Now is the burden
Then is rumination
Ruination of burrowing into a psyche that didn't care
Looking out for a joker who wouldn't breathe fresh air
Much obliged to
   not say

© Copyright David Bosworth December 2014

Images ... essential
Undulating greetings, precipice and a giddy orbit
sunset rhythm

© Copyright David Bosworth December 2014

The imaginarium speaks for itself
It isn't a rough & rumble place
                      and inferno
                               or a monastery
but  
       semblance of poetry
                         slice of junkfood

     - escapologist

© Copyright David Bosworth November 2014

paying for its lust

for the bricks turned to dust

a vine was brought down.

severed low; the top half browned, and died

we pulled it from the wall

lawn-mowered half the leafy carcass

dragged the other half to a funeral pyre.

I recall one tender limb was encroaching on my bedroom

spiny green fingers playing a patient game with the curtains

it’s penitent now, much nearer the ground

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2014

I’m fed up with Prague, Paris and progress

It’s because I feel like a lonely boy.

I could sweep aside the art and crafts for the day,

pick up my manlier toys,

in an hour of need.

~

Years later I may grow up,

guns in hand.

Yesterday’s fissures show up honourably

on TV, and I may one day be called to fix small arms symphonies

in lands where tyrants trail newly won streets with

glistening gold-plated depleted uranium hypocrisy

~

If they should come close to hurting you, which I could never bear

With titles and a message, or anonymously

I’d stockpile shares everywhere

and raise forgotten silos, for you

in our hour of need,

What’s more, dear

this sniping threat …

I have learned we live more than exist

~

For brief respite we’ll hire those brave, gifted folks to close down this travisty

suspend the dream-merchants

so we can perfect our progeny

(permanence, is, after-all something)

in this, a dark hour of need.

Oh my darling if you would understand just what it takes

to cling on to that last noiseless sigh of power,

to be devoted to all

which will revoke all the old failings

which will enable a better way of equipping

someone to watch for us, with both eyes wide,

as the lesser hand counts round, and again

and inevitably strikes
war

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2014

Sooner or later

you find yourself in one room

just one.

In the middle of the morning where the moon never sets:

it’s not perdition

You think you’ve scaled a gloomy height,

And you’re waiting on a mystery beauty

No you don’t need a friend

a hundred thousand, they’ve done it all before,

They lifted kings upside down, rose up out of craters, shook down God

it’s that sparkling fat chance amidst the hour of rapid eye movement

Turn bad to good, they say, emotive as a breeze-block

Dream better somethings up, reach backwards to someone that felt.

Well it’s your problem

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2014

so

maybe it’s hard

once you’ve heard and seen pearls,

When the refreshing waves have

moved you far

and the sights are no longer there,

Think again

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2014