Come join in, look around or do some critical reading.  Challenge the author.  Please respond with praise or condemnation on all words posted here. I am a word-weaver by choice and experience revelation.  Been there, done that sure resonates with me.

 Hosted by Gerald Bosacker..

TODAY'S WISDOM...

ENVIRONMENTAL WARNING
If there be Gods, they must be miffed
to witness mute, while man wild dare
pollute their most essential gift
of seas creating clement air.
Will oceans, once with algae green,
replenish air from seas unclean?

THE IDEAL PET
A houseplant is the perfect pet,
they don't make noise and never poop.
Just give them sun and keep them wet,
since they won't beg, instead they droop.
If they should die if you forget,
just dump their bodies in your soup.

FADING AWAY
Before those final church bells chime
will I regret my propensity
of spending long hour wasting my time
creating old fashioned poetry,
choosing end words that rhyme,
hoping someone will remember me.

THE T-PARTY WHIP
Though Eric Cantor should be shamed
that disaster relief, he rashly blamed
for increasing our debt, but were he the one wet,
he would get the first relief check claimed!

I posted this truth-bearing limerick on Eric's site today.  I hope he reads his mail, and responds.

TIME PASSES Why are we allowed to grow ugly old, as bloom of youth turns to musty mold, while fingers and toes turn icily cold, and bodily functions turn uncontrolled? Why should we prolong our life's coming end with strange medicines designed to mend maladies age places we costly attend, cheating our kin of the assets we spend? Why should our age frustration show, or disappointment when ignored although, with invitations sparse, would we go where friends are gone, are we apropos? OLD FASHIONED WORDS Do readers bristle at the ending word in verses where clanging rhyme is heard?Condemned men would speak last words in rhyme,bards if hangmen allowed them more lifetime. I too, must speak with careful measured foot if each bright thought was lasting put. Unrhymed verse marches down an empty street, stampeding mutely with marching feet. ETERNAL STONE Majestic peaks, wrinkle and turn old shedding rocks eager to roll with the cold, sunshine adsorbing transmuted snow destined for something, somewhere below. Vagrant rocks will crash and crumble, shake off their armor as they tumble seeking freedom in the mountain stream. In waters, nacreous they gleam with their drab exterior worn away. Exposed, mute words they try to say. about their strange tumultuous birth. From volcanoes and upheavals, Earth spit out rock as melted magma chilled in crystallized form, a destiny fulfilled. Proud stone, will not keep its grain, assaulted by wind or ice and sun or rain. Downstream, rocks turn into stones and then to pebbles, lastly to finest sand. Did humbled, crumbled rock know it was fated to be compacted, smelted and re-circulated, to rise again in another majestic peak, when first it tumbled down the mountain's creek. BEHIND THESE LINES: The story of life and death, in written in ancient stone. The future eventually becomes the past, and is locked in stone. Everything we own or know is impermanent, but will come back again in some resurrected form, including life itself. Pick up a stone, hold it to your ear and listen to its history.

TATTOOS FOR DUMMIES
It may be labeled body art,
injected with a sharpened dart
which really hurts, so that's not smart.
The worst thing about the tattoo
is that it becomes a part of you
and sure looks dumb when eighty-two.

ADVERTISING TRUTH
The most successful fiction writers are those
that mask the issue of thorns on a rose,
pushing wormy apples, as protein enhanced fruit.
abeling "descent guaranteed" on a parachute,
assuring us we won't keep floating in the sky.
When used, you will come down, they did not lie.
How euphemistically, I am informed of fact,
in advertising that is camouflaged with tact.
Hyperbole is the ad copy writer's norm
from soft pedaling to those that over-inform.
Ads for Pharmaceuticals that I must obtain
now warn of side effects like death and pain,
and these frank admissions legally insulate
them from judgments courts should adjudicate.

HOLY WARRIORS
Zealots in pulpits, most vocally brave,
summon an army, righteously born,
and imbue them with purpose divine,
as killing machines, God's war to win.

Excuse them as they rant and rave,
begging for someone deserving scorn,
for straying from their God's plumb line,
and targets for troops of lead and tin.

These blessed, condemned souls to save,
sure they are the rose, and not the thorn,
and seek out more sinners they define
as ripe for God's wrath, lost to sin.

DID YOU LOOK?
My poetry, I force to rhyme,
and hide it away because I won't pay
some one to read it.

My short stories all have plots and twist,
and no one knows they even exist.
My novel sleeps below my bed
and it's been months since its been fed.

But last night,
I cast my shadow on the moon
for two billion people to see.
I stood up tall in the sunset,
on top of my roof and I waved.

