Poems by
Elliott Bowe
THe DrUnKeN POeT
  
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 I am the wind beneath the sparrows wings as it heavenly sings.I am the single rose sitting in a barren land.I am the the lions voice,and the partridge voice as they rejoice. I am the beam of light penetrating the vastness of the worlds darkness.The secret power is no secret,the secret power is me.I am the secret power revealed and concealed in greatness.I am the suns majestic flames.The clarity of rain drops,the zest ,to the minds bland thoughts of boredom.I am entertainment.I am the wood pecker,soaring steadily in the balmy winds picking at success.I am the eagles soaring oversweet allysum, capturing the sent. Stupendous I am,Preening my mind with knowledge,a pen rigged with wisdom,wisdom speaks beyond paper as it leaks from the pore of my quill.I am the potion full of devotion. My pen rigged with morphine,killing I hope the pain of my readers with poems.You are no longer lugubrious,lugubrious you are not.Healed and fixed upon the first dosage.I am ,I am ,I am the poetic doctor,wooing medicine from the green pastures, to wrobe my pen with healing secrets.I am the nectarines of peach orchards basting the mouth of pages with sweet words.Sweet splash sweet splash. I am the sweet taste. I am the revival of a sun baked raisin, the flesh to a corps laying beneath circling vultures of the Arabian dessert. I am the fragments of light circling your heart,a campfire,the supplier of its poetic aspire. I am the fridge of poetic dreams,preventing from expire, raising heat of poetry soup higher and higher. Ill never retire until my face wrinkled and my hair grey wire.My pen aiming for a writing desire. On icy roads I keep traction with hot ink and mental snow tires.I am a poet wrobed with creative ink and sapphire.I am safe gaurding the gates of a dying world of poetry.looked upon as a fool why should I stop, because kids from high school saide i am not cool,what is their some rule that makes it uncool.It must be april fools ,safe guarding your desire is a golden rule.I am the hope, iam poetrys stool fueling it with my hand tool full of ink iam the talisman of poetrys gates.
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