These three poems by Brian Mosher speak of struggling to find a way to understand the mysteries of the world; of failing and then trying again despite knowing there is little hope of success. In the end they speak of finding joy and light even in the shadows of fear and doubt…
by: Brian Mosher
While reading Rilke on angels in my adolescence
I thought of air and breath and exchange
and wrote a poem, since lost, in which human
exhalation became angels’ inhalation
and vice versa, a symmetrically
if not theologically, sound arrangement
they required our density and susceptibility
to gravity, without which they floated
aimlessly, hopelessly, a fate worse than Lucifer’s
who at least has a base of operations, a home,
while these others wandered like hobos hoping
to hop a celestial freight train, until they found us
and we were inspired by their lack of corporeal
reality, their ability to move freely through all
four dimensions without the restrictions of physics,
and thus we were impelled to leave the cave,
to stand upright and look to the stars and the moon,
to howl in frustration, to heave a lovelorn sigh
I wrote with youthful earnestness of the angels
among us are who draw our eyes and our thoughts
upward and outward, inspire us and drive us
to find others in whom to invest our energies
and desires, upon whom to inflict our fears
and aggressions: the very first double edged sword
I realized later there are no angels, Biblical nor
of the Hollywood variety, instead, and better, we
have artists, poets and singers of song who from the first
have been our guides through the mysteries, our lights
in the darkness, guardians of the only holy things:
breath and exchange
Monstrous Fumbling
“…the monstrous fumbling of all life…”
Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel
Noone can know,
in this enigmatic life,
how best to proceed.
In our useless striving
for achievement, every
step forward only destroys.
Our monstrous fumbling
for connection to others
leaves nothing
but bruises and scars,
which should serve
as reminders, but do not.
Life has no significance,
death no reality, and
there is nothing beyond.
Fate, if She existed,
would laugh until She cried,
drowning us in Her tears.
Yet, what choices
have we? What other
path lies open to us?
The spark of Life within
us urges, “go on, fumble.”
And we cannot refuse.
A Little Song of Life and Death
Creatures are we both,
you and I, of ash and dust,
to which we must return one day.
But within you there is a spark
which I feel the dreadful lack of in myself.
A dancing flame animates you,
inspires me to squeeze you
whenever I can reach you,
wishing to feel your heartbeat in my chest,
let your fire enliven me.
Powerful and mysterious are the forces at work through you,
of which I am just barely aware,
and which I can never hope to comprehend.
And now, having died in your embrace
so many times, I know there is no cause
to fear the final annihilation.
Brian Mosher writes poetry and fiction from his home in Mansfield, MA. His work has appeared in The Write Launch, Lily Poetry Review, Literary Underground, Nixes Mate, Anomaly Poetry, eMerge, Esoterica, and others. His unpublished short story collection was shortlisted for the Unleash Press 2025 Book Prize, and his short story “Fragments” was a winner of the Nikki Hanna Literary Challenge. He has self-published 3 books, all available through Amazon. Mosher’s most recent collection, “A Muster of Melodious Musings” (2025) is published by Metaphysical Fox Press. His poetry chapbook “Relict” is slated for January 2026 release from Finishing Line Press.
His website is Phlubbermatic: (www.phlubbermatic.blogspot.
