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Chris Boskovski Poem
Your love flows through my veins
like the Nile River flows through
the sands of Eygpt.
Love flows through my veins
like rivers that break off into endless streams
and water the gardens of the green stems
of torn covered rose bushes.
In my veins, you flow, as a sparrow
flies through the blue skies in beauty.
You are the blood that flows through my veins
and later settles deep in my heart
and embraces me with a hug of intimace.
Love flows through my veins
like endless notes played by the sweetest composer
along with his private orchestra playing a lovely melody.
Rivers, streams break off and flow into lakes and oceans,
Like my veins that lead to my heart,
you are always there flowing through my veins.
Your love flows through my veins.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
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Chris Boskovski Poem
Yesterday I dreamed a dream,
that had no end.
You in your white gown, and long, black hair flowing.
You were calling my name.
I heard you, but I couldn't reach you!
And when I say your soul was tainted.
You went out in the night life.
You dressed in your black, evening ball gown.
You danced till the Red Sun came out, over the horizon.
You smiled at me.
A flame in my heart burned red hot!
My knees and hands shook with nerves;
Nerves of love and joy.
I blew you a kiss,
but you turned away!
Oh, please don't turn away from me,
for I would die, if it happened again!
Your beautiful and golden heart showed me the truth.
The truth that every gentleman wants to hear.
I've seen you walk the streets,
in the blue dawn of August.
As I followed you, you stopped and looked at me.
You smiled so beautifully, and my heart fluttered into oblivion!
You walked with your friends and I went my way.
I couldn't find a single trace of you that day.
I cried out "Why did I leave her like this?!"
I looked for you, all over the courtyards and town squares!
Yet no sight of your beauty.
... No sight of your golden heart, that I hold so dear to mine.
Where did you go?
Why did you leave?
Why did I leave... that is the question!
I should have stayed by your side,
till the ends of time.
Yet I had left.
Why...?
One gloomy and parish midnight.
I came along a road,
and soon found myself in front of a wayward cafe.
Smiling faces all around me.
I spotted a beautiful face that outstood all the other faces around me.
It was yours.
Your face brought me to sanity and I went over too you!
You spotted me and tried to run!
I caught you in the dirty hallway and pulled you in.
Our eyes met and I fell in love once again.
Sanity re-entered my mind, body and soul.
I kissed you and you kissed back.
You held my hand, and we left the cafe and walked down the street.
The street was gloomy, yet we together brightened the dark street.
We went back to the lit up city streets, of the lands filled with smiling faces,
and we fell in love and slept together.
You lay there in my restless arms and I gave you a sweet kiss,
upon your sweet and soft head.
Your dark hair was sweet smelling and felt of silk.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep with you,
there in my arms and we dreamed together
till the morning came and woke me up,
and took you away from my weak and weary arms.
I dreamed a dream of you.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
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Chris Boskovski Poem
A most beautiful suicide- from the hands of her beautiful possession
that struck the nerve that broke her dreams
and drained her blood down the pipe.
She called everyone-they all smiled
She cut too deep and they sent her away
to a grey place that made her think hopelessly
waiting for an answer.
A therapist did not help,
even though they lied and said they do-
So the doctor gave her pills
white ones, pink ones, blue ones and red ones too,
but all made her feel the same.
She was black and dying
she wasn't waiting on death any longer,
she filled the bath
naked in her bare flesh
and slit her wrists
her heart slowly stilled
and her blood went down the drain.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2016
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Chris Boskovski Poem
Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
alone;
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.
Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.
Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.
-10/14/2013-
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
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Chris Boskovski Poem
Pursue love,
the love that has no meaning,
the silver ports of the moon,
shine so bright,
that it blinds you in the twilight
she is beautiful and she is divine
she is the song sang by the sweet nightingales
in the gardens of worthy, overgrowning and blooming roses,
like wildfire grow tall and the thornes of the vines
tangle around her feet and drag her ever so slightly
throughout the garden of beauty.
