Sailor's Lament by Pygar

This poem was inspired by this status writen by a friend on Facebook.

“in the inevitable waves of depression
floats a dying spirit
alone
lifeless
in a sea of sorrows” “Gary/Ghost Haven”

Drowned

As the good ship Hope launched
he was inspired by
the strength of the rampart’s casing
the men singing
the waves slapping
he knew he would soon be on his way
a new place to explore
a new love to encounter.

Dying embers quenched for good
now changed to bright new flames
in nightly dreams she visited
a fair and lifelike vision
yet, his transient optimism began to fade
without the substantive touch
from the one so eagerly craved.

While the song of his siren played
The sea began an unrelenting march
against the lumbered hull
without much warning
he lost hold
of his stated goal.
Came a night with no moon
when he could take no more,
over deck he sadly tipped
into a blacken sea of pity
where he lingered tempestivily
rising and falling into an undulating daze.

“in the inevitable waves of depression
that tossed him violently
floats his dying spirit
alone
lifeless
in a sea of sorrows”

born within his thoughts
wanting only to return
to the comfort of what was known.

© Susan Morgan Bosler  -  January 3, 2012

All rights reserved.  Please do not reprint any portion without prior written permission.

A Sea Spell" by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1877

Goblin Fruit

She felt her muse had left her
She felt parched and empty
She ached from the stagnation
Mournfully, she could find no inspiration
Neither upon the waded up sheets of wasted paper
Nor in the pages of another’s ancient works.
~
During those restless minutes
Between the passing of the night
Into the glowing of a new day at its birth
She paced fervently until
She found herself standing silently in a garden
Wanting to feel the presence of life
Waking
Stirring
Moving forward toward
A bright unspoken destiny,
Unfolding with innocence -
She yearned for the seed of inspiration.
~
All at once, she felt a tiny speck clasped within her closed fist
A silent spell fell over her and with it came
The awakening of endless possibilities
The birth of hope
Expectations aflutter
Softly the new day’s caresses
Greeted her like a velvet kiss upon her cheek.
~
She closed her eyes
To take in life’s fragrant breath
It was fresh and clean
All paths were wondrously open to her
She had but to choose which way to go.
~
In this moment of unusual fancy
She knew something bound her mystically to the garden
Past the rising of the sun and a new day’s promises
But the binding that held her was delicate and soft
It could easily be broken
with the slightest hint of contradictory thought.
~
A quivering of tiny, iridescent wings fluttered
In quick, staccato flapping
Perhaps tiny dragonflies
With their nearly transparent grace
Were shimmering about her
Reflecting the colors of the rainbow.
~
A row of pretty pink flowers caught her eye
She bent down to collect one
Then, immediately wished it to be red instead
With just this thought, it turned a deep scarlet.
~
She smiled with joy overflowing
She understood what she held in her fist
It was a limitless, ever growing universe at her command.
She gazed upon the tiny speck
A single seed from Goblin Fruit that had quietly grown in this garden.
~
Excitedly, she placed it on her tongue
Where it melted quickly like snow on a sunny day.
She knew she would never want for inspiration again
She had but to imagine what she willed
For her thoughts and dreams to instantly materialize.
~
She now knew she was standing
in the Garden of Rich Imagination
a niche of her own invention
A singular place she would never leave behind.
~
Though still just a mortal being
Without a muse as a companion,
She remains here to this very moment
Releasing the tiny marvels born within her mind.
~~

©Susan Morgan Bolser,  January 8, 2012 -  All rights reserved.  Please do not repost any part of this piece without the written approval.  If you would like to share this work and blog with others, please do.

Writer’s note:  Christina Rosssetti (5 December 1830 – 29 December 1894) was my inspiration/muse.

Ascending

Hello and
I’m flying
Past birthday cakes and
Christmas pies
Toward ceiling tiles and
Shiny lights

~~

Hello and
I’m sliding
Past my home when I was ten
There’s my mom and dad again
My pet cat who’s not dead and
Oh dear, what’s happening?

~~

Hello and
I’m gliding
Toward the sun
With angel wings uplifting me
But, can you hear me?
I’ve been calling
Back to you
Can you hear me?
I don’t know what to do.

~~

Hello and
I’m landing
On velvet lawns
With rainbow lakes
Toward a place
I can’t escape
Can you hear me?
I’ve been praying
Can you hear me?
God, I know you’re waiting.

~~

Hello, and
Before we do this
Can I please go back again?
Despite the tears and
All that pain?
To birthday cakes and
Christmas pies
God, can you hear me?
I’d like to be alive, again.

~~

©Susan Morgan Bosler,  December 31, 2011

All rights reserved.  Please do not use any portion of this work, without the prior written concent of the author.   Thank you.    Please feel free to share this page or blog with anyone you feel might enjoy reading it. 

Mermaid

I wish I could have been a mermaid
wet iridescently scaley flesh
dressed in a luminescent sea weed sampot
with cold, charged foamy salt waters
slipping around me as I dance between the waves
carefree, joyful
contentment born of ease
an existence without chains or sharpen blades
That holds me bound or cuts me close -
In past days of shells and rocks
the mementoes gathered furiously -
collections now at rest upon a driftwood mantle
there was no other place to keep them safe
I’ve kept them there for you.
I wish I could have been a mermaid
with long red locks of the finest, curled hair
pearls from oysters bedecked about my neck
my long, curvaceous whale’s tail
eagerly slapping at the water
sounding echos that catch your gaze -
to spark your eye, to make you ask
“what’s the cause of your distress?”
Will you come out to play today? I might ask -
“No,” say you, “I have left my love behind
I think of her through endless days!”
Discontent by your reply, I’d slap my tail “sternly”
then dive below the waves
There will be no more riant smiles this day.
I wish I could have been a mermaid
Slinking, swimming, sliding, singing
Alas, alas I am a woman
who has lost the beat of the drum
to which she set her steps upon
when dancing along the sands at the water’s line -
The mighty ocean is now complete
For along the bottom
in the water’s deep
rests a ship
upon which my love once sailed -

he dwells within a watery tomb
with only fish and whales and mermaids
To see him safe from day to day -

Oh, how I wish I could have been a mermaid.

