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Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet Poem
Sharing is friendship.
Moon and sun are best of friends.
They take turns to shine.
Copyright © Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet | Year Posted 2012
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Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet Poem
Stand tall even when the stars fall
In every dream there is a lock the key berried
in reality keep digging keep digging don't '
stop keep climbing keep climbing to the top
and hope you never drop.
If you do don't you ever stop.
If the ticking makes you nervous throw away the clock.
If the shoes don't fit throw away the socks
happiness is a shoe compromise to make it fit
when you MAKE IT FIT enjoy every bit of it.
Some say life is good some say life is shit!
I say you get what you make out of it .
Weather the storm.
Stay calm.
Wipe the sweat off of your palms.
Patiently defuse your bombs and
hope to find bliss in futures arms.
Shaking.
Breaking.
Bare the undertaking.
There is a new day in the making.
Drunken pen.
Drunken poet.
How drunk can I be?
When life influenced sober men to be more drunk than me.
Though my pen drunk it vomits the sober things in me.
Breath even when there's no air
look for the good in the bad the glad in the
sad make them question why your not mad
many things come many things go many things are
dim but many things glow appreciate what you have
and go with the flow.
Copyright © Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet | Year Posted 2012
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Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet Poem
Before my soul reach's the sky.
On earth, i would climb beyond to the peak of success.
Reaching beyond the reach of my physical stretch.
Before my soul reaches the sky,victory will win the look of my face and place in my hand the torch of accomplishment.The streets i walked on will memorize my foot steps in gold.
Warm memories, left in the time of cold.
Before my soul reaches the sky,my desires and dreams fulfilled will unleash from a ruby chess,beams of contentment.
Tokens of joy left behind to be spent in memories.
In the golden places of their heart they will remember me.
Before my soul reaches the sky,i will solve the mysteries of life,but after all one mystery unsolved.
That i will solve when my soul reaches the sky.
Copyright © Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet | Year Posted 2012
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Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet Poem
Angel of mourning soup
Angel of mourning
Who gives birth to fresh morning dew who
helped me pursue who showed me the light
when I was lost for clues in times of blues
Angel of assistance
From were did you fall
From heaven?
From where did you fall
From where did you
hear my call
I wanted to say thank you
that's all
that's all
You are the fairest of
them all and you don't
need to ask the damn
mirror on the wall.
You helped me build the ladder of saul but the others
couldn't help because they couldn't speak our language
at all and so if I ever fall I know you will be there to
pick me up like a pen like a friend I wish I can give
you the sun but I am young enough to be your son
so I give to you the stars of friendship ,I can feel your
breeze its it make me want to fall to my knees and never
cease to rain my gratification on your being because what
I have been seeing is a lending hand when many ran I
guess that's what separates a rock from a grain of sand
size of heart so were should I start.
Let me fill your shopping cart with the immensity
of this poem so when you get to the cash register
of heavens doorway you can show em your appreciated
hearts receipt you have given more than I can take
you have dotted my I's and crossed my t's you are the
rain to my tree the beautiful shells in my sea the form
of my key the correction and assistance of me the blue jay
at dawn singing to me the heat to my tea the caps for my
knee you are the back up stinger of this bee so tell me
honey what you see because I see the better half of me
may our friendship never cease catie please you are the
cat and I am the flea don't you ever scratch me because
friends tolerate the most annoying things of each other so
let the itch be any way I don't think the vet's can separate
you and me there's just to much chemistry.
Angel of assistance
From were did you fall
From heaven?
From where did you fall
from where did you
hear my call
I wanted to say thank you
that's all
that's all
You are the fairest
of them all and you
don't need to ask the
damn mirror on the wall.
I will take the poison apple out
of your hand and take the fall
You are the fairest
of them all and you
don't need to ask the
damn mirror on the wall.
