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 Jan 2014 CR
Dave Bosworth
Can you ask someone to love you as
they lead you down gentle paths
Guided by sensations you know exist;
Sometime long ago, neglected to ask?

Who couldn't have fraternized with the girl
Of dark look and sultry eyes ?
But for a life I mis-created ...
Struggling in circles to weave new ties

Sweet encroaching lust awakes you
and erases dust
You seem to think lazy -
The terror is gone, so many miles away love
might have
stolen the air of wintry haze

Hell, God knows I was feeling insecure
And for what to come, nothing more?
Sometimes, wavering self-respect
And past tribulations
you'd rather forget

© Copyright David Bosworth January 2014
 Jan 2014 CR
blankpoems
my throat is a forest fire,
a burning map that never leads to
'the depths of virginia'

your hands are made of water,
icy cold and haunting and
I don't know what else to say except
"please"

I sometimes think that we should have a history book
rewritten with our names, because I'll be ******* if
we are not rewarded for the way we forget about our past

I WONDER IF WHAT WE TALK ABOUT AFTER MIDNIGHT
HAS ANY IMPACT ON THE WAY YOUR HEART BEATS AND IF
IT DOES IS IT WATERED DOWN BECAUSE OF BEFORE
AND I WANT TO KNOW IF MY WORDS HAVE THE SAME
EFFECT ON YOU AS YOURS ON ME AND I WANT TO SWIM
in the James River and forget how to sway my limbs around to float

this is not a love poem
this is not an "I miss you, come back" poem
this is a confession
this is a love letter
written on the palms of my hands because I know
you'll never get over how badly they shake

maybe I'm confused or lovesick or homesick
for a home that can only be found inside of warm chests
but I needed to write this for someone, for myself

maybe my questions don't need answers,
maybe they just need to be heard.
 Jan 2014 CR
Dave Bosworth
Sorry
 Jan 2014 CR
Dave Bosworth
I'm sorry to you
I would have been the captain of your heart
I would have walked moon-shone nights to see the top of your head doused with stars
But love is like delicate strings, managing to hold together the heart's parcel
In transit, through all the imaginings and well meant confessions
On a road never realised
On a thought that barely should have been whispered
I loved you, and my love wasn't fearful
But,
hallelujah I met you
And to my almost-lover, I forget you

© Copyright David Bosworth January 2014
 Jan 2014 CR
Dave Bosworth
Life's cruel chess game
Finds foes for you in sand grains
And I'm sitting here a shivering wreck and all I
can think about is the nape of her neck

My hand involuntarily flinches
And I wonder if she's, too, thinking
''his hand ..I want to feel his hand''

but all assembled various gods
may have bizarre, differing plans.

© Copyright David Bosworth January 2014
 Jan 2014 CR
Nat Lipstadt
you are just girl enough,
to be a real man...

so stand by me,
be a, be my man-girl,
shave that leathery face,
close and tight,
so I can kiss it smooth,
in front of everybody.

Go off to war, Cyrano,
write me love letters of
incredible tenderness,
poems as yet undreamt
come to me raggedy-man whole,
just enough girl in my man,
to make us both,
deliriously,
weep publicly.

Go ahead man,
write your beloved,
songs of the wars that worry you so,
that you don't show,
you think, I don't know,
but I am tough man tough enough,
plenty~enough,
to be yours,
not just the
woman, but that woman,
your beloved.

that bulge in your rear pocket,
not your wallet,
it's just some pocket tissues
you've been saving
for our reunion.

if you are afraid,
be not, be relieved,
you are just
girl enough,
to be a real man,
and I,

*well, I am tough man tough enough,
plenty~enough,
to be yours,
not just the woman,
but that woman,
your beloved
For WDE- 40
 Jan 2014 CR
softcomponent
Best of all, there are lives in every skin. They know the words to your favourite language and the aching corporeality of smoke wisps as overused poetic analogy-- sativa with grapefruit, the particulars speak in toungezzz and sometimes I smoke **** and I'm so hungry, but I'm not hungry.. 6 o'clock and Dionysius means what the heaven needs **** done, it's awful-- no misfit twists and yab blam undeclared winter this year we call Fort Summerforever, BLANK, BLAM, expressive bottom-line, you don't look around anymore and check the bookshelves of your lives for those lucid Lucy detailers, trailers a warmer word for tracers, do the replacement parts fit all of the models and every time I went back to Trippy's it was the same guy, $70, oh the whole **** with the slide and all flattened preference to how in-this we are, how imagine how mystical, hanging those mushrooms on the wall, that weird pipe, cover ashes I dunno. In here it was I / thou and the digital paper-- I climb behind the eye and continent for a moment and hear see do 'it was a huge *** bag just filled with all this ****' bazooka balloon. crick the neck to create a feeling, oh but you'll listen to be come and *be
 Jan 2014 CR
mark john junor
his heavy face drags his head down her shirt
pleads innocence but the grin on his
face calls him a liar liar pants on fire
she just nods knowingly and unbuttons the next one down
cause she has been through the catalogue of this fools parade
and knows a good catch when she has her hooks in him
he starts flapping his arms like a fish outa water
we all just laugh we all been there
we all been a bird in the air

i make coffee but they are intent on the the sideshow
taking place on the couch
i turn to find the girls choir locked in dire straights
with the ****** circus clowns
they will be singing the blues soon enough
cause we all got a price to pay
when the penny comes to a pound
when the carpet bagger comes to call
and the price you pay equal
to the tears you lay

i sit back and light up the room with my handy dandy
nightwatchman flashlight
but soon realize that there are things here id rather not see
as the girls choir gets down and ***** with the clowns
they would rather have a warm bed now
than the cold promise of better kitchens two car garage tomorrow
and im not one to say they are wrong
iv swallowed enough swords
iv seen enough of the bitter bread
so make some room sweetheart
cause you look like you could use some company down there
in your dark corner of the strange parade...
is that a horse head you have on?

this room gets real wild at a quarter to three
the old man has come down
and is talking up the future to some young honey
who knows better but has an eye on his wallet
we all got a price to pay
he gonna give up his riches
shes gonna give up her dreams
all got a price to pay
when  the carpet bagger comes to call

i shake off the dawn
and stumble out to the street
look back to find the whole circus waving goodbye
they all look so happy and content
even the ones with the bloodstains
but that's the price i gotta pay
looks so pretty from this far down the road
looks so warm and inviting with their smiles and lollipops
the circus clowns and the pregnant girls choir
even she seems friendly
in the heat haze of the long hours away
but something reminds me of all her warts
all her filthy fingers grabbing at the shirt-tail
he eyes pleading a different case before the high court
of her own self doubts

when the carpet bagger comes to call
he opens his bag of tricks
and shows you a world of wonder
all glitter and lights
but it isnt till the bill is due
that you remember we all got a price to pay
we all are fish out of water
 Jan 2014 CR
Sam Moore
bone is bone is bone
is bone.
my hands are forever too tiny,
my hips forever too big,
and you forever the girl
who’s always wanted to leave.
when we first met you talked of
hating the palm trees seventy degrees
traffic clogged grit and smog,
graffiti covered rat sewers
mansions dotting all the hills
and everything else i’ve ever loved.
i reminded myself that some people
need more than a place with
hundreds of stars on the sidewalk
but hardly any in the sky.
when i think of superpowers
i imagine being strong enough
to carry manhattan to you on my
shoulders and all your rain clouds
in my arms.
if you ever turned fragile i would
arrange a fortress out of skyscrapers
big enough to cover all the hills,
and with tiny hands i’d point
to the clouds and make them fill
the sky outside your window;
white as bone, as bone,
as bone.
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