Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru, and author of two novels as well as eight poetry collections. Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry reviews (online and print). She was three times nominated for a ‘Pushcart’ and once for ‘Best of Net’. DO OCEANS HAVE UNDERWATER BORDERS? (Kelsay Books July 2022), WHISTLING IN THE DARK (Cyberwit July 2022), and SAUDADE (December 2022) are available on Amazon. Also available on Amazon is a new collection, LIFE STUFF, published by Kelsay Books November 2023. https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/

Challenges of the brain

Where the tectonic bones come together
and fuse. Where one half doesn’t always
know what the other does. The argument
goes on, and both sides claim gains
on the battlefield of yin and yang.
Don’t fight it. Where else would you
first practice the art of indulgence,
the benediction of tolerance and the miracle
of working together for a common goal.

Stories on the walls of old boats

There was teak once in the
captain’s cabin. Hard wood
in that place where strength
was needed. Perhaps they’d
been on their way home
to Llareggub, with welcome
catches, to storm nights.
Perhaps they’d been 
entangled and so
cursed and broken.

Dance the reel, follow the lure
embedded in her cheek.
To China wholesale
or not at all. 

Nets are shifting
underneath your skull
in the borderlands of
madness and salty miasmas.

The nets are weighted 
in their favour, the boat
packed tight with algae
and missed opportunities.

The Winner

Ed was fired this morning and soon got lost
in the mire of his tag line: ‘I am a high-level executive’.
Went to his dad’s grave to have a word.
Hadn’t been in—what—fifteen years or so?
Ed’s father had spent all his savings
on his son’s education. Ed’s dad
went down the mines. ‘You go
and be somebody, hear?’

His dad had said to be strong.
'Push, son, there are no free lunches.’
and, 'Be a winner!'. Ed had never thought
much of being Moira’s husband
or Ralph’s father. Wasn’t something
cool he’d be able to talk about
at the yearly company BBQs. 
Besides, he had been on his way up
and Moira didn’t quite fit.

The grave is overgrown, it’s getting dark,
there is a cold wind coming, and Ed
puts up the collar of his trench.
‘Dad, when Moira looks at me, she’s got pity
written all over her. She has a lover.
Ralphy is on heroin. Lives in a commune.‘

Ed caught himself, looked around
furtively, got up, turned and walked
towards the canal. He wasn’t sure
where he’d gone wrong.