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Ian Bowen

Listen to it now
Hear the increase of heartbeat
Frantic tympani

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Now love advances
Moving to much higher plains
Trust in honesty

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The very last lone leaf
Gives way, spiraling downwards
Winter now waits white

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Over the many years
Your smile gladdened my heart
Your tears...there were none

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With Best Intentions

In a lonely alley
of a small town,
he had greeted
the woman in the woolen hat.

She thought rape,
and never answered.
He walked on
feeling insecure
and dirty.

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My Last Dream

If you look,
you still can
find empty
Summer meadows….

where paths
and roads
are made
of grass….

there, early
Rabbits run
wild through
pink eyed
flowers….

and the Sun
sprinkles mornings
with dew-
dripping showers.

[...] Read more

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Girls in Wet Boots

Girls in wet boots,
paddled, holding jam jars
and fishing nets,
their long skirts tucked
into thick, cotton knickers.
They tossed the ribbons of plaits,
laughed like the tinkling
of this slow-flowing, silver stream.

Under a July blaze of a sun,
in our high, tin camp;
supported on branches of beech,
we boys watched, prodded
and whispered to each other
of secret love letters.
Devotees of newly formed breasts,
the sap rose in our safe tree…

as Summer fused memories.

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Did I Just Step on a Bluebell?

Once, it seemed like I’d walk forever
on those thick, plush carpets
that kept dark the cracked,
stained concrete floors
of financial
greed and gain,
always aware of the politics
of world affairs, within the
bump and grind of commerce.

But today I walk
retired and free
through nature’s tranquil
woods and fields;
a more orderly path
that hushes the tension
of a once madcap past.

I now tread on unknown flowers
with a misplaced wisdom:

[...] Read more

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