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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.

 

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

                             

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.

Just So

At times

How tiresome and lonely be

This lowly life

Through which I drift

The air is thick with

A cacogenic fog

Disturbing thoughts produced.

~

Lay in wait

Little dark thought

Then scamper through

While intuitive-globule concoctions mix

With neurons sparking

Rerouting thoughts just a bit.

~

I raise my eyes to see the night

The sound of my pulse

Beats in my ears

The wash of tears

Drains the soul –

Cacophony to silence be.

~

This time, like many other times

I reach into the void

To understand this –

My perpetual

Solitary wish to be.

© Susan Morgan Bosler April 6, 2012

Dawn

 

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.

In The Music

 

In the Music

 

Laying back to feel

The memories cycle through my soul

Wondering if life got it wrong some how

Never knowing how love so clear

Could cloud my mind

For the price of a thousand tears –

~

He gave me Ms. Simon

I trusted his smile

We listened together in the dark

“I’ve got to have you”

Playing over and over again

Drifting along Mulholland Drive

On hot summer nights

With the wind in our hair

It really felt so right –

Carly understood the love we shared

The music connected us through the years

He bent me back as we stared down

On the sparkling, city lights

As the fire burned inside,

We planned for times that never came

Unspoken dreams to the end.

~

Time flew fast, when another appeared

Springsteen singing

Thunder Road On his radio

He was so young in ‘75

I wished I had known him then –

The nineties were our romance years

It was when he figured out

That all along his man Bruce

Was singing to him about us –

His hungry ambition and desire

Razed my doubts

He pulled me close, to purify my past –

Racing along that two lane life

While we dreamed of times

Just down that road

In the dark of night,

We didn’t see that blind curve

He swerved and life fell away.

~

Two loves

Too close to compare

Both separated

By fate’s design –

Life’s miseries fade with time

While hope keeps

Beckoning me close,

The music continues to play.

 

 

(c) Susan Morgan Bosler, February 25, 2012 All Rights Reserved. Please do not reprint any part of this posting without written approval of the writer.

 

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