Bob Bowers Poems

She asks me, in The Swan,
Whether I have figured out what beauty is for
Whether I have changed my life,
This Mary Oliver,
...

As I look through the frosted panes
Of my study,
Out at the leaves,
Now more brown than gold,
...

In a fair, still spot
Beneath our apple orchard tree,
For it was but one,
The rest long gone to yards
...

It is spring.
Daffodils erupt from snow-clouded earth,
Their yellow brightness brighter
Than the warming orb of sun
...

It was his eyes
That told me of death.
Though I did not know it
At the time
...

How sweet it is
Listening to my wife
Talking on the phone with
Our daughter
...

I look out the windows of this
Victorian victory of a house,
A battle won over builder,
Plumber, seabed soil, saltwater well.
...

Submarines sank
before his eyes
Disappeared into
murky depths
...

John reached out with hands
No longer hot with youth,
Touched the ones who had no heat at all,
Touched those youths now buried there
...

They must seek you out
Here among these cobblestones and stairs
Along these ancient streets
Wandering down to grey piers
...