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Archive for the ‘mythology’ Category

Doing Time With Unicorns

Image

Time to step back from this table

Been bending crayons against these papers

Hours and hours floating away

In lovely dreams and fairy tales

My fingers and toes ache to stretch a bit

Out my door and down the road

There’s a lady on her knees in her garden

Caspia  and Tritonia petals smiling

Pulling weeds to make it perfect

Not so different she and I

I understand her need to please.

I pull a smoke out from the pack in my pocket

Strike a match then the flame

The air fills with floral swirls

The whirls change into forgotten shadows

 Deep dark memories return to haunt

Not finding peace here just yet

Not finding why I have to, just yet.

Throw down the smoke and grind it into the dirt

Head on back to my tiny space

A covered camp without any trace

The love we had is finally asleep

Don’t wake it up, let it dream.

Alone is where I need to flee

Among the ashes of what used to be

Until tomorrow arrives with renewed luck

I’ll be here drawing rainbows

Doing time with the unicorns and fables

Under cloudless, starless skies –

Alone is where I need to be.

©Susan Morgan Bosler, November 18, 2012, All Rights Reserved

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For a Time

 

In this meadow of cool, long wild grasses

with bright spring flowers bursting with color

the sweet smells of young nature

the soft breeze that ripples past the curled locks of my hair

Let’s pretend that you’re the god of love, Eros

While I am the common girl, Psyche

who has captured your heart completely unaware.

Let us drink sweet wine during the dark night hours

before sharing that one, first kiss that will last a lifetime –

I promise you, I will reluctantly keep my eyes closed

As you promise to stay with me each night –

I will not peek,

Least the spell be broken and you flee from me

Taking all that is yours with you,

leaving me alone and broken hearted.

 

(c)Susan Morgan Bosler

August 21, 2012 – All Rights Reserved.  Please do not reprint without the permission of the author.  Thank you.

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Angel of Greif

Angel of Greif (Photo credit: ZTW1)

Ange de la mort

Tu m’aime?

 

Death, my jealous lover

How did I miss

Your amorous intentions

Everyone, lovers and friends

Have quietly been dispatched by you

Leaving me waiting

Alone with unspeakable desire

To know you better at last.

How far must you travel each day

It’s no wonder, that you seem humorless.

Yet, what else can this be

But a practical joke

You have been playing on me?

~

How shall we meet?

When the clock strikes two

In the witching hour

As souls teeter on the brink

Between the setting and the rising suns

How you keep me waiting

Dressed here, in my black costumes

Which you have forced me to wear

Too many times.

~

Strange, how I feel calm

By your advances

Death

Are you cold or warm to the touch?

Will you tap my shoulder, gingerly?

Or claim me with eagerness

As you lift me up with your stalwart arms

Embracing me with your desire.

Shall you call my name or whisper it

As I lay sleeping and lost in dreams?

Will I feel your lips upon mine

As the breath leaves my body?

~

There comes a moment in life

When one must resolve

Her relationship with you.

What shall we call this?

A foregone conclusion

An entanglement

A flirtation

A feud

A war

An engagement

That shall not be broken?

Death, Death

What am I to you?

Why do you haunt my life?

Please, I ask of you,

Be tardy in your arrival

Do keep me waiting

For I have so much more to do.

~~

(Angel of Death – Do you love me?)

(c)Susan Morgan Bosler, June 24, 2012  All Rights Reserved.

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Screw Einstein

Neutrinos may move faster than years of light

It’s all messed up

It all comes down to me –

I’m running toward

Something

That has no name

It is unknown, untamed

Filled with either everything

Or perhaps, as nihilists proclaim

 Nothing!

Agitate, don’t moderate

Get going before it’s too late.

I’m running faster

As time has become

An aggressive taskmaster

It was generous at first

Now, it seems unconcerned

It doesn’t hold me in esteem

It insists that I must catch up

Has this race been fixed?

