CONFESSIONSOF AMAD POET

(My Legacy)

Enjoy the wry and whimsical rhymesof an ancient poet trapped in modern times.

ISBN 0-9743640-5-3First Publication January 2008Published by Ethical Society PressBox 1813Whitefish MT 59937All rights reserved.No part of this book may be used or reproducedwithout the written permission of the author, or his publisher.

Originally destined to become a crusading journalist or wittyeditorialist, Gerald Bosacker was forced by family responsibilities toabandon his part-time jobs and night school classes at theUniversity of Minnesota, to work fulltime in the graphic artssalesman. There, his love of the well chosen word enabled him tobecome a successful graphic arts supply salesman who migratedupward, propelled by serendipity coupled with his tolerance andempathy for faulted people, to become senior vice president of salesfor a large international printing chemical company. Promotedmuch beyond his ambition and capability, he jumped at earlyretirement at his first opportunity.Gerald Bosacker now lives in Arkansas, awaiting discovery of his social commentary skills. He has resumed his first love, weavingwords into prize-winning poetry and surprising short tales thatborrow heavily from the fascinating people he met in his world-widetravels. Bosacker has two novels nearing completion and hopes tofinish them before succumbing to the expected innocence of oldage. If you like his poetry, please encourage him at:Bosacker@aol.com

TO MY READERS

A bad government can take away your moneyor deny you freedom. A false friend can impugn your characterorbesmirch your reputation.A court can seize your property or lockyou away from friends or family.Sickness or accidents can rob youof good health.Poverty can come to good people and good luck isunpredictable. Yet there is one asset that is uniquely yours andimmune from depredation.What you read and retain, what you hearand hold, what you see and save are uniquely yours.Nobody cansteal your accumulated intellect, or what you know. Once you havetasted freedom you will never accept slavery.

AT SEVENTY-EIGHT

My friends and neighbors consider me poorBut I’m more prosperous than I deserve to be.I believe their smug assessment is prematuresince they can’t know the contents of my treasuryor count what values I amass to comfort me.Despite my years, enough wit must still endureso I can joy in creating more words of my poetryto secretly keep and polish for my investiture.Modern poetry would not be my chosen legacy,when compared to masters of rhymed couture.

MISSING DETAIL

When monkeys stare at us and blinkdo they know we're their missing link,or do we just suspect they think?Do we look strange without a tail?Did evolution somehow fail,putting short tails on just the male?