Everyday Moments

 
"Becoming A Poet"  
  
 I’m not sure just when it started  
But I knew this would be the best part.  
A feeling, being down hearted,  
Was about to be rendered as art.  
   
I don’t know where it had come from,  
If it slid down a chimney one day.  
Did it march in, beating a drum,  
Were there children outside fit to play.  
   
I’m not sure how it created  
The inspiration deep within me.  
I felt the muse had related,  
And was ready to set my soul free.  
   
I don’t know just why it turned on,  
If it wasn’t from pushing a plug.  
I wonder, how long this goes on?  
So much better than taking a drug.  
   
   
 
   
NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019

Broken beings
Blown astray
Bouquets of petals in the breeze

Beautiful fragments
Bewildered souls
Bleeding heavily with the winds breath

Stripped hearts
Scorned lives
Searching for their place of slumber

Suffocating sorrow
Sacred secrets
Scattered for the world to see

Born serene
Becoming scarred
Blinded, souly for the purpose of fulfilling the worlds dark desires

when i sit down to write

metaphor personified
dreamer of
lexical delights
chaser of dialectal insights
apprehender of the wonderment
of assonance and consonance
nuding the blissful wildfires
of insomniac desires
evoking wordwinds
that open the eyes
of the blind
as the sighs
of the mind
kindle on paper
rhymes that sweat
out of vapour
a tyranny of words
beyond absurd
distiller of quaternal
intuitions
whose quintessential
visions
burn with the
fire of insight
day and night
to woo a wandering world
into love’s philological fold:
 
that’s the blaze that i become
when i sit down to write

© Copyright 2019 May 02
by Clyve A. Bowen♫

Desert Fathers were nomadic            
earthy predecessors, reverently              
observing Life's cyclic order              
             
Unobtrusive pilgrims on their path            
discerning May's brightest headline
as flowers' exuberantly colored skin
heralding new beginnings:            
             
streams, rivers, lakes;            
growing creations              
by cold, melty things              
when our world is [quite] mud-. luscious            
             
Brighter still was midnight            
sans Luna, withdrawn            
into her ritualized session            
             
Stars shrewdly punctured pupils            
searching for meaning in absence              
behind dainty flicks of distance            
             
You see?  We poets eschew daily news
to pen what matters most instead:        
common, every day moments               
~

Iridescent spheres floating in springtime air
Childish giggles, sweet coos of innocence  
All worlds cease breathing, the angels watch  
their young charge delight in dancing  
 
Dish-soap bubbles in the air.    
Bluebell eyes widen with wonder  
golden ringlets flying in rhythm    
pattering of itty-bitty feet    

“Mama, I catch bubbles!”    
Sweet babyish voice crows in triumph  
radiant, confident in accomplishment  

Impermanent ethereal sphere  
Carefully cradled in tiny little hands

 
Black cord from floor to table locks into my portable lifeline.
A lifeline I reserve for only the most difficult lulls in my mind,
like how to find my way home or how to call my other.
The phone sits naked faced and padded on its backside
calling out quietly, Search for me, search on me.
It’s the bigger naked face that wins me over
with it’s heart and soul closed inside a black creaky clamshell
When the shell is opened, words in waiting, pictures filed away,
videos paused and wanting validation.

Jumping up and down, my attention parts from coffee
to windows to musical notes and my lady friend.
With so much clutter and clatter that obstructs my thoughts,
Please, Alexa, please, be silenced.
I’d rather the rum of the morning roadway.
I’m done, its enough, stop already,
Put away your violence and bravado.

Welcome sunlight and chilly breeze,
a day off was never more forgotten.
Dressed in my work clothes,
the day is mine alone.
How quickly I forgot my freedom
slipped back into the Monday Gind,
and now my grind is in a second cup of coffee.
My grind is finding my phone and thinking,
It is my only brain to record the passing season of Spring.
Why do I sit on this day of liberation and postpone
the snapping of beauty and sound that awaits me.

So alone I am, in my new town,
removed from all who know me,
distant and difficult to all but a few.
New friend, return, engage me,
inspire me to partake in the gift you left me,
for fear of neighbors and onlookers
and wafts of air that travel to the nostrils of snitches
This day of freedom is wasting away,
and the tapping of these keys is not agreeing with my insult.
The keys tap and spaces and void are filled and yet never complete.
Don’t go, stay here, keep thinking -
Outside your mind will be stuck
in green and pink, in awe and nothing more.

When the kettles clicks the press awaits.
Up again in hopes of returning to finish my quips.
Sweet, glorious day of April’s End -
you mock me from the shaded window,
you beckon me in warm, radiant, glowing
sunlight on my bed, Return, return, return.

Press the plunger, pour the poison.
Will this cup ever be full enough?
Burn my tongue, brush my teeth
and forgive to to forget by remembering the moment,
All is was and will be, soon on my camera for all to see.

Just as my phone remains untouched,
so too do the cars wait impatiently
wondering why they have been abandoned like alley cats.
Both with glowing eyes that sleep more than they prowl.
Cars cry out, What are you waiting for?
The streets await you, the fields are growing old.
A love affair between my car and my phone,
conjoined with an umbilical cord of potentiality.
Never forget the charger, the security, the connection,
Enough plastic clamshell, farewell,
the larger dimension of me is waiting.

 04/2019

It has no language barrier to overcome  
For it is the same in any toungue  
Comes as spontanious applause
Moves us to remember when we played
The dance of innocence
Just how short the second
Seeped over the day and fell
like pollen on the wind  
From the belly and infecting  
Bring a smile for the days of muddy paws
To splash the puddle in our best shoes
And when your friends were your best toys
chilhood of boys and girls
Skeleton of funny bones
 Tickled with a feather
A confection for us all to treasure  
Came and went had no intent

I see lips moving,
But no sound.
Thoughts going around and around
Filling my head.
I didn’t hear a word she said.
 
I’m so distracted.
A lot on my mind.
I can’t separate the voice in my head
From hers;
Not enough time.
 
Finally she pauses.
All eyes on me.
All eyes on who?
She silently waits.
As polite as can be
I say “Could you repeat that again?”

You’re still looking fine as ever
He assures me without a single lingering thought
No intention other than to tell the truth
While I am feeling insecure and twice the size I am
The guy across my desk makes doubt melt like thin ice in the morning sun

I love what you've done with your hair
I tell the lady in the shop I see every other day
No reason other than to let her know
While she helps customers with a halfhearted smile
The woman buying her cigarettes makes her face light up like the afternoon sky