Ian Bowen Poems

From a pretty lace bed,
in the chamber
of a cosy widow, where old ornaments
dusted to death by the feathers of ostrich,
...

The poem
under the magnetic penguin
on the fridge door
will explain everything
...

Bathed in tepid water,
powder puffed in clouds of special talc:
this little lady is then pigtailed
with coloured ribbons
...

A lemon dropp of a moon,
spread light over river and meadow,
and lit a few whisps of clouds
that floated aacross its surface.
...

Anger, done up its laces
and kicked out with iron boots.

Hate, sat on the fence,
...

Pride positioned itself
at the front of his chest;
where ribs were pushed out
to twice their normal size.
...

The richest man in my town,
supplies and fits
the boards
that protects the glass
...

The pale pink blooms
of busy, spring avenues,
glow in a warm light.
Tables and chairs spill
...

When a copper eyeballed me
outside ‘Boots’ in Croydon
at 1.00 am, he
was actually doing me a favour,
...

I remember how my mother
placed her cupped hands
over the mouths
of my sister and I.
...