Recordações: Remembrances

By Lewis Bosworth

Lewis Bosworth was born in Detroit,
MI. He grew up in southern Illinois and was
educated at the Universities of Wisconsin
and Michigan. He is a linguist by training
and is bilingual in French. This collection,
Recordaes, is his fi rst, and most of the
poems are remembrances of his life and
refl ect his memories of relatives and friends
present and past. Some refl ect the diverse
characters he has encountered during
his lifetime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463431211

Lewis Bosworth

Lewis Bosworth is a linguist by training. His education includes studies at the Universities of Wisconsin and Michigan, and he was on the faculty of Wesleyan University in CT. A Midwesterner at heart, his interests include musical theatre, art, travel, GLBTQ studies, disability issues, church work and dining out. He was born in Detroit and resides in Madison, WI. He writes and reads poetry because words reflect the diversity, culture and spirit of world peoples. Young people should be taught to hear poems as fun and games and to express themselves by writing stream-of-consciousness – non-graded!

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© 2011 by Lewis Bosworth. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 08/20/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-3123-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-3121-1 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011911686

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Calvin Klein

Trembling, Trembling… .

Do You Speak Up?

Coloring Kids

Newspapers

Humility

Hephaestian Club

Kitty

Trading Places

Pastiches

Insomnia

Take my Bet

Before It Begins

Hickory Stick

Chicken Little

Residência Capital

Belleville

Charm Bracelet

When I Grow Up

The Influence

Destiny

Newbie New Me

Canon Anonyme

Mi Casa

Aurora Shrimp

JFK

Lights

Taking Leave

Billy

Sanctified

Cream City

What If?

Grief

Pods and Clones

Arbitrary Life

Ex Libris

Veracity

Middleton Village

Confusion

Hawaii

Appreciation

Grandma Moses

El Paso Papageno

Mormon Mosque

Special Thanks To

Adam Young

Haley Go

Mary Alvarado

Jason Beck

Nancy Acevedo

Marjorie Delima

Adam Igloria

and the rest of the Authorhouse Design Team.

FOR WILLIAM AND JUDITH BRAHAM

And maybe St. John, the beloved, was there. Were you?

FOR WILLIAM FARLOW

"…man for all seasons, patron of the fine arts…guided me

through Met auditions, the seats of Music Hall and my

hospital room."

FOR KRYSIA ROQUEMORE

Take 3 b.i.d., and kiss Trae goodnight.

FOR AGNETA SARINSKE

She grew up in a place where schools are serious about things.

FOR RENEE SIMOUSEK

…she’s recognized in her community as a giant in her field.

FOR CHRISTOPHER WALTERS

He loves animals, people, rocks and twigs, all of creation…

IN MEMORY OF MY PARENTS

"Instead there were stirrings of feeling in her family

and friends gazing at a single yellow rose."

"Give them brown bags filled with rainbows

and hugs and send them to wonderland."

AND IN MEMORY OF TERRY LEE ALLEN

"goodbye, dear friends, and

welcome to the loneliness

of missing words

i would have written

in response to

yours."

Calvin Klein

He dresses me in nothing… Well, my legs are bare, and

my chest. And my 14-yr.-old nipples are hard, the manhood

dust of the hairs on my legs erect. He dresses me in

Adam’s-apple-of-his-eye white… . Well, my label shows,

and my 14-yr.-old penis is—NO! not hard—there,

yes, there, no one knows whether my air-brushed ass is real.

He undresses me—my plum and banana portrait

replaced by a new boy—same label, different penis.

Well, maybe similar. This 14.-yr.-old wears beads,

torn and well-worn jeans. He’s knee-worldly, and

his eyes are closed.

Trembling, Trembling… .

A cross supporting a body isn’t

common these days, but it was.

No need to fear and tremble today.

In the deep south, though, a body

swinging from a tree—lifeless—was a

sight to fear. And to tremble at.

On the hill far away, an old

rugged