Best Rowley Poems

THE MAD SECRETARY

Hunched over the computer, I am  mystical,
With mental white gloves and a karate belt - 
A daylight cursor, but on my bicycle,
A...

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WOMAN WRITER

If interviewed on the subject of the sonnet
What man has brought me endless cups of tea?
They’ll say I’ve got a Queen Bee in my...

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THE TEMPLE PROSTITUTE

The God came  to me in the guise of a stranger
His gold body scent was of great sublimity 
His arms were marble...

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DEMETER AT THE CHINESE OPERA


So, I invited you to the Chinese Opera impulsively
Thinking of masks and dragons and triumphant mystery
I though it was time we...

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FOR MARY MAGDALENE

Between necessity and freedom I was crucified
Perceiving Himself endlessly on the cross
Yet aware, as an onlooker, petrified
My vision that never was, would be...

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THE TOKEN POETRY EDITOR

Sexless, unloved, this poem tycoon
Reads the heart’s treasures as the brain's boon,
And riven with erudition, explores the spaces
Where uninvited couplets kill the...

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JADE
by Rosemarie Rowley

	
I knew you fainthearted what side you were on
When you talked of social reality: not Jesus at the well
With the Samaritan woman, or...

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BROKEN FLOWERS
i.m. Ann, my sister 1947 – 1997)

Heads of fine purple strewn across cement
And yellowness heaped up in an airless room –
Travesties to which your...

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ALMOST AN APOLOGY

Sometimes he enchants me with his word
The sea of phrases laps around my feet
His vision hones on truth just as a bird
Seeks its...

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I have my good days and my bad days
Eros has trimmed his brows somewhat
Setting off to some far distant land in a haze
Trailing over the...

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Europe was frozen in a tide of hate
The genius Jew was being persecuted
Bound to the intransigence of fate
His violin played the tunes they executed
Now it...

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MUST   I  CALL YOU.....AGAIN?

Must I call you again, onlooker at my hurt,
Talking by the window, an inscape of wrecked
Solitude,  impugned bad...

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DEMI-MONDAINE


You belong in silhouette to the dream’s theft
And weft with paid desire, look all adoring
At the man who’s made your life bereft
Of actual household dreams,...

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LUST IS AS ILL-CONSIDERED A WEED
  AS EVER STOLE SCENT


Rejected in the main as superstition -
A gadfly, I’m alone upon the weed:
A hot cinquefoil...

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NO  TEA  PARTY

The lid is rising on the kettle’s song,
Likewise my energy wastes itself in air,
Don’t call me when the tea’s made, I’ll...

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