Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Doing Time With Unicorns


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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Graphic Manipulation by SMB

Once I pulled you toward me
In a breathless moment
Enveloping the sounds of struggle and joy
Feeling the twisting and winding of flesh
Do you remember that starless, moonless night?
How afterwards we talked but said nothing of importance.
I could hardly see the outline of your face
But I could sense your continence in the dark
You were, we were, exhausted and content.
Do you still wonder if I think of you?
I hold this wish, deep inside
Where memories cluster around
Singular moments of the divine
Another love
Another time.

© Susan Morgan Bosler,  February 14, 2012

All rights reserved.  Please do not reprint any portion without the written approval of the author.

Graphic Manipulation by SMB

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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.

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Unknown Artist

Autumn into Winter


In Autumn I look to find

The signs of love

Before the icy blue descends


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


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


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.


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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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Please drop by Nothing, No One, Nowhere to read a fresh review of COLLOQUY.

If you are interested in purchasing Colloquy, you can contact me directly for an autographed copy, or check for more information on the published works page on this blog.  Colloquy can also be purchased through Amazon and other on-line book sellers. smb

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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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