Here in the garden.
Or only to mourn, this one.
All will be lost.
Thus now they confired.
For man
For God.
“Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry.” ― William Butler Yeats
What of the Celtic Bishop's.
Born so long ago.
How long did they preserve, the church?
... after the fall of the empire.
This long time, they served humanity, and transmitted culture, and learning.
St. Patrick's grandfather was one.
How they loved and cherished their wives.
To nourish the church in the wilderness,
was it not, their lives vocation.
Till in her beauty, she came forth, in all her strength, and magistry.
I am a Vulgar man.
Less common with the coming years.
I learned to swear, like Brother Brigham.
Life does that to you.
This life happens, as you are making other plans.
Promised a large righteous posterity, by one who knew I was sterile.
Never to create new life in this world.
How does one become less common, more vulgar.
Feeling less mormon, and more christlike each day.
I planted the pot.
I adopted two children from one who could create new life, special gift, from one who loves our family.
A gift, I hope to repay someway.
I helped to prosecute a young man who misused his reproductive powers.
Then purchased a van to visit him for several years.
To let him know he was not his crime.
This commoness
This Vulgarness
Trade, with the coming years.
Till I become less like me,
and more like him.
Does the song?
Know when, to remember,
Or when, to forget.
Memories of Momma, on my mind.
When will come the children.
To long for them we do.
Do I remember the future, or is it the past.
This time too, shall pass.
This road to come, long it is,
Here I am in Momma's van.
Trisha Yearwood, playing on the tape deck.
"The Song Remembers When".
When to love, when to cry, and when to try again.
He was angry with one of them.
With which one, he was not certain.
He had kissed them both.
In his life, their had only been two.
One gave him life, the other shared his bed.
Why spread the anger at the first, to the second?
The second had urged him, to settled the anger , with the first.
He was unwilling, to do the same.
So it spoiled his time, with the second.
Before the death of the first, their was reconciliation, and real forgiveness.
Now how to return to the second, to diminish the void, he created.
... this then is his quest.
It was long his dream,
To write the history.
He tried once,
So long ago.
The journals in high school.
The letters to his children.
They were too complete,
in his brokeness.
How to help you to luv them,
He saught.
Then comes the poetry.
Poetry is broken, and incomplete.
This is the blessing, and a way, to show,
The luv.
Why does a man need purse?
I knew a man, who had a jewelry box.
I have been accused, of being that man,
Little Eddie Jr.
In my purse, I have 5 Android devices,
And their chargers.
O' and my wallet too.
It was purchased for a small netbook,
But now it is a murse, a man's purse.
We go many places, together.
I always have it nearby.
Once in the hospital, I had no charger.
Now like a good Eagle Scout, I am always prepared.
It has a spare battery powered charger, two bluetooth headphones.,
And lots of good USB cables .
I hope you are prepared with a murse, or a jewelry box.
Momma had a twin sister,
they were born 18 months apart.
Where one would go, the other would follow
for years they shared a bedroom,
and a bed too.
Momma had the babies
her sister helped to raise them.
having three children,
in a short time,
momma needed help, with the babies.
momma, took her sister, on their vacations
they shared a bed then too.
momma was in the middle,
just so daddy's eyes did not roam too far.
they luved the babies together,
momma and her sister.
in the summer's, after her marriage
momma sister would take a child, for a week or two.
her sister ached for her unborn child
momma's children helped fill the void.
I luved momma and I luved her sister,
They really completed each other.
Let's make a baby,
She said.
It was not the first night,
But the second.
The first had been a pajama night.
Still he had not sleeped with a woman,
Except momma, her momma, or an aunt.
The first day was a busy day,
The wedding breakfast,
Temple ceremony, when he nearly fainted, and the wedding reception.
So the first night was a pajama night.
She was the first to kiss him,
Except momma.
That second night, they did try, to make a baby.
Little did they know, He could never create new life.
Still they luved to try.
The babies did come, send from another who luved them all.
He so luved his Eve.
So times seam tough and life is a struggle ,
Still he knows she was the first and will remain the only,
To ask him, to help her, to make a baby.
