Short Bourn Poems

My trip towards mortality

Started from the day I was born

The length of my journey unknown 

But I'm certain to reach my bourn!









©  Demetrios Trifiatis
       20 May 2021...

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Creative Thinker 
David J Walker

Before it was
	It was a thought
That had depth 
And meaning 

In life and breath of
It’s given dimensions 
         Taken form 
the firmament of the
Flora and fauna and conform

To life from a single cell 
      In the soiled sweat 
Of a thought that would 

Be bourn through its
Creative thinker...

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My curvy bouncy young mum bump
Of  unjoy pump by punk guy jump 
You wormy crony cuckoo cyborg of my numb womb grow
My ovum mock your wrong grown coup
Go mourn by of onyx orgy you grow 

From  crummy  mob of  gory cum you bourn
No cub run cry mummy for you my young unborn
No young curvy bouncy puppy boy by norm
Upon gun my coy gown for fun won 
Now burn or bury my crow cow born...

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Talent’s a gift
Like unto a seed
To be nurtured nourished and  tended
If left as a weed 
It will yet fill its need
To spread itself as it’s intended
A burstable  burden  bourn to be used
Like a chisel or trowel or a pen
To sculptor painter maestro or muse
Guiding a man in his action reaction
His quest of  perfection
A pointed direction 
Creative reflections 
Unfurled...

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Listen to poem:

Where Thought is Bourn and Grown
By David J Walker

There was nothing 
to believe in
Except an idea

An idea born of one thought 
	And two words
And the words began to mate
And four was made to eight

Which multiplied 
Into millions
Turning into matter 
And the batter made of thought

Split and scattered into a
Universal clone

Soaring 

Somewhere
On its own

Where thought is bourn 
And grown...

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Listen to poem:

heated Breath   
David J Walker 

In the beginning 
	I knew nothing  
The end will be the same

Bourn of a single drop of water 
	heated by the breath of God
Odd the
mix of mire 

Refined in fire
And I am Adam lying in the grass
missing a rib

A woman named Eve mentions
Honeymoon options in Mexico

The next I know
The boys are arguing… again

Who is in charge of this scene 
It can’t be the snake…....

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To my terra of roots
my allegiance I vow
I wallow in your fruits
and to your flag I bow.

Dream not till wake of dawn
beaming sun light I wait
burst of glee of no bourn
the feels of the soul, sate.

Awe chills into my spine
as your Hymn in pride sung
for Home in peace I pine
and love never be swung.

How could my pen, you turn
in a fine rhyming word
as my quill longs to learn
inking with grace and verve....

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At Otter Lake, whilst welkin starry clear,
A ghostly wail bruits eerily despair,
And eyes appear alit like embers near,
At Otter Lake.

Avaunt, the trappers pray, bedim thy glare;
In sooth, thy mourning grieves a bygone year,
From earthly bourn, ascend to angels care.

Arose a zephyr, thick as bloodied air,
And shrieking withered every soul with fear,
To where a man durst lay his footsteps there,
At Otter Lake....

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