I would like to hold an Asda Memo pad in Fleet Street
I would like it if, in the process of being a low-priced tomato
I were stepped on
and really assured that the real-estate in which my squishing had occurred in - would grossly swell in value
Seen as my squashing had occurred.

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2014

Things will be different.
No one will lose their sight,
their hearing, their gallbladder.
It will all be Cat-skills with brand-
new wraparound verandas.
The idea of ****** will not
have vibrated yet
While back here,
they are still cleaning out packets of wrinkled Argentina.
But in the next galaxy,
certain planets will have true
blue skies and drinking water

At least give the devil his due;
A thousand wind-swept contenders become a few
As the coast erodes & tides
approach
we wonder if God ever spoke
_
the drained heart of god
Initials & pillars both flown, blown away
To await scripture from a new era
Is he there, in a modicum of fear

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013

At trees reunited or the Great Timber-yard in the sky
There are certain branches
who remember the incisions made
to fell their growth.
spurts & seasons,
and the wind rustling
through imagined leaves of
appendages long gone

All the gunge
symptomatic of sap coagulated
won't replace the
holes in the sky

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013

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

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if she said it was okay to be short.
and she said sure it is

I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
you can do just exactly what you want to do
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph my letters
Sweetcakes God said,
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

Kaylin ''ought to know

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

It's imperative to me to believe the universe has a centre, well, the Milky Way has one.
Solar System, too
What if, what if
there is no centre to anything and it's tragic the Sun has to think for the planets - elastic bands, floating soap bubbles in a bath

© Copyright David Bosworth December 2014

As food for thought
the girl shines bright,
the bird - grey; then I sink lower, sleepy
in my seat. They exchange luminosity.
No principle of geology forced the bird out of stone
But so, the girl is eroding
sighing, alone.
Contemplating the garden

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013

Reverse the flight of Lucifer,
Hurl back to heaven the fallen star;
Recall Eve's fate, establish her
Again where the first glories are:
Again where Eden's rivers are.

****** back contention, merge in one
Warring dualities, make free
Night of the moon, day of the sun;
End of the old war of land and sea,
Saying, There shall be no more sea.

With love of love now make an end;
Let male and female strive no more;
Let good and bad their quarrel mend
And with an equal voice adore.

Bow lofty saint, rise humble sin,
Fall from your throne, creep from your den:
The king, the kingdom is within,
That is for evermore, amen:
Was dead and is alive. Amen

*Ruth Pitter

seagull over, above
reflects back
Led Zeppelin
to me
in folded angles

© Copyright David Bosworth April 2013

War is a system. It is The System.
it is the means to keep people who feel insecure, securely tucked into a command bunker
Securely delegating their fears out,
so others who would rather plead insanity
Bleed vapidly in their leader's imaginings,
instead of war
who ever thought we had much, such in common?

© Copyright David Bosworth April 2013

no me neither

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013

gold-laced
molten lava, dripping onto every,
all music
what is it about Bb minor
                                  major
what's surplus? a drum solo?
we tell the truth when it stops raining

& how could you/I turn off Debussy
when he's still learning to make do
in ever-glades of silvery dew
& weeping infinitesimal tears
into broad
piano
strings

© Copyright David Bosworth April 2013

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

woke up this morning
'feels as if my limbs are ******* on too tight' I tell Dog
And further more ten minutes are needed in the black and witless
So then a hurry of imaginings
& so maybe sparked by the suggesting reflecting of the rotational clock parts
I don't know
wondering purged
but she was like an illusion
i could swear it
And I felt like being inside a movie
but a good one,
when the boy sees the girl
for the dawning moment.
Who know's if it's the soundtrack
hinting at hands to drag heels
wander sometimes

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013

If you are the sun
I'm the grass far below
Awake every dawn with many miles to grow

If you were the sea, I'm the ocean floor
Aware of your presence, oblivious to white shores

And you are a dancer, Your marks in the sand
Your laughter's a lighthouse
To the shipwrecked and ******

the old stone washes up
and reminds me - I should hold on
The world's still calling me
with a familiar song

© Copyright David Bosworth December 2013

That idle word 'impossibility'
That lurking creature like a ghastly curtain of Dark dripping
with vibrant green slime
When success is bright and vivid and light
Why give in,
When to win is so right?