As the roses lay along a table,
as she sits at the table
and she waits for me, the wordman
to come to the dinner table at the stroke of nine
and sit with her,
start a scene or two of romantic setting,
to pursue love in her name.
Love is around us,
the candlelight shines and reflects in her silk hair,
as her evening dress glitters and shines
and her bossom shows itself in the nightsky
as we lay together,
we pursue a dream together,
forever we live together forever,
as we stand upon the belcony of Romeo and Juliet's love scene
we swim in a pool of sweet divine care and love,
we swallow grapes and drink wine
hand and hand on Persian rugs and virgin white cloth sheets,
we dance to a simple, yet sweet Chopin's masterpiece
of his beautiful nocturnes,
which make such a sweet and romantic song in our heads.
We stomp out the flames
as we dance the night away,
and you lay in my arms,
and I kiss you upon your lovely head,
and you hold my hand,
and I hold you tight
never thinking of letting your love go away from me,
I would take my own life,
before I lose your love.
See us together,
it is a painting that lasts lifetimes,
that needs no touch-ups.
I care for you and love you!
Love me, I know you will.
My sweet and loving portrait lady,
who in reality is more beautiful than a fully bloomed rose
that sits on its green stem,
in the garden of beauty that sits outside my window.
Come up to my chambers
as I picked roses for you and pettles litter the atmosphere
as love's tension grows
and suspence brings us together,
let us make love tonight
seal the passion
and pursue love once and for all.
Then shall we wake with the first rays of the blazing of the morning sun,
I shall wake next to your beauty and glory,
and I shall point my attention to the heavens
and thank the Gods for sending you on the open road,
toward my chamber door, I call my heart.
Then we shall dress, and walk the pathways
in the garden of beauty
and I shall pick a bauquet of roses
and we shall sit by the lake and pursue our love
for one another
and nothing, not one earthquake shall shake us apart.
-9/26/2013-
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
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Chris Boskovski Poem
I am the Blue Poet.
The uneasy man.
Who longs to be loved,
or just to have a friend.
My heart whisphers a low melody
on a faint, cool evening
thinking of her.
Once in my arms,
laying on my bed of roses.
Now she is gone.
I cannot think anymore!
It is hard, to love again,
When all your love has been taken away.
... I am the Blue Poet.
I am the Blue Poet,
That walks the bluish, dawn and dew covered streets
in the the October evenings and nights.
But I tell you, I wasn't always so blue.
No! I was once alive... happy... romantic,
... till Love went away!
Now I sit in the wayward poetry clubs,
drinking club soda and snapping my fingures
to a finished performance on a poem about love.
Written by a soft, spoken seventeen year old girl.
Soon, it is my turn to give my poem a read.
I stand on a lone stage, with a spotlight drownding me in blindness.
I face the faces, who look at me and smile.
A clap, and a cough, bring my head up.
I look out upon the sitting crowd.
To see that one face
that speaks to me,
without the movement of the mouth.
The face never showed though, and my head fell back down.
I start to read.
A vase of emotions kill me and swallow me up.
I try to hold back tears, but no more could I halter.
I finished, with a salty tear, rolling down my rough and oiled cheek.
I leave the crowd at ovation
and leave the women, all with tears in their eyes.
I come down from the stage, leaving the bright spotlight.
I shake hands, give hugs,
and collect my pay, and have another round of club soda.
Then, I go down the midnight alleyways of sprinkled city streets
finding myself a cozy room.
I think of her for a moment,
then off to sleep.
I dream of one time laughs, and hugs and kisses.
I cry in my sleep,
...For I am the Blue Poet.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
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Chris Boskovski Poem
Light them up, the candles
in the halls of the monasteries
of your heart,
where the most humble go to pray
and sleep in your cozy breast,
like babies do when they see their mothers.
