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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.


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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.

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the winding of the rose and bramble

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.


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Job Description

Between the words
scattered upon this page
is the sweat of my brow
from the back breaking, chiseling labor
of transmuting something out of nothing –
instead of ink you will find
indelible, invisible blood
drain directly from my veins
until I have almost none
to continue to pump to my heart –
My thoughts adhered, hereon
with an all too surreal
adhesive of bondage
tiny paper cuts ripped
into my fingers’ tips until they are numb –
I come to you and stand before you
stripped of pride
devoid of modesty
undressed, naked
just so you can
know with absolute certainty
my truth
my observations
my sorrow, pain, love, abhorrence, joy, passion and faith
I will tell all, give all
react, rebuff and rebuke
so that you may
all at once
know what I believe to be
the expanse of eternity
or the shallow last breaths of life
“look at how the veil is lifted by my hands in the dark of night”-
come with me on my journey
to feel as you have never thought to feel
to see as you have never seen
to touch and be touched in the ethereal
lands filled with fatted calves and succulent grapes
or perhaps a landscape of waste from depredation is more to your liking-
fear not, you will not be alone
I am here, with you
tiny particulates of my soul
that have been torn away
will guide you
from the first word to the last-
if I have done my job properly
I will stay with you and you will think upon me
like a ghost I will haunt you
like a dream I will inspire
this is what I do
this is all I can hope to do
I am a writer, I am a poet
this is my art and it always begins
on a blank page.

©Susan Morgan Bosler, 2011  All Rights Reserved.  Do not copy or repost without the written approval of the author.

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It’s impossible to put it into


This flimsy

                        flyaway thing

nor dress it up

in fancy corporeal robes

it was once solid

I can remember that.

these visitations in the dark

awaken me when it’s late

      the terrible scenes

go circling

                       around in this,

my state of mind.

      It keeps me up at night

Sitting at the edge of my bed

A dread now comes with agonal longing

It may one day cover me

with it’s sharp, dry bones

This is how I’ll be lost

I know it.

It’s carnal but not flesh

It can’t be tasted – it is flavorless

it can’t be held – it has no sense of real

it can’t warm me – the air is cold

there is only madness

In deepening degrees

                      Once I could tell it to leave

My orders depreciated into pleas

I now have no strength left

                         to send it away

I stay hidden inside a bell jar

Whatever it is, it is winning

I will lose myself inside the rabbit hole

                  six-feet down

where did Alice go – her madness now follows me

hookah smoking caterpillar – laughs at me

trapped in the past with the scary red queen

I’ve lost the looking glass that made it all look shiny

                           As the sun keeps setting

tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum

            The Jabberwock comes for me.

Is this a decent into madness

or an ascent into understanding?

A nod to Carroll then


to Sylvia – who knows my burden.

(c)Susan Morgan Bosler, June 14, 2011  All rights reserved.

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really mad face . . . I'm not scaredY r u Ma-adah?


In a pet-u-lant state of mind

giving away – – your grins and your smiles

for things that ain’t what they seem

A tiny Snit plays out Across Your Face!

You can choose – – to just Ignore Me

that way, you’re just so damn cool!

Yeah, tough tiff!

Replace me with no one “as certain”

you’ve pulled your curtains –

kick me aside before I can hurt you

it’s better not – to feel abused!

It damages you more than I ever

could. When it’s time – – to be judged

who will be found to be “sorely lacking”

in the things you expounded?

Virtue comes at too high a cost

especially if you remain aloft

you turn away, so I won’t be able to catch up

but turn too much – – and you’ll get lost!

Motley prince and tattered princess

there’s no happy endings for all of us

always stay away from the edges, remember to

paint inside the lines and don’t get caught

but you know – – people go missing when

no one’s looking after them

shut your door when I come knocking and

don’t go peeking – – through the blinds!!

Oh, oh, you’re so amazing – your pun-ish-ment is such a crime!

Don’t think you’ve really hurt me,

I can’t find any trace of you inside.


© Susan Morgan Bosler

June 3, 2011



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Down-town but not out

Hear the roar of the street cleaners

It’s nearly six a.m.

The sun’s come up

There’s a hazy glow

Cracking through the


Of the glass on stone buldings

Feels like a thousand hours

Have rushed by

But the old clock in the midtown parish

Stopped one day around nine

We no longer set our daily schedule by the clock

We follow the sunrises and the setting suns

Even the moon keeps our tick-tocks

Intact – when it’s dark

Somehow we found our way back to nature

No one remembers how to fix the cogs and the shiny springs

We know about liquor, be it booze or bliss

We know about drugs, snorted or smoked

It’s all sex, sex, sex – but no one knows why

Touch any part but the heart of the one

You go home with

Dare not attach yourself

To any-body

I found a solution to this dizzy drain

As a steady pounding reverberates through me

By way of the blood’s fury

“Kiss Me Red”

As it travels about my streaming estuaries

Reminding me that the Natives are restless

My brain can’t be made



Not to time or clocks without a heavy infusion

Of extra-strength asprin chewed  to

White bitters

Swallowed in a paste

It’s the goo that renews life

Come morning time

Waking up, I remember yesterday

But never think about tomorrow

Rustle up some left over sin

Before I powder my nose

The sun’s come up

Or the clock’s right again

It’s time to pound, pound, pound the pavement

Prowl around the steaming streets

To shake hands with this or that devil

Aren’t we all just trying to get by?  While




©Susan Morgan Bosler 2011

All rights reserved.  Please do not repost or reprint any part without the expressed written approval of the author.

You can hear this post at my facebook page – photo/videos section.   http://www.facebook.com/susanbosler

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