A man does not sin by commission only, but often by omission.
Marcus Aurelius in Meditations
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The omission of good is no less reprehensible than the commission of evil.
Portrait of the Artist as a Prematurely Old Man
It is common knowledge to every schoolboy and even every Bachelor of Arts,
That all sin is divided into two parts.
One kind of sin is called a sin of commission, and that is very important,
And it is what you are doing when you are doing something you ortant,
And the other kind of sin is just the opposite and is called a sin of omission
and is equally bad in the eyes of all right-thinking people, from
Billy Sunday to Buddha,
And it consists of not having done something you shuddha.
I might as well give you my opinion of these two kinds of sin as long as,
in a way, against each other we are pitting them,
And that is, don't bother your head about the sins of commission because
however sinful, they must at least be fun or else you wouldn't be
committing them.
It is the sin of omission, the second kind of sin,
That lays eggs under your skin.
The way you really get painfully bitten
Is by the insurance you haven't taken out and the checks you haven't added up
the stubs of and the appointments you haven't kept and the bills you
haven't paid and the letters you haven't written.
Also, about sins of omission there is one particularly painful lack of beauty,
Namely, it isn't as though it had been a riotous red-letter day or night every
time you neglected to do your duty;
You didn't get a wicked forbidden thrill
Every time you let a policy lapse or forget to pay a bill;
You didn't slap the lads in the tavern on the back and loudly cry Whee,
Let's all fail to write just one more letter before we go home, and this round
of unwritten letters is on me.
No, you never get any fun
Out of things you haven't done,
But they are the things that I do not like to be amid,
Because the suitable things you didn't do give you a lot more trouble than the
unsuitable things you did.
The moral is that it is probably better not to sin at all, but if some kind of
sin you must be pursuing,
Well, remember to do it by doing rather than by not doing.
poem by Ogden Nash
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A Rendezvous
Nightly I put up this humble petition:
'Forgive me, O Father of Glories,
My sins of commission, my sins of omission,
My sins of the Mission Dolores.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Sorry To Say
‘Sorry' is the easiest excuse
sometimes, deliberately misused
comes very handy, for unmindful lapses
saving both from an angry course, often.
there seems to be a misconception, that
seeking ‘sorry' has some limitations
as it is seldom heard or used
among family members, as hardly, I have seen.
All are respectable individuals
no bars, immunities, exclusions, age-division
upon commission or omission, we are bound to say sorry
with a genuine air of repentance, care and reverence
poem by Santhana Louis
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Omission
Commission, mission, omission, vision;
But, if you believe in it, you can do it.
The perfect way of life,
Put on the new man to live a better life.
The perfect way of life,
Put on the new woman to live a better life.
Transmission, expansion, illusion, passion!
Start to build the home than destroying it.
In the words of the people!
And like gold found in the Amazon River.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Things They Never Told Me
They lied to me when I was young
(Or perhaps sinned by omission)
Never was there any mention made
Of a body’s loss of commission
Perhaps the flaw of foolish youth
I blocked their words and missed the truth
Yet I could swear I never heard them
(Though witnessed clues now and again)
Now I discover each day brings the chore
Of merely rising up and the daily bore
To deal with each bodily requirement
(Oh thank God for early retirement)
I forgive them for any oversight
It matters little when late at night
I recline in bed quite grateful for
Sleep I’ve learned to appreciate more
poem by Mary Havran
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Sins Of Omission
On the fringes of torso and lips
Straining to hear the voice of gospel choir
Pummelled plains and beaten fields
Were never broken in spirit within
But I feel like were coming around
Yes, I feel like were coming around
Tell me
Cloud burst teeming, insect wave and bite
Yes its true, we are not alone
Tv silence its a narrow entrance
Its a sometimes leading into future time
But I feel like were coming around
Yes, I feel like were coming around
I feel like were coming around
Sins of omission, no love
Sins of omission
I heard it once before in shepherds isolation
Over the horizon in blue and white now, now
Now overcome you can outrun it
When the roarings cease and the right stuff weaves and fits into your life
And I feel like were coming around
Yes I feel like Im coming around, tell me
Sins of omission, no love
Sins
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Mayor, I will fully support my Arts Commission and its professional selection committees so that they can commission a full range of public art that is daring and, when appropriate, daringly traditional.
quote by Gavin Newsom
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Last Letter
writing one last letter...
not sure who it's to
- dont think it matters!
the words are composed of
the things i've done... both
good and bad.
the commas are for my mistakes,
-Lord, we're gonna have a lot of commas!
mistakes both of omission,
and commission...
the periods are for the times
i gave up, quit trying,
lost my way...
but the body of the letter
is filled with hope....
hope that sees things as
they are, and still believes...
i dont have to sign this letter,
it looks, smells, and tastes
like me...
i'll put this letter in the mailbox,
addressed to occupant,
to whomever gets it...
address unknown!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Commission's findings underscore that the nation is still vulnerable to attack and that we must move more quickly to make us safer. We must take the Commission's work and use it to make certain that such horrific attacks never occur again.
quote by Lane Evans
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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THE WAR ON DRUGS June 3rd,2011
The Global Commission on Drug Policy wants to change things around,
We have no alternative they seem to say, but to back down,
It sometimes seems as though we’ve lost the war on illegal drugs,
And instead of being arrested, the druggers should get shrugs.