... "but all the men in the United States cannot prevent a man from thinking. There are not Apostles enough in the Church to prevent us from thinking, and they are not disposed to do so; but some people fancy because we have the Presidency and Apostles of the Church they will do the thinking for us. There are men and women so mentally lazy that they hardly think for themselves. To think calls for effort, which makes some men tired and wearies their souls. Now, brethren and sisters, we are surrounded with, such conditions that it requires not only thought, but the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Latter-day Saints, you must think for yourselves. No man or woman can remain in this Church on borrowed light." (J. Golden Kimball. April 1904 General Conference)
She, was dying.
Dying She, was ?
Or, was He ?
To grateful, for the small things,
Where, they?
A full hair of head .
A Hair Stylist, with real talent.
Two children, and a husband, she luved.
Angry he was, VERY VERY VERY ANGRY !
She was the center of his universe.
Talk about it, he could not .
Why?
Then came the one who brought the cure.
... AND ANGRY, VERY ANGRY, was he, still.
So, very still.
Talk, he could not, and why, they knew not.
Yet, came the cure, the full head of hair.
A full remission.
... and now to the rebuilding, of a life.
To let the anger, be still.
In it comes, out it goes.
A confession, or renewal.
The invitation.
To return, thus, it is.
Now to renew, the journey.
Hope of a rebirth, of the covenant.
Thus a trade, a restoration.
The end, of the beginning.
5-28-2017
"Go back to the darkest roots of civilization and you will find them knotted round some sacred stone or encircling some sacred well. People first paid honour to a spot and afterwards gained glory for it. Men did not love Rome because she was great. She was great because they had loved her." (G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy)
The stories of Luke Skywalker or Han Solo are the sacred myth of my generation. Though set "Long ago and far, far away" They are the sacred fire we built our culture around.
Another is the story of Adam and Eve. This story has transformed my relationship with my mother. Thus the power of this myth.
Eve was a woman who desired to have children. In her desire to have children, she became broken. In this brokenness we now live. Eve sacrificed her presence with God so I could be born.
My mom and I have a difficult relationship. We are both broken souls. It is the power of the Eve myth that rebuilds our relationship. I value the sacrifices offered by her, her mother, and her mother's mother, to create my life. This gratitude has driven me, to restore my relationship, with my mother.
These sacrifices , are not in theory. These sacrifices, are in fact. My mother's family have collected these stories. I know their names and birthplace to at least 7 generations. I have their stories. The babies, they lost. The husbands they buried. They are real to me.
Thus, the power of the Eve myth to shape and forge, mine and my mothers relationship.
These myths tie me to my mothers, for all time.
their she was, in him, Adam
did he not see her.
she was a part of him,
but he was alone.
all of creation had a companion,
he did not, or so it seamed, to him.
then came the separation,
now she was not part of him.
now he was not alone,
or so it seamed to him.
now, through all eternity,
he must strive,
to return,
to when, she was part of him.
a ris'n or a setting mourn
no more they mourn
when gone, i am
who will mourn
in the mor'n
or in eve,
the twilight
is it a rising
or a setting mourn.
What was it she said,
...this, now, so long ago.
It seamed new, and fresh,
...this, now, so long ago.
this feeling was old, yet new
this feeling, of yester-year
was it lost,
or was it found
This feeling, I never knew,
...this, now, so long ago.
Steven Bassett
April 2015
To be grateful is,
To be grateful for.
This more I seek.
Then is it more?
The more I become,
The less I am.
T'is this I seek
To be less, then more..
The more I am,
The more I seek.
The more I seek,
The less I am.
Till then I am,
To'be no more.
I will seek,
Then less of more
To then I 'come,
All the more.
Steven Basset
April 2015
She luv'd him,
but why.
This then, the many years.
If luv is a verb ...
Then luv him, she did.
Many actions, through the years.
He knew, no children,
might be their lot.
Still ...
She luved him.
Accepted her, he did ...
only to discover, it was,
he not her.
Then came the gift, of the two.
But would he be,
the one, she choose, always ...
,to luv.
This then, must be ...
