"bosum" poems
She's a new born under
protective cover,
with a shield like no other from her
umbilical Mother.
Covered from head to toe by the
artists jacket.
In clear polythene for you to admire,
not attack it.
Or the mobster paid in Lira to stop
anyone going near her,
when all that she needs
is the unconditional love
from the bosum that
feeds her.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
belie the notion that one is complete
uncompromised, unmodified,
in thought and in motion.
as we reenact and memoralialize
ourselves with our past and
our wholesomeness of ego
we walk towards a chasm
of chaotic disruption
put there by our inner consciousness
as we progress we are
filled with trepidation,
avoidance and reticence
our thoughts
sidling around the task at hand
procrastination taking its cold grasp
upon our reasoning
our forward compelling movements
appear unnatural and stilted
as we slowly progress
our inner bearing pretentious
all thought and motion merged into
a lifetime of physical mental torture
a prison of our own making
so who in this blinding darkness
dares to step forward into
the unknown future that we have
woven for ourselves with the strips
of blue and crimson flesh we have flayed from
our own portals entwined
into the tapestry that depicts the epic battle
that we have fought and won over time immeasurable
who will take the double edged sword from
the lady in the lake and strike it once again
into the backbone of our mother
where we will lay cradled against her bosum
till she weans us from her suptle breast
and sends us once again to do her bidding
without our capacity for love
our understanding and compassion are
tools we still have yet to master
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
belie the notion that one is complete
uncompromised, unmodified,
in thought and in motion.
as we reenact and memoralialize
ourselves with our past and
our wholesomeness of ego
we walk towards a chasm
of chaotic disruption
put there by our inner consciousness
as we progress we are
filled with trepidation,
avoidance and reticence
our thoughts
sidling around the task at hand
procrastination taking its cold grasp
upon our reasoning
our forward compelling movements
appear unnatural and stilted
as we slowly progress
our inner bearing pretentious
all thought and motion merged into
a lifetime of physical mental torture
a prison of our own making
so who in this blinding darkness
dares to step forward into
the unknown future that we have
woven for ourselves with the strips
of blue and crimson flesh we have flayed from
our own portals entwined
into the tapestry that depicts the epic battle
that we have fought and won over time immeasurable
who will take the double edged sword from
the lady in the lake and strike it once again
into the backbone of our mother
where we will lay cradled against her bosum
till she weans us from her suptle breast
and sends us once again to do her bidding
without our capacity for love
our understanding and compassion are
tools we still have yet to master
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 8:46 PM UTC
IN MY GRIEVING HEART
I HAVE BEEN TRULY BLESSED
WITH THE MEMORY OF YOU
PEACE YOUR ETERNAL REST
HANDS UPON YOUR BOSUM CROSSED
NOW MOTIONLESS, WITH LIFTED FACE
YOUR SOUL FLOWN AWAY
GLIDING WITH AMAZING GRACE
WITH TEARS OF SORROW I BID FAREWELL
ME WITH A HEART LEFT BROKEN
I WATCH THE SPARROW JOURNEY WITH YOU
YOU LEAVING BEHIND A GLORIOUS TOKEN
THE LAST GIFT YOU HAVE GIVEN
A HEARTBEAT LEFT INSIDE OF ME
A GOLDEN THREAD FROM MOTHER TO DAUGHTER
THAT BINDS OUR SOULS ETERNALY
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 4:25 AM UTC
you see me imagining you
imagining you
believing a lie I told,
a lie about knowing good and evil
and that I can imagine
William Blake's little
lamb was once me,
in thee
I am yet, not a jot or tittle of child
like
fool-ibility, I am a thought you caught in your
default mode me-andering mode, a modality oft
left idle. A rest for weary idle words bouncing
in browns from amber to ochre, dry
light leaking from piles
of idle thought meandering thoughts piling up behind
goddamliarcheatertheiftake take
take
take, rewind and replay, keep the takes ignor
the sequence...
Margaret Atwood knows how to build worlds of words.
I blow bubbles.
kiss em a will in a whisp
per
haps a single
one,
becomes this one we hide in, not from evil, for goodness
sakes, we be
peace making,
hidden, safe
as any ancient sapient's sacred secret
knowledge, hidden, useless.
-ah, no. right use of peace is the rest, after the heroes
and wizards and witches and priests and humble teachers,
after the recognition of old ideas, tics
the talking point and we, once more, see our selves,
selves,
we see ourselves as the passengers on the autopiloted
biosphere, terraforming itself for us, since
the first idea you knew was from beyond you,
began to bubble in your soul...
-- rest my soul in the bosum of abraham, whoa ain't woe,
but no is no. be wise or wish you was.
An old man's wisdom hides here in stasis.
Horded as weal and woe,
and debts owed to a foe
xtatic urgent
voice stages a starting boom, in the empty room,
our exspansive space
where peace is made in wisdom used for knowing,
wisdom, a place, a quest
ion
launched, aimless yet
now,
we be, and we do not comprehend gripping being life
for any preconceived gnotion
so
I asked for the living water, I was the receptor, the door
to within me,
where the kingdom of marybabydaddy lay.
wait. "within you", ever'body say Jesus said... some heavyshit,
maiden formed milksop grown to full warrior maturity,
empowered
(laid, by god, can you imagine that feeling? Wow, right?}
basic a gift so basic a power to employ at will
catch
oops.
Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 2:53 PM UTC
The shooter seems willing to speak…
- I was lied to. I was good for nothin'
sure, as a young rapscallion's apprentice, why
who would not be mad, upon learning of the ways
bank's means support the boys being used as mercenaries,
- and yeah,
what a wonderful thing compounded confounding interests
seem, gee, America was great,
for some people, all the time,
sorted ones, picked for preparation,
smart kid, we can use such, prepared,
liberally educated and earnestly able,
to make a plan, write a thesis, daily table,
to change a plan into a scheme, ability
imbued with a curious charisma, they say,
so full of his personality, like Donald,
Goofy and Minnie both nod, ****
did you vote for Al Smith, back then,
when America was great, and fortunes
was made selling Bridges in Brooklyn,
?
time and again, its like we was there,
East end, West end, all around the town,
but, at the movies,
in little dark structures serving ancient needs,
hands could be held, and, dare we, yes, yes,
all the way, America wins the America's Cup,
a true, real deal feel we are in that Spirit,
riding wind under the Oracle banner,
winning America's cup, for spreadsheet people.
- everyday folks who watch old movies on TV.
- And the folks who make those movies for you.
Those are the teams, eh, the people versus the people.
Spy vs. Spy, yes … Mad, Al Smith, and Alfred E. Neuman,
Barak, atar adonai ai ai ai, did I not
warn you,
allusions to Jeopardy questions evoke immediate inssi-der
we won. Not ironically, sublimely subtleeeeeeeeeee
Something t's me off, I swing. Killer instinct. Gut reacts.
Spirituality is gaseous, mystical, like swamp gas,
but in your belly, burning, below the bosum.
Apr 10, 2024
Apr 10, 2024 at 3:45 PM UTC