Though they are the very joy, of my life,
“Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry.” ― William Butler Yeats
Friday, November 1, 2019
why then the poems
Though they are the very joy, of my life,
Tuesday, October 29, 2019
This then the drive
Nearly grown now, is he?
He is tall.
He is smart.
One of the babies, we raised, together.
But the choices, he made, what of the choices.
He is not what he did, he is one of the babies.
So a used van, I buy, to take them, for a visit.
This then four hours, we will drive, one way.
In the van, my wife and I will sit,
while mom and dad visit with the baby,
now a young man.
I hold a prayer, that is all I can hold.
No influence have, I over this baby.
All I have is my love.
He could have been my first baby,
But grandpa loved him first.
So all I have is my prayer and hope.
A hope that he will become more then he did.
More then he is, now.
This crime, this thing, forgiveness will then come.
For to love is the only choice I have, today.
To choose any other is to damage my soul.
So I will love the boy I have no influence over,
and I will cherish this memory, we make today.
Friday, October 25, 2019
The Babies they raised together
Then the small house, in the center of town.
It was her grandmother's house, the first they bought,
together.
Then no babies came, to them,
infertile was he, failed her request,
to help make a baby.
Then the daycare center, in their home,
more babies then come, to raise.
Her sister, fertile was she.
This then her gift, a baby, to them.
This then their baby to raise together.
Her mother received a gift, two babies,
from her daughters.
This then more babies, to raise, together.
These babies, siblings would be.
One home, two houses, and three babies to share.
Then later, one final gift, this baby,
to them, this day.
This then the babies, they raised together.
Thursday, October 17, 2019
Poetry, the price of
It comes in the night, with little thought,
or preparation.
But the cost, it was terrible,
not certain it is worth the price,
Years of pain, heartache and shame,
he pours into, the poetry.
Cancer, the car wreck, the strained relationships.
He can't stop it now, it flows too easily.
These flow forth, from his soul.
Still, he wishes the poetry had never come,
at such a cost.
This option he has not now,
so the shame, anger, and guilt,
he leaves behind on the page,
with poetry.
Wednesday, October 16, 2019
On Being Delvin
His Aunt Nora.
Nora's name, real full name,
Elnora, Sara Elnora,
But Sara, she disliked, ,
Difficult, to pronounce, Aunt Elnora was,
So Aunt Nora called, was she, by them all.
Thursday, October 10, 2019
The once then friend
Friends thus then, are we now?
This betrayal, this disharmony,
felt so deep, not skin deep,
but soulful deep.
How then to recover,
this then our relationship,
I wait now, to discover.
in preparation for, his redemption.
Saturday, October 5, 2019
On my relationship with my God and my faith community
Friday, October 4, 2019
The Gardener and the Cure
The Gardner brought the solution,
he tells you to believe.
but peace it may bring.
This gateway to Hell.
For the life of the loved one,
with each other, to gain the children.
with the marriage of your daughter.
Tuesday, October 1, 2019
Who am I
Sunday, September 29, 2019
Still the Poetry
Still, the poetry
From where doeth it come.
But cometh it does.
Till I come,
It reaches me.
Forevermore
And then the same.
Doeth it reach you?
Wednesday, September 25, 2019
Sterling Silver relationships
Wednesday, September 18, 2019
What they sell us
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
Facebook September 2015
Sunday, August 11, 2019
On waking this morn
He awoke this morn.
At 4:00 am as he normally does.
He is an early riser.
Thinking of the one and the covenant.
Two houses, one home.
This is their life now.
Sent her a text he did,
Something to find when she awakes.
The covenants kept, the lives they share.
This then, this day, they renew.
Thursday, July 25, 2019
On Return to Vicksburg
Was it a dream, or a mere mirage?
He had been so young, then.
Full of possibility.
This newness, this learning, this stretching.
The truck driver traveling with the one, who was another's wife.
7 days until the interview and the baptism.
Mission president agreed, honest they were ...
Still the need for divorce and remarriage.
Then the one they met in the hospital.
Stage four was her cancer within a year she would be gone.
She gained a testimony of the prophet,
Listening to stories from The Book of Mormon.
Read by the one chain-smoking Camel cigarettes.
No cure would come, yet peace would be restored.
What then does he return with, at the end,
His mom would come. to bring him home, from home...
He wanted his mom to share, in Vicksburg.
To see the growth and feel the love, of her son.
To leave the memories and bring the gift, of growth.
Never looking back, ever looking forward.
Now in old age, it is the place he most wants to be.
To bring the one he raised the babies with.
To share with her his love, of Vicksburg.
When they wed
They where young, were they not,
when they wed.
Or where they not
but old.
How then to remember,
being young,
She taught him love,
Though learned he slow.
After these 30 years years,
yet many he is still, learning
Will he ever listen, to her.
As time draws close,
is their time still,
To learn, to listen, to love,
Now they are old, yet still so young
Steven Bassett
July 25 2015
Facebook
Saturday, July 20, 2019
My Own Gethsemane, Final Draft
Thursday, July 11, 2019
My Own Gethsemane
Wednesday, July 3, 2019
My Own Gethsemane
Saturday, June 29, 2019
God Speaks to All Men
Sunday, June 16, 2019
On the Loss of Possibility
I ask myself this question, one day at work.
Help me make a baby she had said,
On the first time, on that second night.
It began with the gentle nibbling on her ear.
It was good that first night, and the many to follow.
In a matter of weeks, they were in that first home.
The first one they purchased, together.
He came home one evening, twins she said, coming soon.
Then one night the home teacher they called.
A blessing she wanted, to keep the babies.
Then the loss of those two possibilities.
Still together they worked, on creating the babies.
In time they learned of the loss of the possibility.
He had been born sterile, no babies would he ever produce.
Still, the pain he remembered, from the loss
of the first two possibilities.
He would keep the memory of the pain, of the loss.
He would recall it when he needed to understand the loss of the others,
and their possibilities.
With time the handmaiden would provide the babies.
He would teach his children to honor the handmaiden,
as he and his wife raised their new possibilities.
Still, he carried with him, the pain of the loss, of those first two, possibilities.
When I visit with a mother, father or grandparent, who has lost a child, I understand how Christ felt in The Garden of Gethsemane. How he took up my pain and suffering and lifted the burden off my shoulders. I know how it feels to lose a child. I know how it feels to gain a child. I have a hope in Christ that he will lift the burden of the first and enhance the joy of the second; we both experienced our own Garden of Gethsemane. I hope then to carry for a while the burden of their loss as Christ carried my burden and as we all mourn the loss of our own possibilities.