The Commission wants to stop the war by reducing consumption,
If the people who do the drugs will go along with this presumption,
And if we legalize all drugs, it seems, things might be great,
But I don’t think Ottawa politicians are up for this debate.
This high profile Commission doesn’t want addicts treated as criminals,
Regardless of what drugs they do or what illegal chemicals,
They want the UN involved as though that would make a difference,
There’s probably no organization in the world more indifferent.
June 3rd 2011
poem by James Bredin
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Young mother has a secret.
There is a glint in her eyes,
A glint that discloses her lies.
It is not lie of commission,
But a lie of omission.
Her husband is aware,
It's a secret they share.
They decide it won't be public just yet.
For now they will keep their secret.
Slowly they let the family know,
And watch as Grand Parents glow.
Aunties and Uncles are excited,
Cousin's expectation ignited.
A month or two rolls on,
And their heart is full of song.
On the distant horizon,
There is a sad, sad song.
A song of tears,
A song that carries certain fears.
Should they, would they see,
The sweet giggle of another baby.
The baby will not be theirs this time,
They ask God why He is unkind.
He replies, "Be strong my child, hold your blame,
And in time you'll find my love again".
RKH 2010-05-03
Accusing Fingers
You are the cause
I am not, you are
They are the culprits
They are not, you are
Other tribes are responsible
No, its your tribe
The West caused the war
No, it originated from orient
Colonial master retards our progress
Yes, but the neo-colonialist are accomplices
The eastern ideologues caused poverty
Not at all, its the capitalist greed
Your religion caused the crisis
Far from it, its yours
The drama goes on unabatedly
Across the cyclical globe
Fingers point to another
No one accepts responsibility
Everyone wears Adamic garment
Everyone sanctimoniously claims innocence
We are all responsible
Each one deposits a quantum
That crystallised into igneous of rots
No one is innocent
No one is a saint
There are motes in our eyes
Every nation, bloc, race, tribe, tongue
Are by commission or omission reponsible
The other four fingers point to the owners
poem by Babatunde Aremu
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I Went To A Fiesta Today
it is the feast of San Vicente today,
and all those places named after this saint
took turns in butchering their chickens and pigs
as offering to the powerful miracles of this saint.
some played their gongs to remind
them of the rhythm of love and action
because this saint taught and
showed that God has the power
to cure the sick and liberate
the minds of those who are in prison.
i went to the house of this woman who once
was mad. She confessed her sins of commission
and omission.
She once kicked her husband and
left him.
Now she is serving us food and stays beside her husband.
She smiles. She remembers everything.
Once she once was in deep depression and she prayed a lot
at the chapel of San Vicente.
Light shone upon her forehead.
There was a dove. There was fire. There was a voice.
And surely enough she went home
whole and cured.
Hence, this feast, this thanksgiving, she said.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No Tears For You
How many times have you been warned?
Warned about your behaviour
Behaviour unbecoming of a student
Expected and aspiring to be a star
A superstar sparkling and sparking
How many times have you defend your style?
Claiming you were in total control
Absolute control of your school life
A life that will yield enviable output
Making you the joy of your parents
Has the law of reciprocity been invalidated?
Has the law of harvest been refuted?
Is experience no more the best teacher?
Can you be an exception to the normal?
Only time can answer these questions.
The moment of truth will come.
Your dictum will be diligently tested.
That recipe of success through slackness.
That formula of triumph via sloppiness.
The idiocy you habitually and heartily defended.
But on the wall is the handwriting,
Crystal clear and revealing.
By your acts of omission and commission,
You have freely favoured failure;
Failure will fittingly be your fate.
No tears for you.
poem by Emmanuel Oduro
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U.v.....
everyday
the sin of omission looks like
an expanding hole of the
ozone layer
you get
ultra-violated.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Indiscriminate knocks
I knocked on every door
That I could lay my hand on
Lest a willing one should be left out
By omission on my part.
May those women forgive my act.
21.12.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Although I am deeply grateful to a great many people, I forgo the temptation of naming them for fear that I might slight any by omission.
quote by Theodore Bikel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kiss – all the bliss
I long for a tryst
To have a heart-full talk,
That you should hatch.
Else, will loosen my stalk.
I long for a scan
Of your face and eyes,
That you should own.
Else, rests not my vibes.
I long for a touch
And a press of your palm,
For that you should stretch.
Else, my palms get spasm.
I long for a hold,
A hold of your lean arm,
That you don’t withhold.
Else, I am out of form.
I long for a breath
On your nape and hairs,
That you better bequeath.
Else, it sends me to despair.
I long for a brush,
A mild one, of your lobe,
That you better slight.
Else, abate not my throbs.
I long for a pinch,
A pinch of your stern nose,
That you don’t retrench.
Else, my nerves go tense.
I long for a lift,
A lift of your blunt chin,
That you cannot but accept.
Else, my heart gets pain.
I long for a kiss,
A kiss on your lower lip,
That now you can’t dismiss.
Else, my soul would slip.
I long for your head
To lean on my breast,
That you no need to dread.
There lies your abode of rest.
I long for this unison,
For me, a heavenly mission,
That you can commission.
Else, I am lost in omission.
Bring out the supremacy
That runs in your blood,
To draw me in intimacy.
There lies unfelt ecstasy.
Mere lips bring orgasm
If love is in blossom.
Empty you of fear.
Incomes all the cheer.
11.06.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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