;
My doting fingers carefully brush refinished surface.
Your silky, ebony locks morph into a shimmering frock,
Availing breeze bristles thread-ends against my chest.
Your polished legs are flossed by the foaming tides,
Tethering to my brawny sinews, coarse hairs lather.
Your tiny, nimble feet sweep the satin granules;
The winnowed seeds tenderly fondle my arched heels.
Categories:
winnowed, love, romantic,
Form: Free verse
Crass ignorance doth propel my heart to anguish,
Why have thou forsaken me?,
Is it just for my pithy pleading to wither in the valley of the damned,
Shall I be cursed to my geography and mine parents whims,
What insolence has mine cretin thoughts winnowed with these allusions to Science,
Pray for me Providence for the hour of my reckoning draws nearer,
Mine blackened heart I give up wholly to you,
Do with it as you must, as One is Born , One must return to Dust.
Categories:
winnowed, death, religion, heart, heart,
Form: I do not know?