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Below are poems written by poet Chris Bowen. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.

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the spider

bloodless coup,the strip nigh high,the begging art do fold arm of wooden bosom.mine own 
eye's be still,grand of nay one thousand hands do object to folding tents and calling rents 
paid in divisions and ceromonies.i am tempted to ball up paper and wax the floor with mine 
own eye lids.if i ever did castle her,she would marry the virgin poor king,only to spite me 
and only to be myself.the chancellor is vaporous tonight,for i wont go away.too many tragic 
minions in the fortitude of mankind,do i walk with shadows or trap a heart good nothing?
many times i expect she has taken a lover,but it wont be me to tell her all,my everything is 
doll breaking and the fixings are on the table.the wind is sweeping,ever peeking at the 
lunacy of the sun.we are one,universe,but the spell binding effect is most nutricious.be thine 
own hand and beg for fifty more than bargained or anticipated for,for we are known men,old 
poets,and we beg for hearts and thieves,ony to make it go away.fix me,my dear villianous 
vampire.

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