Ian Bowen Poems

There came a day
where those once important things
sat on the back shelf,
covered in the dust of lethargy.
...

The poet with a bus pass,
boarded the number 63
that left from the edge of the town.
Now he rushed red, scraping
...

How lucky you are,
smeared in a sickly talent.
Tell me!
I must know;
...

From here, high on my favourite hill,
I see the line of black cars
that crawl along,
lead by a rooftop of flowers.
...

On this hill
I now stand free
from the smell of hustle 'n' bustle
fume filled cities.
...

And for all the world
I would love to sit across from you.
See an evening candlelit flame
guttering with excitement
...

The village now sleeps
amid the shadows
of moonlight lit trees.
A feather from a night owl
...

It was one of those moments
when nothing moved.
Silence held its breath,
and any sign of a breeze
...

As night becomes an extinction of the sun,
The battle against tiredness, has now begun.
Black clouds the sleeper, tars the skies,
Forcing the closure of disobedient eyes.
...