Best Cowl Poems
Death, I'm told I should be scared of you,
you should be one of my greatest fears.
For you come for all, not just a few,
followed by abject anguish and tears.
Your presence is portrayed as a crime,
in your sinister cowl, grave and stark.
For history's maligned you through time;
a reaper of life, shrouded in dark.
But I find no malice in your deed,
you're as essential to life as birth.
Wisdom is born of logic and need,
and I've come to understand your worth.
We wear mortal bodies as a suit,
tailored to fit ego and belief.
But our souls are in constant pursuit
of release; our mortal time is brief.
You provide closure; life has to end,
opening doors for souls to walk through.
And I've learned to view you as a friend,
for life has no purpose without you.
A solo pilot, lost in snow,
in a jagged mountain pass.
His eyes are trained upon each tree,
and the shape of each crevasse…
In an open-cockpit time machine,
the winter wind does howl,
but a mighty fire’s burning bright,
inside the engine cowl.
The fog and flurry blinding him,
he searches for a trail,
running late, and miles behind,
he’s employed to fly the mail.
He looks for clues to lead him back,
like ancient, sunken wagon tracks.
A mumbled cuss, then shouts out loud,
he’s heard that mountains hide in clouds…
Now’s the time to pay the toll,
for conversations with his soul.
One way in, and one way out,
it’s true that mountains hide in clouds.
Copyright © 2013
When I was young, I wanted to run away to the circus. Then one day I realized the circus was life! Are we not the clown, the strongman, the freak, the daredevil? Is there not personal sorrow and the desperate search for pleasure? The flying trapeze man and woman are in love, and every performance, they risk the breaking of their heart. When one almost falls to their death, the audience cries out, and then claps even louder! The freak show is hidden in the back, though its location is well known to local politicians. Then to play the games on the midway, with its crooked carnies, rigged set ups, and worldly women. The city is 'the big top', its chaotic gyrations and jaded excitements, all part of the show. The grandstands are filled with 'television head' people, buzzing with excitement. See the eye of the tiger, hear the trumpet of that greatest of beasts, cowl at the jungle kings exclamation! Later that night, a young boy lying in bed, wonders if it was just a dream. Then, far off in the distance, a whispering growl was heard!
“And the stars falling cold,
And the smell of hay in the snow, and the far owl
Warning among the folds, and the frozen hold
Flocked with the sheep white smoke of the farm house cowl
In the river wended vales where the tale was told”
-Dylan Thomas: “A Winter’s Tale”
***
There where clouds meet road,
Where they kiss their impossible love.
That exact spot where rainbows
Embrace grass, where stars swim,
And sun drowns?
There we shall meet, we will jump,
We will kiss, we will feel our arms
Holding each other.
And we will be happy.
***
April 7, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Death's cowl shadows the soul's release
while rising to meet its maker,
and all mortal ties to Life cease.
Birth is counterbalanced by Death,
for we must experience both
Life's first breath, and Death's final breath.
Grief wears a veil of mournful tears
worn to soften reality:
woven out of sadness and fears.
Death cannot exist without Birth,
and Life can't evolve without Death:
both fuel diversity on Earth.
Death's a natural progression:
Life can never be forever,
and souls accept this concession.
Distilled from belief, tears of faith
shed in memory of the dead:
celebrate the soul's salvation.
Cows bellow, low, heads between rails
such large deep sad eyes, such full bags.
For whom do they await, no one home
to let them out, share out their milk.
Not long ago I saw you wandering off with him
his hand caressing your neck, gripping your arm
holding you stiff, obedient to his will
and you were bound to follow, no sound
escaped your lips, and me, why am I watching
for the scene to play out? Don’t we all know
don’t we all grieve, for the coming of that day
when cowl slips down, the bellow, low aches.
You won’t come home, will you my dear.
I guess I paid the right price for a job well done
Your cheating heart won’t bestir us to wait
Never more. This farm is sold outright.
The car and the driver were stock
and trying to outrun the clock.
They had Cowl Induction,
erectile disfunction,
a rod that departed the block.
Lacy tablecloths
Sweet music
Red ornamental vestments
Gold tapers flickering
Red bound book
A sip of wine
White cowl on red
Bowed heads, folded hands
Ruby wine sipped from chalice
Folded white linen napkin
Genuflecting nodding heads
In pious agreement
Brown robbed friars faces
Cynosure of white ribbed
Black cassocks
Little circle of bread
Piously put on tongues
Again and again
Row upon row to receive
Gold richly decorated tabernacle
The body and blood of our Savior
Needs to be kept
Under lock and key.
Silent words and invisible smiles now,
Rule the tiny world under your dark cowl,
Teach its people to fear you, it's success!
Drain all the pus from this horrid abscess!
The heart is a weak fool, pay it no mind,
It cannot rescue you while in a bind,
Obey, listen and don't incite any waves,
You'll only rise to power when you're slaves.
Accept things as they are and move on, boys
Blind your eyes and be drunk on my bright toys
Be loyal in exchange for pasty pearls,
Who are you to change this nightmarish world?
This is the only way to build a nation,
You cannot win against my tradition.
Snapping and cracking and whipping we sail.
Sneaking and creaking and sinking t' hell.
Black flies our banner, black as our souls,
Black as a storm dashing ships on the shoals!
Fear us and flee us, yea, run if ye can.
Or face us and fight us down t' the last man.
