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lewis-bosworthPoems
three houses stretching from gnarly bow to      copper-greenish branch – only dropping one or two at a time      sweet seeds enough to breed tree houses a sylvan hotel on the outskirts      of town looking on the steeple of a country church – its sabbath psalms echoing painfully      on the tympanum in number two green houses hidden in summer’s glory      days to shield the men from pesky folk intent on taking aim – trying to test Josiah’s mettle and break      him into baby twigs poor houses in spirit and pocketbook      yet each armed with steely latch guarding unknown contents – at dusk the shadows of one      candle cannot reveal light houses suspended at risk of plunging      mere meters down – the common room looking after ill-fated siblings      huddling together in fear and shame glass houses no brick or mortar – under lock      and key and susceptible to the raps of Isaiah the seer’s allegations:  “and what is it you guard with fastened doors?” the arborist poses slaughter houses tremble at the shock – major      prophesying at the door’s weak and rusty hinges now wet with dishonor      and ruin and guilty sobs making a last long dirge             © Lewis Bosworth, 2013
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Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
Houses
three houses stretching from gnarly bow to      copper-greenish branch – only dropping one or two at a time      sweet seeds enough to breed tree houses a sylvan hotel on the outskirts      of town looking on the steeple of a country church – its sabbath psalms echoing painfully      on the tympanum in number two green houses hidden in summer’s glory      days to shield the men from pesky folk intent on taking aim – trying to test Josiah’s mettle and break      him into baby twigs poor houses in spirit and pocketbook      yet each armed with steely latch guarding unknown contents – at dusk the shadows of one      candle cannot reveal light houses suspended at risk of plunging      mere meters down – the common room looking after ill-fated siblings      huddling together in fear and shame glass houses no brick or mortar – under lock      and key and susceptible to the raps of Isaiah the seer’s allegations:  “and what is it you guard with fastened doors?” the arborist poses slaughter houses tremble at the shock – major      prophesying at the door’s weak and rusty hinges now wet with dishonor      and ruin and guilty sobs making a last long dirge             © Lewis Bosworth, 2013
lewis-bosworth
Written by
lewis-bosworth
Madison, WI USA
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
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