Written by: Elliott Bowe THe DrUnKeN POeT

Every afternoon she picks up her pen
then and only then dose her emotions
bend, they bend to connect with her pen
her emotions descend to her pen, her
honesty and truth her beauty and vibrant
youth sheds on paper like rain shed on blades
of grass, and all her friends laugh and ask 
why does she write, she laughs and ask
why did you even care to ask ?She says this
ink and quill can help to pursue and articulate
the greatness in you ,it helps expose and shows
the many hues in you, if those hues remain
in you. Then People will look at you, and ask who
are you, but I write so people can read me,
so they can smell and breath me, so they
can begin to comprehend and properly conceive
me, believe me you to should write.They laugh and
walk away but her true friends ink and quill 
stays, weaving thoughts healing wombs carrying 
her along the days, words has helped her in many ways,
it has helped her slay the many beast of her days. She is
a Nubian queen a writing machine, her scenes like a cat 
so keen, her mind so pure and clean she seems to have 
preened her self so clean through writing ,through igniting
thoughts on still waves of her inner serine, of heavenly
wisdom ink, as she begins to think the heavens shake a 
brontide unfurls from heavenly brain storm. She is the goddess
of wisdom, she says she writes for the health of her mind, 
I laugh saying my life and mind isn't so healthy would
you care to be mine, with a woman like you I might be inspired
to write novels of romance and slow dance, after glasses of wine.
Then and only then will I have a healthy mind 

She smiles,I become her next poem.....