Did you see my shadow on the moon,
there on the Earth's horizon
as it eclipsed the moon?

I was there and waving,
a small and insignificant protuberance,
There on the rim of Earth's shadow,
I waved at you.

BEHIND THESE LINES:
Because I have impacted the world's literature so faintly, I felt myself a failure as a poet. I watched the magnificence of the lunar eclipse, devoid of descriptive or creative thought. As I watched the erosion of the moon, I realized that it was the Earth's horizon blocking the reflection of light from the sun. I would be a part of the Earth's horizon as it rotated, and I waved. I waved at you. When the moon was restored, I went inside and recorded that event, in this poem. If you did not see me wave at you, read this poem and know that I thought of you.

FIRST SNOW
I loved winter's first snow, when I was young
and I would run, mouth opened wide, to try
and catch elusive icy feathers on my tongue
to taste those first ice kisses from November sky.

I felt so cheated when the million flakes I missed
would vanish as soon as they touched the ground
but withered grass and forsaken leaves they kissed
were soon blanketed beneath a snowy mound

Come morning when all was white and snowfall done
they covered well, the dead and sleeping plants.
I would watch the sunbeams from the red faced sun
bounce off the crystal coverlet, in sparkling dance.

Now old, I dread winter's first inaugural snow,
while watching through insulated window pane,
shivering as I see the crystal icicles grow,
forming an impartial hour-glass of Winter's reign

When new winter blusters out where widows weep
over hidden plots where new sod lies browned,
will I too be resting beneath that frosted heap,
when soft snow flakes whiten the hallowed ground.

TO MONARCHS ALL
The worst insult of Royalty
is their assumptive nobleness
inventing the lower class.
Kings and Queens want loyalty
from those they nobly oppress
and fools bow down to kiss their ass.

GROWING OLD
Just growing old has never been
my life's essential goal, but when.
each aging symptom does occur,
I gird for what I must endure,
the transit fare for growing old
gathering warmth for turning cold.

Now when I face new aches or pain,
and feel the need to loud complain,
I'll ask my God for all the power
I need until his designated hour
completing task of growing old,
leaving life both calm and bold.

PASSING EIGHTY
I met no man, that I could hate,
but there were many to avoid.
When those politicos debate,
their claims are merely celluloid.
I tell them off, and curse my fate,
but they just think me paranoid.

MORALITY WARDENS
You better get your sins forgave,
TV preachers, insistent warn.
You'll end in Hell from sinner's grave.
Unless you beg to be reborn.
I fear them when they rant and rave,
needing someone they must scorn,
and they do try, all souls to save,
quite sure they're rose, not the thorn!

MY DESIGNER
Perfection looms in God's design,
yet I question the porcupine.
Fierce mosquitoes we sure don't need,
and hungry fleas are mean to feed.
I don't expect He'd plan for junk,
but then I wonder why the skunk.
Why did he build so many fools,
or did he lose his building rules.
Maybe God makes some boo boos too,
o he's patient with me and you.

WHO WILL BE GONE FIRST?
Why do Apes stare at us and blink?
Do they think we're their missing link?
Or do we just think that they thinked,
Like who will first of us be extinct?

EATING WISE
Avoid each dangerous cafe
highlighting the endless buffet
where customers stuff
much more than enough
getting most for what they pay.

SO OLD
We worked so hard, but I was told
that sweat alone won't fight the cold
nor tears erase a handcuff's hold
it takes so long to grow this old,

RAIN CHECK
The gift I chose for my dear wife,
I have not found, at least not yet.
rewarding her for ending strife,
and all those sins I most regret.
What gift would say, thanks for my life,
that began for me the day we met.

MY INFERNO
My deeds might fatten the Devil's journal,
I may deserve the promised fires of Hell,
yet I will scorn that fire internal,
unfazed by curse of Sulphur's smell.

You ask me why I bravely face my fate
unfazed by promised pit of Hell,
If I  doubted Heaven's promised gate,
I must doubt Satan's fire as well.

FINAL TESTAMENT
Morticians charge tremendous cash
turning loved ones to buried trash.
Cardboard coffin for me
for mourners to last see
the body I want turned to ash.

WHEN YOU ARE GONE
I wish you were just a thing
that I could sell or pawn
You carouse away each evening,
I'm left home while you carry on,
I conjure up bitter things to say
but only after you have gone.

With today's popularity of  dieting, I decided to share my weight loss secret.

LOSING WEIGHT
It is not just food's delicious taste,
I've tried eating only foods I hate,
I put on weight from even its aroma.
I dread the fat around my waist
and know the key to losing weight
is when doctors put me in a coma.

