The lights are dim, conductor bears the brunt,
So now ten weeks’ hard work to entertain.
Allegro molto at the starting gate,
My tuning fork and pipe right here in front.

But choir’s five songs are causing my descent.
Their off-key pitch a momentary slide;
So harmful do I find it to my pride
That autoharp and banjo I will rent.

If music I don’t wish to circumvent
And tracks or melodies to take in stride,
Then practice every day til I’m bug-eyed!
Perfection is the prize self-evident.

No tuba player’s yawn will stop the train,
Nor second movement snores encores abate!
The lights are dim, conductor bears the brunt,

So now ten weeks’ hard work to entertain.

Allegro molto at the starting gate,
My tuning fork and pipe right here in front.

© Lewis Bosworth, 2018
My mother-in-law turns 100 in November.
My partner died over twenty years ago.
I miss them.
I am a widower.

Some days I am sad.
Others I give thanks for their love.

One day we’ll see each other again.
We’ll be in the same niche.
Folks will sing to us:

For all the saints
Who from their labors rest.

We will be very happy.

© Lewis Bosworth, 7/2018
In the age of aquarius I saw
In a tank of caged creatures
A pair of little seahorses.
They aren’t like in the movies,
You know.  They’re really in love.
You can tell by their tails
Which are helpfully and carefully
Joined gently as they lead and
Follow each other around the
Little space they have to share.

They say that these horses are
Both the same.  They’re male or
Female or female or male or
Maybe even just two of them.

In the room outside my doctor’s
Office, I saw a birthing seahorse.  In
Their tail, now only a pair of arms and
A warm, sleeping lap, a baby cradle
Or a breast made of prehensile love,
Was a baby horse, gasping while
Its other one was finding out their
Role.  In the cubic inches of a
Cage, it would be so simple.

They say that these horses are
Both the same.  They’re male or
Female or female or male or
Maybe even just one of them.

© Lewis Bosworth, 7/2018, revised
I came to church that day.
Not God, not Jesus, not
The spirit was the caller.
His name was Warren.

He lured me to his place
Of worship, a cathedral
Bested only by its music.
I was an easy catch.

My life wasn’t lacking
In pleasantries nor in
Weekend activities.
I was an open book.

Had I been examined
By professionals, I would
Not have been said a “dead
End,” enslaved in emptiness.

No, I came to church as
An absentee who was as
Curious as a cat, and as
A likely disciple.

If one can swoon at hymns
Or wonder at stained glass,
It was I.  These Lutherans
Knew their stuff.

The presentation was
Stunning, the atmosphere
Friendly, the Pastor gracious.
A package to unwrap.

I came back, I learned, I
Joined a membership class.
I wanted to belong.  I did.
Thanks be to God!

© Lewis Bosworth, 7/2018
What is a man?  Is he macho or a bit
sensitive? Or neither?  Does he cry?

Can I see your chromosomes?  Can I
touch them?  Please! I won’t squeeze.

My man is cute.  He wears nail polish
on his toes.  He has red hair and freckles.

He swims naked.  He sings in the shower.
His hands are warm and sexy.

Is he for real?  What’s the definition?
He’s a tenor.  I like to kiss him.

Are You a sissy?  The letter Y.
Where do you keep your sperm?

He’s Xtra sweet.  He dances all over.
He wears a bandana.  Do you like candy?

Is bisexual the same as bilingual?
Will the kids have red hair?

Loving is an art form so practice.
Keep your crayons next to the bed.

Will I run out of chromosomes as
I get older? Can I borrow yours?

My mother-in-law is YY, but she
doesn’t talk about her pills.

I’m normal because my X comes before
my Y.  If yours doesn’t, back up.

It would be simpler if babies started
as ABs rather than XYZs.

Do parents plan their girls and boys?
Can they wish for an athlete or a nun?

What if she wants to be a him? Or a
boy wants to wear pretty dresses?

Why are we ruled by rules?  Can’t
we decide who or what we want to be?

I bet this doesn’t happen to your aunt
or uncle when they are ready to sleep.

The best way to deal with unknowns
is to pretend you have a big penis.

Just don’t let your mom find you nude
because she might be embarrassed.  

My motto is “If you want to be a girl,
go for it.” The vagina will adjust.

© Lewis Bosworth, 6/2018
down the up subway
#a small female wearing a fedora

a little boy dressed proudly
#in an ASPCA sign

an NYU journalism major
#who promises Halloween candy
if I answer 8 true-false questions

a man in an ascot leads a purebred
#red-haired dog on a leash,
fresh from his limousine

a noontime walk under a blue
#cloudless sky

the annual harvest in the square
#and a prêt-à-manger lunch
with a ginger beer and brownie

burqas are commonplace,
#cell phones are not

cabs whizz by on a narrow roadway,
#some are empty

the architecture is protective,
#it exists to mask

a man looks down from his loft
#and smiles

© Lewis Bosworth, 10/2016
Here’s the thing,
Scaredy-cat poet ‒
Only so many lines to use.

For or against?  Support
Or disdain?  Good or evil?

What are your sources?
Are you credible?

How about Marian Anderson
Singing at the Lincoln Memorial?

Maybe Gabby Giffords as she
Still recovers?  The NRA.

Or the rhetoric of “Four Score,”
Lincoln’s famous speech?

The macho American dad’s way
Of bringing up son ‒ Teach him
To use a BB gun in the back yard;
Make a man out of him?

Quote James Baldwin maybe?
“I am not your Negro.”

Closer to home is the “justified
Anger” of the Reverend ‒
“If we celebrate ourselves as
Black saviors, we’ll be crucified.”

Harry Truman and Hiroshima?
Will history repeat itself?
Start of war of the words.

Quoting the Bible makes too
Many folks mad, and leads to
Religious fervor.

Quoting the Constitution is
Complicated and requires too
Much interpretation.

The protest march has gained
Popularity; why not march?
The “march of words.”

If you’re a man, can you
Take up the cause of women?
For women? Legitimately?

If you’re white, can you
Take up the cause of Black
America?  All of it?

You, poet, can you write
About the killing of scores
Of gay men in a bar in Florida
With integrity and understanding?

Perhaps all readers need
A docile approach; soft and
Unassuming words?

In the long run, maybe poems
Should be limited to love,
Flowers and beauty?

Yes, that’s it!  Be a scaredy-cat.
Don’t take chances; Better safe
Than sorry….

© Lewis Bosworth, 7-2017
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