,his choice, to serve her, then ...
he must, and choose
This luv, daily.
To be'still my soul,
Come'th it now..
Invited I not,
yet come'th, then forth.
This talent, long buried ...
lay dormant it still.
To this, then the garden...
the garden, my soul.
Tragedy, brought for'th,
To cultivate, thus,
This, to the muze,
be grateful, ther'by.
From whence,
doeth it come.
Come'th it does,
To now and then
Then and now
come'th it still
still to my heart
come'th it now
Still doeth it come
To'be quiet my soul
My soul to be'stilll
Doth quiet it now.
To reveal is to hide
Remaith their, still.
April 4, 2016
It came at a great cost,
The Tao, of Stev,
Momma full of pain.
Papa, lost his mind.
Brother, not certain, of love.
Two sister's, struggled, to find a place,
... and each other.
How does one struggle?
... for a Tao.
He thought he found it,
... in the church that supported, him, them.
More discoveries, on the mission,
to Mississippi.
A wife.
Two children ...
Gifts from one, who loved them.
Then, the car accident,
... the cancer returns.
He lost it all,
in the deepest part, of his soul.
How to recover, the Tao ...
,saught he then.
, ... still does now.
I am damaged goods .
Born defective..
Of broken soul's.
Young they were...
these broken soul's.
They sought to repair us...
the doctor's ...
... and the priests.
This long time ...
... they have sought our souls.
He was broken too.
Broken by the ones,
he sought to redeem.
In this brokenness,
...then beyond redemption, are we?
Then on, to redemption,
this journey, then we seek
Then to serve,
... in our brokenness,
... is what remains.
How many times,
had he returned.
Alone.
Was he alone,
in crowds?
This three days,
this then, no more ...
Alone.
The dishes, she cleaned,
the table, she set,
the dinner, she served.
This, the one,
who gave him life.
had ceased to do,
long ago,
This three days,
she had come,
to change, his life.
Then to be grateful,
must he,
then be.
This, then,
to show,
gratitude, and luv.
Luv is so sweet,
When taken, this choice.
To choose to luv,
T'is it a gift, from diety.
Tougher, then, this choice,
A return, then, to joy.
The sweetness can come,
... after years of bitter sorrow.
Earned thus it is.
Like vinegar, that reduces, to wine.
This reversal to youth ...
like young luv, it returns.
The bitterness, long forgotten. .
It, the act of a two part ...
Forgiveness,
...
Thus returns, to youth, and joy ...
tobe, then, to the,
... "I Am" ...
The choice, she made.
The gift, they shared.
Two for them,
was the gift.
A choice, not an accident,
or mistake.
This, a free will gift ...
of Luv.
Honored they were,
by the gift ...
this gift of Luv.
Together ...
they cherished,
The Children.
This daughter of Eve,
and ...
Adam's off-ox.
To luv her ...
In the end, was the choice.
But how to choose.
Her sisters would have replaced,
... her.
This choice was not made,in his youth.
This daughter off Eve ...
was distant, as was, Adams off-ox.
How many of Eves daughter's,
had sacrificed to create, her life.
How many of Eve's daughters,
would he lose, if he selected, an aunt,
for, his mom.
This price, he would not pay.
Reach out again ... he did.
This dance, this time, they,
... did not pull away.
Together they danced,
and celebrated Eve's daughters,
and Adams off-ox.
This, then, the miracle,
He comes ?
Tis pierced, and shunned.
This then, the miracle,
We seek.
To recognize.
The one, we do.
This, then the miracle.
I prayed for a miracle,
I got the pot, planted.
Her death, would it come ?
Know I not, but when,
soon...
God, then sent, this gift
This to recognize, took but, years.
Death has not come,
Pass by it thus,
Has ...
This wife, still thus,
I have, and children too.
Plus one. ..
Solved ...
The great Nephretic puzzle
Thus, I have.
Now to be greatful,
For the miracle, he hath wrought.
And gifts, we now share.
(Book Of Mormon, 1 Nephi ch. 4)
Chapter 4
Nephi slays Laban at the Lord’s command and then secures the plates of brass by stratagem—Zoram chooses to join Lehi’s family in the wilderness. About 600–592 B.C.