~

©Susan Morgan Bosler, September 15, 2011

All rights reserved.

I heard the children crying

and all I could do was write a poem

I heard the suffering wailing

and all I could do was write a poem

I heard the hungry pleading

and all I could do was write a poem

I heard politicos threatening

and all I could do was write a poem

I heard commentators opining

and all I could do was write a poem

I heard the calls to war

and all I could do was write a poem

I heard the seventh trumpet of the apocalypse

and I set my pen down

to watch the lifting of the veil

to see the horses red, white, black and green

to watch the end

to ascend into the clouds

to see the face of God

in silence

in awe

I had finally run out of words.

~~

©Susan Morgan Bosler,  December 10, 2011

All Rights Reserved.

Unknown Artist

Autumn into Winter

In Autumn I look to find

The signs of love

Before the icy blue descends

foretelling

another long Winter’s season.

The leaves fall on still lake

Upon the water I view my face

Reflected In my eyes I see

The love you once held for me.

~~

There’s something about this time of year

When profound secrets find their way

From deep within a solemn soul

exposing

Cracks upon the armor worn

Through little tears and tiny lines

It’s hard to hide what isn’t there.

~~

Worry not of my seclusion

I spent it here, but not alone

Those memories take complete control

of long past years as they unfold

revealing

truths that I deny

that once, we were in love.

~~

© Susan Morgan Bosler ;  November 28, 2011

All Rights Reserved.  Please do not copy or reprint any part without the written approval of the writer.

Conflict

~

I have known soldiers

who have fought in war

combat, straight ahead

hand to hand

gun to gun

eye to eye

dropping bombs on “ghosts” below

from planes or ships driving death through the skies

doing their duty as trained

doing what they had to do

what they were taught to do

what they must do, to survive

to perform their “job”

to come back home in victory

after death has been all around them.

~

I have know soldiers

I have held their hands

I have looked deep into their eyes

where I have seen the war

still unfolding

day after day

night after night

their sweetness, their kindness, still there

yet changed forever

their rage still there

powering them day by day

as small tears well up in their eyes

the loss too great to process

in one lifetime.

~

I have known soldiers

I have held them close

even their hearts continue to beat

in time, in step, in a march

that has been drilled

into their bones and muscles

a practiced response

time calls forth the grim memories

when darkness rises, yet

there is also pride by day

as they keep on keeping on

knowing that

what they did meant something

their brothers did not die in vain.

The conflict of emotions remains

as we, who have not fought

either speak with ignorance of

what they know

what they have seen

what had to be done

while we offer what we can

though in comparison small and wanting

our gratitude will never be enough

to ease their souls

to give rest at last

to that call of war.

copyright Susan Morgan Bosler

November 11, 2011

L’Âme

I wish I could have caught
his essence within a bottle
to lift the stopper whenever I please
to dress myself up with his admiration
to feel satisfied by his contentment.

Memories are not enough
they lose their vividness with each replay
until at last I wonder,
did that really happen?
was it as I recall?
or, have I altered it with the passing of time?

Dreams and thoughts fail to produce fulfillment
they serve instead to prod and poke at my empty heart
In all this time, I have not adjusted to his absence
it is a foreign thought that I cannot accept
Here I remain, trapped within my own bottle
the stopper tightly in place.

©Susan Morgan Bosler,  2011  All Rights Reserved.  Please do not copy or reproduce this work without the express written approval of the author.

When Autumn Calls

One must listen very closely

softly she arrives in a wisp of air

as she sweeps across sleepy gardens

entering through open doors and windows

on elderly, sultry summer days.

Never coming empty handed

she brings her distinct chill

with a subtle scent of drying vegetation.

Into your rooms she dances, stepping lightly

so very gentle and demure,

until she chooses a forceful prance

while painting fascinating colors or

swirling dreams at dizzy paces

crushing fallen leaves with her fury

she appears fully manifest at last.

© Susan Morgan Bosler, October 9, 2011  All Rights Reserved.

The Winding of the Wild Roses Amid the Bramble

“I don’t remember feeling this light

are there really moments like this?”

She wondered out loud.

“There was a story I knew, it began,” said he

“Once upon a time, in a far away land,

where the deep scent of wild rosemary

pinches the nose

as it mixes with a caller of honeysuckle

on warm summer nights;

when the stars shine brightly

the moon hangs low and heavy

with nary a cloud in the sky,

two lovers met in secret and pledged never to part again.”

“In this moment,” he continued,

“The soft, splendid puff of a burning briar wood pipe

combined with the heady intoxication of night blooming jasmine

washed over them as they silently conspired

safely tucked amidst a hedge of thick juniper bushes

uniquely suited for each other’s arms.

Content they were, to stay this way, and never part again.”

“Just as nature has her principles of cause and effect

Love has it’s own principles of contentment

This is exactly where and when time stood still for them

His pocket watch went silent

Her soft notes sounded no more

but it’s all right

because this is bliss

nirvana in a kiss

they are happy at last and forever.

(This is a tale of how love can triumph over all discontent and any odds.)

© Susan Morgan Bosler, September 23, 2011

All rights reserved.  Please do not reprint in any manner without the express written permission of the author.