Before you, he said
with a wry grin and wide
honest but still playful eyes
I was in a monastery.
I was a monk, cloistered
from the world, and
no woman captured my heart
or stole my smile
or lay grinning, naked with me
or held me, before you.
I was in a monastery, he joked.
And of course, so was I.
But the pictures and the scars
from our imagined other lives
we lived, before meeting,
tell a different story.
The people we still love and
the baggage we still carry is
sometimes, too honest.
Let’s keep it simple.
Let’s keep it sweet.
Before you, it was a monastery
because before you, I was caged
and you have set my heart free.

A Day Without Freedom

A Day Without Freedom
by Bob Boucher

A day without freedom?
Ask Rodney King.

Five years without freedom?
Ask John McCain.

Twenty-seven years without freedom?
Ask Nelson Mandela.

Let not those iron bars imprison your soul.
Let them have your rags and bones
but keep your mind your very own.
A body crucified with thorn and nail
a mind imprisoned yet soul set free
yields not one inch to tyranny.

Freedom is a blessing to be
always cherished

Daily Prompt: Acrostic


Acrostics are
binding and
confining and
demanding without
exception. But I
find myself
giggling and
happy and
interested in
just trying
knowing that
little by little
nascent attempt at
off-kilter meter
poetic and
this tremendous
undertaking, is
very inspiring, but
well might inspire
xenocide. I
yearn for freedom,


Something Old

It’s an old idea, quaint
and silly and just
wrong for today’s
bustling, honest world
to save myself
as if I need saving
but what else
can I do, with
this powerful energy
that both binds me and
sets me free?
Too wild to trust
too unforgiving of mistakes
too much a part of me
to medicate away.
Something old, and I
am reborn, brand new.