Black flies our banner, blacker than coal,
Black as death's cowl, we'll swallow ye whole!
Blasting and bursting and bombing we fire.
Bleeding and weeping and wailing yer dire.
Black flies our banner, and Roger so jolly
Shall be fer yer tombstone, a mark o' yer folly!
Yea, we own the water, the wind and the waves.
These oceans t' ye shall be watery graves.
Black flies our banner, black as our souls,
We are the storm dashing ships on the shoals!
A Chinese girl I took to a nunnery
I
I led her
Her silent leg-irons cutting into my shins
That day when the air stood still
Dry as the day perhaps on the hill
when he spoke standing still
Drier still my words today
of a redundant ransom of flesh:
I’ll take you to the stopping place
Where the quiet cowled nuns make lace
They run a school for well-bred girls
In a cloistered fenced-in arbour
There where you’d have no need for curls
She turned just then seven and ten
Me barely two more when
She said in a breathless moan:
Take me to the French Convent
Here my road has come to an end
I want to learn
I want to gain
As much knowledge as my brain
Will strive to contain
I had no choice
I had no voice
In a Chinese school which stopped midways
She was the best of forty times five
Where I was hoarse from English and Science
She sat so close in the front row
She must have felt my breath at home
Her cowlick hand stretched crooked
Brushed my thoughts down my mane
Something about her dragging gait
Spoke of late hours as a kitchen mate
Or as the matron of squabbling squawking siblings
When the mother scrubbed and ironed
the landlord’s lingerie and loins
A saddened face she kept awake
All through the hours at stake
II
It took me days and days of doubting pains
To ring at last the nunnery bell
And to stare aghast at a pallid face
Not quite white and not quite couched in cowl
To register my request
The novice drew and barred the door
As though I would break down the wall
And as the minutes raced in anguish by
And I heard the rusted pig-iron latch click open
Two forbidding eyes contemplated my plight
Under strictly starched and stretched folds a-sail:
“Is she Catho…” she made to ask
Then as urgently withdrew her demand.
“Bring her tomorrow at eight,” she let her words
escape.
“Ring the bell at the gate.”
I never saw the demure girl again.
Her schoolmates thought she worked for the nuns.
Others: “ She took some vows!”
A sibling: “ She took no clothes for a change!”
Just before her silhouette effaced itself
Under the porch of creepers dense
She turned to give me a look:
Was it a look of despair
Or a well-thought-out
farewell fair?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Before me is the majestic snow owl
Wing span so large it covers my whole side
He surely keeps his mighty cloak and cowl
Before me is the majestic snow owl
He’s the greatest of the birds, best of fowl
Owl hoots showing that he has his own pride
Before me is the majestic snow owl
Wing span so large it covers my whole side
Russell Sivey
Those words that cut so deep,
Flayed my skin left me bare,
Still echo round when I sleep
Even though you not there
I keep bleeding I keep weeping
I'm wounded to deep to care
These scars I am keeping
To remind me you not there
Changed forever by the terrible poison,
That I took from this laceration,
Settled in my bones in my reason,
Beyond redemtion and renovation
Fallen beyond my hurts and injury
My anger rules my heart
It rages eternal, permanetly free
Love no longer a part
A black and broken thing i've become
Free falling away from light
Forgetting the heart love came from
In the dark out of sight
Resigned as I am to my dark fate
I curl up and around my agony lie
Lay quietly down I start to wait
For the cowl and sythe to let me die
But my dark friend finds me not
No matter how long i wait upon the floor
I must find him before i rot
Even if i journey ever more
Fairwells are made to those that care
Careful to hide my last destination
Few will note that i'm not there
So i set off without a reservation
I travel now to meet my friend
With cowl of night and boney stare
I'll welcome his embrace come the end
But i'm glad i will know no one there
I hope to see such pastures green
Sunsets red and seas so blue
All the sites the can be seen
Do all the things i can do
For before this trip i can complete
Before i reach my family home
I will find the friend that i seek
I will fade away all alone.
The Day I Saw Batman
By Elton Camp
When I was walking along in Gotham City
The sight I saw seemed to be such a pity
There stood Batman checking his cell phone
With no Robin about, he was quite alone
Batman’s appearance I certainly did hate
For he had gained a whole lot of weight
The Joker and the Penguin had little to fear
Even if Batman should manage to come near
The arch criminals could simply run away
Lagging far behind poor Batman would stay
The cowl, his millionaire identity concealed
To Bruce Wayne, too much food had appealed
The sight made me doubt that the police chief
Would ask his help in catching a villain or thief
I watched as Batman climbed into his car
Prius, not the Batmobile, would go slow but far
Somehow, it seemed to me to be such a shame
Batman had lost almost everything but his name
(To see a photograph of Batman standing on the sidewalk, go to
http://www.scribd.com/doc/79248325/The-Day-I-Saw-Batman )
In my youth's frolic at King Lear and Pi
all my days were a Shakespearean tale.
Not algebra, not prose did edify
yet test and limits we pass lest we fail.
To learn and open closed minds to ideas
but I learnt before a fall comes a pride
with a conspiracy one alone bears
yet co-conspirators had much to hide.
For each lame alibi concealed misdeed,
each mad ruse and jape blotted my ledger
but we all do a true life lesson heed
when worn is a cowl or crown to measure.
Comic is the court and jester in school
but better a wise king than a wise fool.
Written: May 1992