10 And it came to pass that I was constrained by the Spirit that I should kill Laban; but I said in my heart: Never at any time have I shed the blood of man. And I shrunk and would that I might not slay him.
...
12 And it came to pass that the Spirit said unto me again: Slay him, for the Lord hath delivered him into thy hands;
13 Behold the Lord slayeth the wicked to bring forth his righteous purposes. It is better that one man should perish than that a nation should dwindle and perish in unbelief
... love being a verb
is a things that retains ...
requires action to endure
life being unfair,
Is ment to sustain.
how to be greatful,
and not bitter and angry
when those we love are,
Tobe,, taken..
strive always...
to awaken each morning,
to be greatful,
...that you share, one more day.
Dec 2015
a longing intense...
this drive will not rest ...
not feeling at home.
I need to leave peace.
The circle I seek,
return I may then.
** Joy = Sehnsucht a difficult to translate Germain concept.
[my first poem Oct 2011]
Inspired by (Suprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life, Clive Stanley Lewis)
(see, G.K. Chesterton, "Homesick at Home” (1896) from The Coloured Lands (London: Sheed & Ward, 1938))
see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sehnsucht
Still the poetry,
From where doeth it come.
But come'th it does.
Till I come,
It reaches me.
Forever more
And then the same.
Doeth it reach you?
Their he sits,
on the back row,
most Sundays.
The back slider.
He had lost it,
so long ago,
on his mission,
to redeem the world.
He was deep-rooted,
in his unbelief...
So faithful,
to its loss ...
He married outside the faith.
A daughter came then too.
They raised her in his faithfulness,
to his unbelief.
His wife thought...
Their daughter needed,
a faith,
a belief.
His was as good, as any other.
Perhaps, even better.
Many times, he had tried,
to leave his unbelief.
It was marrow deep,
in his bones.
His ancestors buried it,
deep there,
ever so deep,
he could not retrieve it.
It become a blessing,
his unbelief.
Let him see, the true light,
at the center, of every soul.
Was his prayer unanswered,
in his unbelief?
Lord, I do not believe,
Bless me now, in my unbelief.
*Inspired by the life and unbelief of Levi Peterson, author of "The Backslider". It is my understanding that it was his non-mormon wife's desire to raise their daughter in the mormon faith.
The world,
Is it now becoming?
They seek to divide,
to sell us the goods.
Hate sells better
then love.
To advertise,
they must shock us.
Murder, theft, and robbery,
sell better then,
kittens and new puppies.
To entertain they must devide us.
By all measure the world gets better,
When I walk away,
turn it off,
and seek to serve.
Steven Bassett sept 2015
I wrote, a poem, today,
Or did it ride me.
To be taken, for a ride,
by a poem.
It climbs out.
Kicking and scratching,
and crawling my way.
Soon to be forgotten.
No fish to wrap.
No fires to start.
Just memories to make,
and lives to change.
T'is it, this past, to then, be gone.
gone it is, this (morning/mourning) long.
When mourn has come, and then be gone.
T'is it too quiet, to come, this morn.
To simmer, this fire, this pain, this past.
to leave behind, this (mourn/morn), at last.
he found her that way,
in the bedroom with his best friend.
his loaded glock in his right hand
his anger in his left.
the choice, now to make.
it would change the world.
how long does one count
to ones self
before changing the world ...
years later , the children
did he love her still?
they burned through them all,
together and apart.
one luver after another.
now together, again they are.
he on one bedroom, she in another.
like a little wipped puppy, she was.
yet he luved her still.
yet to leave her he must,
to go on she will.
but the children between them they have,
to luv them still,
this choice to make,
this choice to share.
An apple was it not,
or then maybe a flower.
Bare fruit it did,
then.
Doe'th one plant a flower,
to preserve a life.
The first fruit, doe'th,
it become?
Brought forth first,
knowledge.
Then eternal life.
This the choice,
a flower thus plant,
to then the cure.
Then more they whole,
once more again .
