If it's okay to not be okay,
then how come I'm not alright?
If I'm told I'm overthinking - shall I dwell on it overnight?
If indeed it's written in my DNA:
That I need watch what I think or say
I'd rather think about it, overly, until the break of day
Copyright ©️ David Bosworth May 2026
May 13
May 13, 2026 at 11:01 PM UTC
Not today I haven't got it in me
But tremulous words come from my lips
Self-talk emanates in quiet tones
And I discourage the sadness
away from the other side of the mirror
Copyright ©️ David Bosworth April 2026
May 13
May 13, 2026 at 10:48 PM UTC
Punk rockers of all descripts
Ignoring their instincts, I've lived to
the beat
And the last of them to move me
had no such privilege
And took to the streets
Intense and passionate, undue and
resonant, the whip cracked too late
for their outer cases to shudder their
mellow hearts, for all
time I'm sure
I won't understand
Copyright ©️ David Bosworth April 2026
May 13
May 13, 2026 at 10:33 PM UTC
So I saw him twice, once standing in the doorway in the rain
Then again,
in the hospital ward sat down, his back to me, a hairy metaller singing "Stand by your Man" in a light airy voice
I didn't think so often about cutting all my hair off much, following that,
these figures stand tall and cold and may have a talent for the icy reception of stoic return looks and speculation...
Then years later you
have a chat, 'fancy that', the common vernacular, the this and that
Gloomy old England, didn't someone once imagine that?
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 10:09 AM UTC
There are some rules to loneliness,
The farthest ones agree
That life manifests anyway
just you wait and see
The time's becoming harder with
wild abandon, not so
Yet gentler, seeming more still,
They learn quicker to love
And fall faster to woe
Copyright ©️ David Bosworth 2026
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 3:02 AM UTC
What sort of corrupt poetry is this
That my heart be wrested from my mind
By a pallid satellite so designed
That in its earthly grip, does slip?
Year upon year, through the inebriate sky and o'er our wits
In its pale perception, its slight deception, the learnéd landscape marks gentle direction
over my kind,
makes men marvel at the stars,
herself revelling
in lieu of facts and our hearts,
No object of desire, no affection to transpire
Unmoved by whims or wretched ire
Upon first reflection, a tether of discretion
That a prayer would mention,
baseless, cherished isolation,
And yet she in her lunar bliss,
forgotten and remiss
Looked into my life,
The whole span of ten nights
And neglecting the pen
I remembered exploration
And tentative love,
That half a century
Has deplored -
An ignored beauty
And humanity's secret door
Copyright ©️ David Bosworth 2026
Apr 11
Apr 11, 2026 at 5:49 PM UTC
'Be yourself and watch
her walk away'
One good useless kiss
and the world's okay
I could soldier on for you
no matter how blue
Yet something tells me
there's no easy clues -
to a chance to dance with
you,
a day to ourselves,
to quicken our pulses
And dissolve our shells
I'd mind the other's
faltering steps,
look at my feet sometimes,
but what do you expect?
I'm yours for one night,
my imposter stayed in bed
Copyright ©️ David Bosworth April 2026
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 10:36 PM UTC
Since having a hug
I am a blank canvas,
Jack-the-lad no more,
And a little less sore
Temper gone, restraints flown,
Chatted so long, even conversation's twisted gauntlet is flawed,
They tell you it's your head
Or that you've stayed too long in bed
But in reality you're just feeling half-dead
So, kiss me next time,
The thought is divine, although given time -
I'll only wonder if you'd be mine
A question in my heart
Answered only when we're apart
The song inside of me is flying from summer solstice to autumnal dawn
And without you, I'd only yawn
Copyright ©️ David Bosworth 2026
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 12:36 AM UTC
Heartbreak is not a recognisable symptom of a callous society - impropriety and
trying to please, today, rather fit the bill,
Still, the thought of it makes me ill -
I wonder who's next for a psychological evaluation for losing out - attributed to a fracture in the senses, a faulty appetite, a morsel of doubt
I'd like to say more but if I wrote a novel, the idea might be misconstrued as something new,
For time and time again it's clueless head-heart decisions that make a man weep, and his love is made into a one-way street
It's going around, love is anywhere, stop and say hello
Copyright ©️ David Bosworth March 2026
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 11:01 PM UTC
The first thing I saw were
names etched on a desk, some scribbled, others neat,
with all the swear words under the sun,
and a blackboard smell in the summer heat,
In the proudest fashion my younger self learned, and begun
A lilt in my step, a mate tried to correct,
A cold that someone didn't expect -
an untouchable friend and nobody worried for me, nor I for the world
Till the rock music arrived and I was taken, again, by girls
But even then, I guess, there were poems
written on phones, predictive, prescriptive to I, who, enraptured but studious, was late to the chase
Yet still, poetry typed late at night outpaces my wonder, something in the way of furtive guesswork and blunder,
Will it still be a comfort to my eyes in ten years; to see my genome and phenotype described in each syllable and alliteration, chipped tooth all there to induce the process of remembering, the creative act intact
Before unnerving intuiton of my youth, rocked out of balance, and typos edited beyond the truth
Save ones scripted in the company of none - just the anticipation of paper and pen
For the girl who drank and ate upon my table, with my sense of humour, my heart beats still, still jumping, still knowing more than this interface ever will,
Even undercooked broccoli was not sneezed at until
I embarrassed at the thought of a petal of disaster in a perfect day
Each coffee was beautiful, each day a breath of fresh air, I never knew what we, of ourselves believed or dared
And now that we're over,
I think of her sometimes and gasp at those simple moments tucked away by recurring mistakes,
the best I can let go and
be done with the rest
A future untold,
A question left at the lump in my throat
Copyright ©️ David Bosworth March 2026
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 7:43 PM UTC