Poetry || Submissions

Moon watch
and other poems
by Gerald Bosacker

Moon watch

I'll tell her lies, she'll laugh polite,
and watch as sky undresses,
revealing stars that hide from sight
while sun, prime rule expresses.

So if by chance, we wake contrite
and night its guilt confesses.
Bright day destroys the black and white
but night, just love assesses.

You are what you are

Don't envy the bird
unless you have heard
the price of having wings

Consider the lark
who brightens the dark
His song, he wordless sings

The lions that roar
the eagles that soar
both gorge on bloody things.

Bear silent your cross
And savor each loss
fit yourself with Angel Wings..

Each human is faulted,
By goodness exalted,
by regrets that only guilt brings

Were we ever?

A fickle God could justly view the fiery end
of his creation with the jaded grief
of a whorehouse madam who,
rich but tired, finds salvation
while watching her workplace burn.

Raise an alarm!
Souls should be saved,
someone must write this history,
for with no witness,
no matter how little depraved,
we are left without
a mystery or even incentive to learn.

Loan or gift?

My life is but a borrowed gift
I must return one day.
With interest harsh, assay my thrift,
do I that debt repay?

I live, I die, it matters not
to those who claim my space.
Returned to earth, my flesh will rot,
while I, due judgement face!

But if some trace I'd leave behind
I'd want well chosen word.
Not marked by stone so few will find
but only words both read and heard.

A fable?

There was a king, who fairness stressed,
and ruled with great dispassion.
The land he ruled was richly blessed,
yet no one knew compassion.

The rich more richer, selfish grew,
locked in their crypts of riches.
All love was lost from mortal view
by those self-centered sons of bitches.

Their greed ruled all their conscious thought
and bastardized their senses,
With stronger vaults, protection bought,
they penned themselves with fences.

Then came a man, who kindness preached.
the word he spoke was charity.
Though few it was, his logic reached,
they nailed him to a two branch tree!

Let's have a nice war

Returned, we find their rockets tame,
just packed up full with kisses.
Rejoicing at their perfect aim,
we'll mourn as well their misses!

Chicken?

In barnyard of the world,
I would rather chicken be
than eagle, wings unfurled,
projecting dignity!

Insanity is certified,
moot chicanery,
instead of suicide,
portrayed as bravery.

Called to serve, in distant land,
a coward's role I'd seek,
rejecting noble stand,
to turn the other cheek.

My loss, tail feathers plucked,
locked in the food chain flock,
my song, like hens, I clucked,
to meek evade, the chopping block!

Previous poetry by Gerald Bosacker at Ariga