Copyright © Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet | Year Posted 2012
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Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet Poem
FrUm thE NUMB TuM Of A BuM RuM sPiL
L
L
S
hE sAyZ RUnUuM kILLZ the LIvEr
BUut LoVe KiLLZ mY HeARt
IvE CoNcluded ThAt thEIR Both
the ReasONZ I bEcAmE A BuM
FrUm ThE sTART
FrUm thE NUMB TuM Of A BuM RuM sPiL
L
L
S
(BuRp) CaNt wAit tO BEEE rICh aGAIN
AnD NoOo mAtteR hOW BiG hEr aSs is
I woOonT gEt mRried toO a GolD DIGGin
HarLeT AgAin NoO nOT AGaiN mY fRienD
bEcominG 1 WiHT ThE EsSeNce oF HuMbLe
POveRty IZ tHe The BesT wAy To EvaDe tHe
DeViLs traps WiZe & HuMble Are ThOse WHo
SeTtle foR whAt YOu wOuld CaaaLL ScrAPs &
KNowinG ONe DAy JESUS WILL COME B
A
C
A M R A - - - - - K
AnD WhEn He DoeS MY ONLY SIN wILL bE ConsumptioN Of rUM
sO yOU CAN LAuGH At at ummmmmmm
oh yea laugh at us DruKeN BuMMMMmms
BuT iN HeaveN We wIll HaVe morE ThAn a CrumB and A bottlE of rUm
AND wHeN tHe LoRD DenieS YOU at the gate please dont Ask how COME
Because he wiLl say yOU were
SelfisH,GREEDY,And called the
BuMS STInkyy and DuMMMMMM
And pluS aLL You gave Him WaS a CRUMMMM!!!
I SWEar you RicH Folks Are DuMMMMMMMMM!!!!
FrUm thE NUMB TuM Of A BuM RuM sPiL
L
L
S
with
T
R
U
T
H
Copyright © Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet | Year Posted 2012
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Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet Poem
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
Copyright © Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet | Year Posted 2012
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Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet Poem
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
Copyright © Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet | Year Posted 2013
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Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet Poem
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....
Copyright © Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet | Year Posted 2012
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Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet Poem
We forget lessons learnt in moments of bliss.
Our minds wiped clean with a passionate kiss.
To attain something called love we take a risk.
You indulged in lust and lost your focus.
I fell into a trap with out even knowing.
I accepted dark glazed with
light ,tempted by the glowing.
Lust never helped my
heart and its growing.
The juices of your genital was
the only thing flowing.
You see lust and love are to different things.
Lust unfurls the condoms ring.
Love unfurls a wedding ring.
I want more than lust.
I needed your love loyalty and trust.
Thus that's were the fuss started with us...
You wanted my flesh,I wanted your soul.
I guess that's why two different stories were told
Copyright © Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet | Year Posted 2012
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Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet Poem
I have dropped my pains on pages of poems,
the ink in my pen treasures my groans,the
quill is my sword, with edges sharp enough
to sculpt the perfect picture, the quill is the
only thing you got when those devils try to
get ya, the only warmth when those men or
women forget ya, I bet ya a million bucks
and yes it sucks, but poetry is more than
just writing, its healing, remedy of feeling,
dealing with the worst of you, quenched the
thirst of you, a doctor or a nurse to you,
sometimes you get delusions and think it
gave birth to you, as it pours on its immensity
of worth on you, that's what enchanting words
will do.
One day I gave poe to a dying tree
now it has grown it looks fine to me, boy oh
boy the tree said to me, if it wasn't for your
poe in tree another day I wouldn't have seen,
but now I have STRONG roots running below
city's a million feet strong and a billion feet
long and I can stand to bear the blues jay on
my branches, with songs all day long, I wrote his
song it went like this poe in tree poe in tree gave
ETERNAL bliss to thee, oh by the way, I am
the tree saved by poe in tree poetry poetry
Copyright © Elliott Bowe The Drunken Poet | Year Posted 2012
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