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2014

The sky is egg yolk & severity under the wiry etchings of
the trees
their split-ends scratching in the mix
Jimi Hendrix comforts the ache
& torpor of cold March
And I'm reminded I left this place once previous, hearing
Beach Boys in the stereo

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013

sundown
blend to bed
harsh plastic, things are undone in that interval called 'growing up
for piano turned to lines of wire
from love for you - wish me up a white lie   & forget everything we ever told ourselves
about us
-
the calmer aspects of the world
tell us to swim deep in our uncertainty tonight
the saner prison we were never aware
or obliged to
sometimes it wouldn't even receive a curt nod
-
so needless to say, fragile thing, when they wake you
from trespassing out on the moorlands
with your brain in tow or
gold beneath your feet aglow
a worldly & shaken grin may be enough
but I'd like to know you'd   been laughing

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013

I was masquerading
as myself
In the garden, in February;
You'd had
your birthday party
a hundred miles away. You wouldn't see me
But I found a flat helium balloon
as I circled aimlessly around the garden.
Out of gas, it had landed, with a
tail of silver & purple party streamers.
A miniscule coincidence; as
I laughed into the fervent air,
the cold wind was no longer gusting.

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2015

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

She wasn't what you'd expect. Raw sunlight
doesn't feel like that either

© Copyright David Bosworth May 2013

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

I hope too much
It is such
that we live optimistically but for the sake of a headache
I seem intrinsically flawed
And maybe I'm too bored
for modern ways
and modern greats
I'd sing all night if I had the pace
But way down low - you know where feelings never grow
You'd find me, reading a book.

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2014

ants feel
surprisingly hard
under your
fingertips

© Copyright David Bosworth April 2013

You woke in a hurry twenty years ago,
An ancient spell made you grow
Tall now, and full, till it hurts,
The earth you stand on can feel your curse

Blitzing, you play with your bad hand,
You do all that one possibly can
A golden bliss is ever near
But no pride dampens the dormant fear

So return to the olden ways
The decent home, the tempered days
Stop to reckon: you shall go on!
And drift through those spectres wailing swan songs

Now unending rhythm of swaying leaves
Calls you to find the sun in ease
Tread carefully for lying underfoot
Is the gentle vision you idly sought

The whip-through-you wind beckons season's change
A fault in the plan, the gods' yearly exchange
Early to slumber and last to wake
Dear old friend, why won't you wait?

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2023

nobody told me
I was
I just made it up
It's far too easy to be comforted in your own
..****.. you know what I'm getting at
So strum a guitar chord
That sounds like someone swore
And                                                  lookin­g upon the curved silver lining of that barren orb..I'll wait for
you

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013

The name stood tall, long, indifferent, but beautiful
He was equivocally terrified
But equally, at peace, at the sight .
She was an angel,
she was a transcript from a beautiful future
She held his fingers from a silk rope
Calling

Flabbergasted, you realise how simply wet around the ears you are

© Copyright David Bosworth July 2013

Funnily enough, words never sound tough
In your mind’s eye, on the ones you love, or try
seeing it their way, but it’s always a vision for yesterday
Could you hold a match to what you always felt?
Is this the way good love’s furnace smelts?
fuel is good on time, any later
and white hot becomes empty mime,
_
The princes and women they keep
Made kisses work before rock wore down to dirt
And your world spins too, but so goes your brain
till you feel a little new, stay mellow, framed.