To thus a family,
tobe the more.
no more, sits he, their'by
Waiting.
The weight, is no more.
The burden we carry, no more.
Together.
Now he doth wait,
For the more part .
The part to come then,
When we are no more,
Separate.
But, together, again.
Going is he not?
To meet her today.
She came with,
the one he luved.
The bonus child.
Got her body,
did she then?
Then home again,
went she.
Home, to await his arrival.
Here to raise a family,
was he ...
Never far,
from his thoughts,
was she ...
Look like them,
did she then ?
The other children,
and her ...
Meet they now,
and joy'es it be.
In marriage,
two stages, be their may.
Three their be,
If luck their hold.
To work them through,
The second to return,
To the first.
Is the work of,
of a lifetime.
T'is it then a Vulgar notion.
For a Vulgar time.
From fuck you, in the hallway,
To fuck you, as we pass.
To have the courage,
To change, forget, and forgive.
To return the cycle.
To this, then be my task,
In this life.
*Vulgar: of the common folk, peasant class, redneck notion.
I let them loose, today.
Where they ever, really, mine.
The thoughts, I possessed...
When I possessed them.
they were mine?
Now are recorded, and scattered.
Scattered to the wind.
Chesterton, had his thoughts,
in the penny papers, of his day,
The London Illustrated News.
They wrapped fish in then.
They used them, like the Sears, Roebuck, Catalog,
In the outhouse,
To finish, their duty,
Now I publish, to the blog,
and facebook too?
Will my thoughts last, long.
Will I be remembered,
When gone, I am.
Still the thoughts,
I carry, and Share,
maybe you, can share,
them too.
Gilbert (G.K.) Keith Chesterton.
Why choose to luv, him
Faithful was he, not
The many years,
and the children.
Sleeping side by side.
always to mourn, what could have been.
Together, apart came they always.
Always, together and apart.
To give up, many would have now.
Yet, not give up she has...
Did she see what he could be,
and not what he was,
or had been.
Was he the sparrow,
God watched and mourned?
It is said, never a sparrow doeth fall,
but God doeth not take notice of.
If he, god wanted, him,
how could she not.
This covenant,
This eternal,
This ever more.
This she seeks,
and ever see's.
From whence comes the poetry.
Come rising up it doth.
Like a great lava flow.
Surging, rising, and falling.
Up and down.
To and fro.
It will not rest,
Till rest I do.
To come forth birthed.
A full grown child.
Then nurtured to a final form.
Released again, anew.
To then come forth.
And visit you now.
And then to share.
This world of ours.
Why stay?
Together, and apart.
Twenty four, plus four, then one.
Faithful, had not, been they?
The others, last did not ...
Still.
they, remain,
together, and apart.
Courage then comes,
together, and apart.
Searching for the missing,
Together, and apart.
The need, the lack, their in
Together, it drove, them
Together, and apart.
The four plus one,
are more then the two.
Then, to the end,
Thus, then were they.
Together, and apart.
The anger lies,
so deep down, below.
Deep down,
Does it lie.
From whence comes truth?
Truth does not lie.
It moves, and feels, and grows.
From whence, find I,
The truth,
That doth not,
Lie,
their by,
and not below?
The poems,
From where, do they, come forth
To come forth, this,
they do, now.
Like a spring ...
of lava, flowing forth.
Like fire, and ice.
They cover, cool, and heal.
The thoughts.
So long, lay buried.
They buried her, buried him.
Then buried it.
The thoughts...
How long, they struggle,
To come forth.
To this, the bedroom,
To them, he found
His wife, his friend,
Embracing now.
Two forks their come
Two choices, now ...
To this, the right, the loaded glock,
To then the left, this anger still.
To this, the choice,
To then, to make.
To then himself,
To this to count.
To then, to change
this world, now.
To this, the children
to luv her still?
then to burn,
their luvers, all.
Why together, are the now?
Till once together,
Till then, they part.
this, then bedrooms,
Two their now.
one for he,
Then, one for her.
then on he goes,
And on to be,
Then two, the one,
they be no more.
But to the children,
between them be,
this the choice,
then be, their now.