Light them up, those guns,
that conquer the egos of evil men,
and extinguish the young revolutionist,
who knows nothing more than to live.
Light them up, to the path
of a life worth living,
and not one worth dying.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2016
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Chris Boskovski Poem
Lonesome on the beat and path;
I am lonesome on the Beat way.
On the Road with Jack Kerouac
and having a lunch naked with William S. Burroughs,
while listing to Allen Ginsberg
telling us how he saw the minds of his generation
go with madness.
The red heads and the brunettes
lost all their ways
as they go down on one-another.
Women in white lingerie
killed as the boys in blue jeans
kill each other with laughter and foolish jokes.
Agree with me,
if you may;
and paraphrase if you would, please do,
to see if I have gone mad,
or just talking outside of the box.
I walk alone, lonesome with books of dead poets,
trying to become my own person,
losing that war to me, myself and I.
Hold close to me, but don't stare into my eyes,
for you'll fall madly in love with me,
or grow mad yourself
and feel my pain.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2014
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Chris Boskovski Poem
The breaking of dawn
and I start my day off with a yawn,
the dew covered the lawn,
the cool air blowing through my window
as the streets still soaked with the nightfall rain
comforted the scene of a beautiful sunrise
a gorgeous start to a new day.
See the flowers covered with droplets of dew and rain
feeling no such thing we call pain,
Dawn breaks,
as the sun rises with its powerful rays
that blind me in the far East,
the purple midnight skies go away,
and are replaced by ocean blue waves
and marshmallow, puffy clouds
that hold no more rain.
The sky idel upon a canvass of life
as the morning comutes travel down the steps
with coffee and newspaper in hand.
The women walking their dogs,
men catching the morning buses to work.
No use for pork
when you can't catch the morning train.
And then it starts to rain.
But the sun still shines,
and the moon is still out,
this moment, as dawn breaks
we are stuck in a parrallel between two worlds.
Such beauty in a morning sunrise
as the blue, dawn covered streets shine
as the sun reaches high over the Eastern treelines
and the lions roar and the birds fly south.
Waking up to a new, broad day
next to you, as the sun shines upon your sweet face.
I compare you to a morning sunrise
as Dawns break into a silent worldpool of a new beginning.
Something tells me that I am going to have a good day.
Waking up to a new, a new dawn
with a loud and relaxing yawn,
as I smell the dew on the lawn
See the moon and stars fade away,
and purple twilights go to sleep, on some other part of the world
Love for a sunrise in a morning dawn
that is the most beautiful scene any man has ever seen!
For the Contest: Morning Poems
Sponser: Poet Destroyer A
Written by: Christopher Boskovski
P.S. A poem for you my lovely Linda, I hope you enjoy this lovely and beautiful poem about the break of Dawn! :)
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
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Chris Boskovski Poem
For a girl named Debbie; who won me over with her words-
Damn girl you know your way with words,
the way they explode with power and feeling
just gets me entangled in the flow of your poetry.
You're good girl, your a woman who knows her stuff,
I like that in a woman,
whose not afraid to show her heart,
to burn up a piece of paper with hot glare of emotions
of love and hate and everyday life.
You can write about anything and everything,
and have it sound good to the reader's heart,
Damn girl you know you won my heart,
your way with words is like a hot knife slicing though cold butter,
and my nerves rattle and my heart skips a beat
when you start writing about love.
Damn this girl is good,
she knows her stuff,
with a portrait of Edgar Allan Poe hanging over her wall,
as she sits with lights dimmed, she writes of the darkest days,
she makes 'em and she breaks 'em with her words.
And she writes whatever comes to her mind,
a day taking her meds,
or a day with or without love,
or just another day living her life;
she speaks out to whatever comes to her mind,
and that is what I admire in a lovely poetess like her.
This poem is for a girl named Debbie,
a girl whose words won me over.
-a dedication poem to one of my fellow poets; Debbie Mills-Kelly
.2.4.2014.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2014
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