Best Bowe Poems
Hmm
What is life ? some say life is a puzzle and I ask is it one we will ever complete?
Huh? Tell me will the puzzle ever be complete because I know and you know you can't just go in a store and buy the pieces in a box all pretty and neat.
For these pieces people compete they don't just open a box and pour the pieces on a table and sit in a seat while munching on sweet treats!
They walk roads nebulous and rocky until they get blisters on their feet
Rent has to be paid two jobs three kids and they still have to eat!
They try to keep their minds neat even though their knee deep and bound
For defeat they continue to dig deep.
The pieces for this puzzle isn't cheap! Some pieces you throw away some
Pieces you keep but some pieces you hold in your hand and contemplate
Without sleep! Some pieces might cut you inside and the wounds are
Root deep.
I saw my mother bleeding I held her face and said you need sleep she
Said you know son that's the only time everything seems complete!
She dropped some tears and walked away it reminded me of a rainy
Day I grabbed her and said everything is going to be ok she said I know
The Lord is going to make a way but we just get emotional when he takes
Away so we break away those pieces he hides and temporarily takes-away!
We try to regain it because of our thirst it makes it worst instead of
Our power we should make his first.
What is life? Some say a puzzle and it is complete all we have to do
Is keep it neat but because of the devils deception we suffer blindness
And defeat . Let The Lord complete your puzzle you just keep it neat.
Put aside your footsteps and let The Lord plant his feet don't walk
Ahead but walk with in his trail and you will never fail on the road to
Victory you will sail and when you fall don't cry to hard you
Might drown his voice instead give praise and rejoice and he will guide
Your choice.
At the end your puzzle will be complete so hard so easy so soft so bitter sweet
But with The Lord you can keep it neat.
By: Elliott Bowe aka the DrUnKeN PoEt
A mortal breath expires drifting to where?
Taken into the mystery of, invisible open air.
To where could that breath have gone?Instantaneously
snatched, unaware. left behind ,bitter tears of sorrow.
In every teardrop a question.While the pastor makes
a healing suggestion.
Birth certificates becomes memorabilia.
Grave stones are visited. The beginning sweet, the end a
bitter cup, No one knows when there time is up.
Many are gone,truly gone, flying to another world,
to be born, again.A life adorned,a loss,a friend
or family member.
A departure we will always remember.
Why now? why then? how did it end so fast?
The only sure answer is death at last.
Take my hand, take my kiss, take my beating
heart. Knowing for sure this will all be taken apart.
Taken from the start connected to the send.
Take all the I lend my friend, knowing soon
we shall face the end .Gone to the great beyond
Where other souls have passed on ,up in smoke.
Waxed in oblivion, gone to a heavenly reward or
not. Don’t fuss and don’t fight for one day or night
My eyes will follow that bright light surround by white.
Written by: Elliott Bowe
To be continued by Vienna Bombardieri....
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 over
sweet 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 robe 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
revival 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 for 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 iam 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.
I know who I am and this inspires ME!!!
By: Elliott Bowe
Inspirational Contest
Sponsor:Gail Doyle
The August fields all fallow now.
The sweet grasses lay long a bed.
The posies taken the pastours’ bowe.
Brash breezes brush Queen Ann’s fair head.
Black butterflies crest crown instead.
Tufts of purple clover hold court,
‘neath a spread of pristine comfort.
Honey beis are swarmin’ in delight.
Sparrows’sweet song the morn transport.
Summers’ day passes in tae night.
As unfocused and natural as breathing
As unrestricted as dreaming
Creativity derives from formless –
From liberty
Don’t think
Write now
Correct later
This is poetry in its most perfect form
Just like when you’re taking a test and your first thought is most likely correct
It’s okay to jump from one thought to the next
As long as you have a trail to look back on
You can recall information
Don’t abandon your first thoughts of originality!
Flow and flow with your original thoughts filled with your unique personality
Be free
Be you and you will be surprised at all who will be inspired by you
Don’t muffle your emotion
Don’t muffle your first original thought
Be free
Be you and you’ll be amazed at the hues that leak on paper from you
A collaboration between Elliott Bowe THe DrUnKeN POeT & Brittany MAD POet Caldwell
A soul weeps in flesh for the pain I left behind.
I am sorry for the pain,the tears, I left for you to bear.
These healing words I send with a bumble bee to heal a bleeding rose.
These napkin like words I pray can wipe your tears and snotty nose.
I was young and naive,I cherished my pride instead of your heart .
There the coldest winter did start.
If it makes you happy I disposed of the mistress.
Who faded in long lost memory of shadowed kisses.