© Copyright David Bosworth April 2013

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 feel completely soulless bar a few bars of an echoey song funnelled
-

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013

I'm too much of a pollutant
for her love
Yes I'm scraping off into this recess
the residue off this past harm
it doesn't hurt, there's no blood
It's employing a sudden dusty wisdom to break down
and demand why God isn't around
to lift a ******* to the stars
I suppose doses of others' spirituality is dependent on the belief
that their god is mine
When everyone needs relief
ultimately it's a sham. But a part of me likes others to tell me what I am
-
Stone is stone
but it grows heavier if muscles waste away
It's sometimes, that fear of death catches us before old age
Drag me through the dirt, this knot around my soul
Irritate my pores with the shred of lost control
Imparted to me, is no hierachy to which
I'm bound, when I've found free ground

© Copyright David Bosworth January 2014

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

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

And just to prove a matter of fact
suggest love to everybody you find___

© Copyright David Bosworth December 2014

I switched off my android self
It wasn't akin to cutting a cord
It took only a few seconds to sever the link
And there's perhaps people I shall never hear of again.
but in my madness I reduced them to lines of script and a resumé,
coupled with a profile photo
forgeries of self, convoluted creations
Am I more than binary code?

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013

what is hard
           is knowledge
                       of you;

but it's an absence
                           feeling like you're going crazy
That the ideas could burst your head   open

that's ignorance of you

© Copyright David Bosworth April 2013

Abounding,
a new suspicion.
Your history, like the sky's immortal smile in a sunbeam,
but you're not there.
I want you,
you were of the stars, and their pulsing radiance
is what mortal beings bask in, ignorance a final plea.

I search in the vanity of the town's conquests, every time it ever
won your witty reserve - search the gratitude of the folk, I search
their laugh lines for life's thanks
To see if they bettered you, are they worthy?
- some are dull as planks.

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2015

I thought it was cynical
that the green urged me
to stare deep
to see the panorama -
the dreary sodden land
of England, drenched.
But yes,
it was spring-tinge
of yellow-greenish

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013

There she blows
at last;
have to tip-tap
type into the night but
somebody else has left a light on -
feels as if somebody half-naked has told me of beauty
but in a dream &

I escape to a nether-world where a dark-eyed dog is faithful & I can hear
myself whisper ' will never forget this moment'
The blue dew is a thousand separate universes shimmering; at once the lawn is sea,
but she is huge & pleasant & warming &, I walk glowing within

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013

She stands at the bottom of the garden
a smile of dainty goodness smudging her chin, and a bouquet of
somethings cradled in her white arms
and she's a statue
There must be a still wind coming from the west
well,
I'd forgotten the sound of Voice
until now, when dinner wafts me in simply
~
there's an external source across my senses;
I only get so far before habit breaks the adventure
and I know the shrillness of my bark arouses the deity from her somnulence
I feel blessed, then put the silly escapade down to dreaming
But although I get something for nothing, she, who stood laying clothes in parallel stacks
Recounting songs from a larger world, to me
perhaps only belongs there now

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013

I cleaned out the
Christmas choc wrappers.
Now, colour-coded by 3
the sight is sterile.

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013

.
i could follow a trend or I, could just be

© Copyright David Bosworth April 2013

I say goodbye to too many old friends
Their passing comes as the season ends
And I seek reassurance
For something in which there's no insurance
My handwriting changed
Guess it's to do with age
My X chromosome splinters
and maybe its the coming of winter
But what lies do they tell us
When all that's left is rigor mortis

© Copyright David Bosworth November 2018

nothin undone has control
just like a human mind
Is far from being defeatist in the sun
here it goes and you know how many
times
you're going to have to do
what you abhor doing
So make it anyway

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013

every now and again you are trudging
maybe it's an enormous space
might be one huge book. On a full day you are a beautiful soundwave
Beaming at me. I know all the pretty girls want to smile really,
In some ways, we're only driven by
what becomes two
& anyway, eyes
Are eyes

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013

dozing-lightly,
Dog doing same
Black cat enters.
All froze

© Copyright David Bosworth April 2013

i wrote some songs
told them one by one
gave them silly names
what's the
point
some are as long as the delay
in the day
of an un-expectant mother.

© Copyright David Bosworth January 2014

sun dyes my hair
(earlier)
While I was about to write some crummy
lyrics -
the clouds    perfectly between a tree & shed
& - my eyes took a photo

© Copyright David Bosworth April 2013