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Posts Tagged ‘Susan Morgan Bosler’

psycheandcupid

 

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

While I am the common girl

 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.  

 

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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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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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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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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.

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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

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.

 

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