　TODAY'S POETIC MESSAGE...

NEWER POEMS RELEASED

His voice trilled out across the way,
sweet music to my listening ear.
Bright promise of a perfect day
resounding in his song of cheer.

I feared this day when I arose,
surrender loomed as my intent.
Because of prayer to end my woes,
I thought that robin, Heaven sent?

Did my God send that bird to bring
his comfort with transcendent word?
When that Robin dropped there to sing
was it God' s answer that I heard?

CONFESSING
Uplifting poet I am not,
I accept the burdens I've got,
Make fun of the fool
and boneheads who rule
with satire until my roots rot.

PAST POETIC LESSONS.

The bird turns green from crimson red,
faster than most those stop lights do
when hearing lies that someone said,
exposing me as a liar too,
so bird I reared and kindly fed
will feed me now as parrot stew.

ARKANSAS TRAVEL ALERT
August 28,2009
Tourists were welcomed, for their dough
traveling the road through Jericho.
The tiny town had seven cops,
for harvesting cash at traffic stops.
Their Fire Chief tried to complain,
but someone shot, Chief Donald Payne,
the slug lodging in complainant's hip,
from a gun held in some cop's grip.
That traffic ticket was then dismissed 
and all the cops that town did list.
Two hundred folks without police,
are now secured and pray for peace.

       TATTLETALE SNAIL
We could learn from the plodding snail
       that always leaves behind a slimy trail.
This unisex mollusk called a gastropod
       always marks the path where it has trod.
Its single foot will never move them fast,
       but you can tell where they have passed.
I say we also leave a trail behind,
       our detractors can someday find.  

 BEHIND THESE WORDS:

       Sinful people, who rely on total forgiveness from the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ, and plod on with their wicked ways, should learn from the slow moving snail always leaving its slimy, traceable trail behind. Forgiven sins still leave traces behind for our peers and descendants to discover. I do not think that it is not enough to be forgiven.

              On thinking of forgiveness of sins, I thought of a compassionate creator, who was not infallible, and made mistakes.  Criticizing God must be every religious group's worst crime, so I phrased that thought humorously. I hope that you and your God have a sense of humor.   

 Tons more HERE

and here

ARCHIVES

Gerald Bosacker...Was originally destined to become a crusading journalist or witty editorialist, but was forced by family responsibilities to  abandon his part-time jobs and night school classes at the University of Minnesota, to work fulltime as a printer. There, his love of the well chosen word enabled him to become a successful graphic  arts salesman who migrated upward, propelled by serendipity coupled with his tolerance and empathy for faulted people, to become senior vice president of sales for a large international chemical company. Promoted much beyond his ambition and capability, and finding himself unskilled at high-end corporate politics, Bosacker jumped at early  retirement at his first opportunity. Now living in a small Arkansas community or in his fishing condo on Whitefish Lake near Glacier Park when over civilized in the Ozarks, he has resumed his first love, weaving words into prize-winning poetry and surprising short tales that borrow heavily from the fascinating people he met in his world-wide travels.  Bosacker displays the fruits of his labors at this site.  To see his biography and reasons for being, check Bosacker bio.
    Bosacker has two novels nearing completion and hopes to finish them before succumbing to the expected innocence of old age.  If you like his short stories and poetry, please encourage him by sampling eight completed books.  A taste of each is freely offered on SHOWCASE.  You can buy any of his nine books at a special price from this page, paying by either pay pal or by check.

EASILY VIEW MY BOOKS AT BARNESANDNOBLE@BN.COM 

HERE.

SEPTEMBER 2007 WISDOM:

A STRANGE WAR
In Iraq, we are waging a strange war,
a war of attrition and arms supply
Will they run out of bombers before
our stock of soldiers, willing to die?

We fight to establish democracy
and if we succeed what will ensue.
They will vote for a Muslim theocracy,
pledged to destroy each Christian and Jew.

BEHIND THE POEM:
     Only a small minority, with economic or professional gain from armaments, support this very strange war proclaimed to bring a strange democracy to a region hostile to all of the earmarks of our our democracy's basic four freedoms.  
     Look at the corporations that gain from this exportation of American dollars, young soldiers lives and American honor. Their lobbying and we voter's Honor sullied by the President's staunch decision to launch a pre-emptive war and burden our nation with an impossible seige of occupation and democritization.
     Every American citizen should challenge those who profit from this foolhardy enterprise, as these greedy profiteers are our worst enemy and they hold our president hostage to their needs.