Only time will triumph

The forfeit’s on me

It seems that the finish line

Once so distant

Is moving toward me

How can this be?

Einstein’s bending space

Undulating

Curving

Stealing moments all the time

Makes me think –

Is the ticking clock

Just time’s heartbeat?

This Universe and I are not in sync.

(c)Susan Morgan Bosler May 11, 2012   All Rights Reserved.

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Rebel, Just Because

 

The guy with the wild beard

Sitting in the corner

Drinking coffee

Eating pie

Reading Marx with practiced sighs

Turned down corners of his lips

His Social-ism mask

In full disguise

A useful idiot

Born to cry

 

“I bet,” thought the waitress, “he doesn’t tip.”

I’m sure he has not bathed in a bit

What is it about him that beckons me?

There’s a devil hiding in his tight jeans

I bet I could revolutionize him without a fight

Consider comrade

Let us unite

Tonight.

 

Failing her only college class

She calls him “Trotsky” by mistake

His real name is unknown

She would rather not be alone

He grabs a fag

She hands him a flame

He swallows smoke

Blowing out some rings

Eye to eye they align

Politicos without spine

Then he turns

Another page

Magnificent Manifesto

Sensually Sublime.

 

His eyes are black

Hers are green

He thinks,

He pretends

He schemes

While within his private thoughts

He starts to wander

To here and there –

Oh dear waitress,

Not quite bourgeoisie

How you plainly need to be free

So repressed in your polyester dress

He can feel

This is real

She lives to serve –

More coffee Miss

Have you guessed?

A revolution can begin

With just one kiss.

 

Now this is true,

When all was said and done

Few came to Marx’s wake

Every college student knows

He’s only good

For picking up dates

In coffee houses

Late at night

When the air is calm

When hope alights.

 

Now this is his secret,

Kerouac is his real Saint

As he lives to be

Complicated

So deep

He really is

Completely “beat”

Beautific dreams

Free Love

The faux Marxist preaches

From his naugahyde seat.

 

Later –

She giggles as he tickles her feet

Without much effort,

He’s become her slave

While, good Old Marx is turning in his grave

But Kerouac is forever flying free

Forever riding down the streets

Eagerly crawling between the sheets

On the Road – or

Some place neat

Daddy-O, Daddy-O, Daddy-Go.

 

(c) Susan Morgan Bosler, May 20, 2012 All Rights Reserved

2012

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Don’t hand me your words without purpose

Their meaning is lost amid the angst they betray

The rush to emotional judgment

As I am victimized by your brutal thoughts

Laid out on page of paper by your stiletto pen

With cunning style so obscured.

 ~

This is no victimless crime

It causes me to tear up – my eyes to drain

In crocodile fashion

The perceived loss of your ageless dreams –

Or let me tear up the page containing your all too aged war cry

Instead, I think, scream out loud,

that I might hear above the roaring silence.

 ~

Only, do not make me read it

quietly, to myself

Tell me – your solitary truth

With voice raised

So I may listen to understand you clearly

Here now, state your case

Then trouble yourself

No more

On my behalf –

No one ever changes their mind –

The lobster in the tank must die,

But, you are not really talking about a lobster

Nor am I.

 

©Susan Morgan Bosler, April 11, 2012  All Rights Reserved.

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In those few precious moments

that spring to life

just before the sun tips above the horizon

there is a place that is born, endures and disappears forever

it is in this pocket of living time

that you often come to me

in thoughts so real

I would swear you are blood and flesh.

your hand reaches for and cradles my face

your lips move quietly toward mine

I can truly feel the warmth of your breath

as we share love’s passionate kiss.

Barely the words, “I love you always,”

can be shared before you are gone

a mere memory again

until our next rendezvous

at the striking of nighttime’s death

just before the sun tips above the horizon

when we are whole again so briefly.

 

(c) Susan Morgan Bosler,    March 22, 2012   Please do not reprint without prior authorization of the author.

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