No,no,no I am sorry for writing that,
its a poets bold habit of honesty,
but in writing this I thought i should be honest and honest I shall be.I apologize for leaving your emotions suppressed,unknown and ostracized.
Yes, I know the ocean swollen with your tears,the angels descended on a bloody battle field to hear your cry.I hope you can summons them again and reconsider the report to the almighty farther.
If I could write this apology in the eye of the sky I would,for my remorse to be seen , a once foolish human being .Your heart I didn't mean to decay. I apologize for the lies, cries,for making you eat sadly all those ice creams and soggy apple pies,from absorbing tears fallen from yours eyes. Left to wonder in the vastness of the universe alone. I am sorry also sorry for the smudged ink and some of the lines. I cried along with them, imaging your painful times.
Yours truly Elliott Bowe
To:Simone Descartes
You are~
The queen of hive~keeping a universe of sweetness alive.
The richness of air~ more richness than a gem or bank can bare.
The float of a boat~the ink of a love note.
The warmth of a coat~the warmth of prevailing hope.
With a billion brilliantly buffed stars you shine~a shine in the night of my mind.
You are the eloquence of glistening and glamorous Fiji waters~beauteous waves of mind.
A Unhurried dulcet substance steaming ahead~honey flowing through your veins.
I can visualize your golden veins,coiling on the
bars of heavens divine gates ~ your soul the key to heaven.
I'm sure a blind man can see you, I'm sure women would love to be you~ I'm sure though I haven't seen you.
Perhaps I seen you in
the rose I smelled yesterday
the sun of today
the mystical formation of
comely clouds.
perhaps I seen you girdled in
trees of fortitude,may be you
are the the fortifier of it all,the
beautifier of all roses standing tall.
You are the first steps of a baby
that once use to crawl,supportive
to all.You are the benign tender of
a baby's BIRTH~
So go ahead ask me what your WORTH,
and yes baby people like you is the
restoration of EARTH.
So go ahead ask me what your WORTH,
And i'll say YOUR WORTH MORE THAN EARTH!!!
Your birth chained heaven to earth~
A visible but invisible cord the doctors couldn't Cut,
BUT guess what these words came from the heaven in my GUT!!!
Written BY: Elliott Bowe
TO: Vienna Bombardieri
YoUrs TrulY thE DruKeN PoEt
Flying above streams of love.
Poison flowing streams of hate.
Streams dried and dead love found.
Love lost love.
Love found death.
Loving sounds drowned by hate.
The same hate that tore apart soul mates. Love was much,but hate over weight. Love on a silver plate, while hate on a golden plate. Is this the way of faith?If so it dose not seem to be accurate. Removing love from the throne, making hate chief of the state. Wells of love dried. It only became wet when it cried. Worldwide we cast this love aside. Still I stand by love,side by side. Along side the bonafide.
By: Elliott Bowe
Palindrome mad poetry contest.
The following lines are considered
Palindrome:Flying above streams of love.
Poison flowing streams of hate.
Streams dried and dead love found.
Love lost love.
Love found death.
Movie theater crowded.
Abdomen bubbles,
a scent delivers troubles,
the scent strikes with brass knuckles
the man who dealt it chuckles.
People pinch their noses and squints their eyes.
the man who dealt it continued to eat his cheese fries,
someone yells, were in the move theater cant you realize!
By: Elliott Bowe
POOPING & FARTS contest
Sponsor:Destroyer ~ Poet
Your bald raw beauty.
On my way to the barber.
To be as stunning.
Cancer took your breast away.
Yet your heart remains so sweet.
Written By: Elliott Bowe THe DrUnKeN POeT
Contest Name : Cantankacerous
Sponsor : Joann Grisetti
I swim in the murky waters, diving deep, nails claw mud. Lowly, I may be bowing, but I am not drowning. No, I am not beat, the struggle is not defeat. My toes dig into the earth, to feel the tangible for what it?s worth. Eyes search to find light, struggling not losing the fight. Head lifted, I seek the sky. Let this stifled soul fly. The gray clouds follow me, blinding me, I cannot see. Living with the acrid smell of my own stale air. Life may be a gift, but it?s not always fair. Looking to God, I break through the bolted door, caught between Heaven and Hell, feet planted firmly on the floor. When did I forget to live, to feel the sun upon my face? When did I decide to hide from the human race? Strokes of times clenched in fear. I wonder if the end is near. Renew my faith, Lord. I know I am not beat! The struggle is never defeat. I swim upon the murky waters, I fight the bondage of chains, I struggle with a net that was set by the unknown. I beseech heavenly Father on divine throne, Will my words of despair reach his invisible ear? Till I am set free this pain I must bare, The Holy Scripture says have no fear, but that becomes difficult when the many monstrosities appear. It also said to gear thy self with prayer which can move mountains and withdrawal the darkest cloud, but still the gray clouds follow me a darkness swallows me, it seems to devour me. The Lord is my shield and buckler so nothing can overpower me. I will not run cowardly. If the gray clouds still follow me, I'll deploy my umbrella rain boots and a poncho it can continue to rain as long as the Lord keeps me dry...
Collaboration by:Elliott Bowe ThE DrUnKeN PoEt & Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Their is a God.In flesh we will not see his face.However we will see pieces of him in mother natures face. Natures aqua I indulge in, purity of his being and grace .I take a gander at shallow but deep water, and I nearly catch a glimpse of his face. A image we can not trace, looking into water searching for oddities timidly twinkling behind image of self, in mirror of water. Obfuscated by rays of sun complicating images reflected into water and image of water reflected in soul.None can be clearly perceived,that is mystery,that is the hidden God in all, you and me flower and tree, all covered by hazy mist to guard and separate ,what is and what is not to be know.For reasoning beyond comprehensions and perception.The hands of leaves graciously applaud and sings for a kingdom unknown or shown.A land that is inconceivable beyond feeble flesh and bone perhaps a place where every humans faith may or may not be etched in stone,but for certain we don't walk alone. The hands of leaves sings his song with grandiosity. Singing in code alongside hymns of enchanting species on earth. Songs we are told, but never told to be understood for our own good.If other wise we would all be doomed,for instance God blessed us with geniuses and we make weapons of mass destruction. Why should he unveil more mysteries and knowledge? To cause more malice and destruction? Animals and nature, chant songs of spiritual secrets, worldly an beyond secrets.This knowledge the forbidden fruit, only to suit the beings of another realm but still connecting us to it in ways the flesh can bear.If trees,birds and all of nature could talk human languages, mysteries would be no more. What happens when a bright light flashes in front your eyes? Don't you briefly lose sight? what happens when a loud horn blows in your ear doesn't it ring? The same concepts and effects applys with the high volumes and inconceivable power of our God and mysteries that follow. Imagine the the sounds, the sight and the feeling of the life beyond do you think the flesh can bear or withstand such insurmountable grandeur.The wind so much like God its never seen.The wind so much like God its effects are seen, but still remains invisible.The wind carry's breath death things of all volumes and that which feeble flesh cant perceive,I BELIEVE THE WIND IS GOD..... WHAT DO YOU THINK EINSTEIN.....
BY: Elliott Bowe
Your frequent absence made me question,
your existence and your importance.
I contemplated your possible ingredients to my growth.
I gazed at the stars at night, feeling the connection.
Hoping that you were watching, the same star lite sky.
Hoping you were seeing, the same images, that I was.
where ever you were.
You appeared.
Then disappeared.
Like the light of a blinking fire fly. I tried to grab that firefly,in the nature of a baffling night,but when I opened my palm, there was nothing in sight. I couldn't fathom your inconsistency of light.
I know you and my mom didn't agree on certain things. Thus you spewed words that you both regret now. Since you left, I became a ball with out air, under clouds that cried nails and chunks of glass.I pleaded with mystical nature, like freshly cut fingers of grass,pleading to hold sunlight of spring again.My vision obscure. Questioning your love and fatherhood all the more,and SURE that could change.
Like season, if you gave me a reason, for your absence and you did.I was walking to the supermarket.With my head down,hands in pocket,rotating change,to cheer mood, with ***** sounds, of rhythmic jingles.
A hand roughly touched my shoulder,following with the words hey son!!!
where you going?
With perplexity I stopped. I turned slightly startled. A giant with facial hair,and a smile and a look, that some how made me forget, he was gone all the while. I gave him a hug. He gave me a bike and said hop on and look straight. He pushed and I peddled.After awhile,I looked behind me, he no longer had his hands on me,I was ridding alone.
Good job son! Keep going straight!
I laughed and did exactly that.
I rode my way to a happier day.
He ran next to me smiling with watery eyes.
That explained every thing,
that needed to be explained.
Then I realized he was guiding me,
with the absence of his hands,but
remaining the presents of his fingerprints!!!
His prints left instructions.
I CAN RIDE!!!
HAPPY FATHERS DAY!!!
Sponsor:Destroyer ~ Poet
Contest Name:Any poem
Written by:Elliott Bowe
Needs have a limit.
Wants have none.
Written by: Elliott Bowe
The poets job
is to magnify
to unveil the veiled
describe the indescribable
and
Say what every one else is afraid to say...
I guess the liquor makes that a little bit easier ...
Written BY: Elliott Bowe