Frank Ian Bowen

Listen to that waterfall. It ripples along that old stone wall.
A sound that can spell bind all those who hear.
It’s a noise that will never be associated with fear
That rippling sound conjures up mental views
...

As hips are bent with backs so low
The world sees builders’ bums on show
There’s lots of them both large and small
Belonging to builders short and tall
...

When Guinevere was locked in cell
She sounded off a MEGA-YELL!
‘Save me, save me’ she cried so hard.
The king is cruel, he’s marked my card.
...

I gazed in awe at this beauty in wood,
in the soft morning light she suited my mood,
mellow in colour, soft browns and golds,
and I wondered what stories about her are told.
...

Ranks of cloud clothe hilltop’s crown,
as the hot African sun slips slowly down,
with reds, orange and purple tints.
Who knows what tomorrow hints?
...

Here lies my Tigger, now safe and sound,
His poor broken body beneath this ground,
Hit by a vehicle it seems as he roamed
Found on the footpath trying to get home
...

How does a father tell his son he loves him? That he’s number one?
How does son see father now, when all that’s been could well be done?
How do these two fellas mark the special things that each has felt?
How will life turn out to be? Have all the cards been dealt?
...

Combustion is a complex matter
Usually stopped by using water
There’s fuel and heat to mix right in
Add oxygen, completes the thing
...

I stood on a warm wooden boat deck today,
soaking up sun, my mind trying to say
what emotions and feelings were stirred up inside,
at the thoughts that I’d thought, and the breath that I’d sighed.
...

I look up from my writing and see such a sight
bathed in warm sunshine, this African light.
The hills in the distance are blue, purple, grey,
their summits draw graph lines ‘gainst light of day.
...

You lie quite still in morning light,
bathed so softly, eyes closed tight.
Your hair cascades ‘cross soft white sheets.
I see your neck; your slow pulse beats.
...

There she lies in the cool winter sun,
a sculpture in sand, uniquely just one.
Her name is ‘Marina’, she has golden hair
that flows out behind in spectacular flare.
...

You woke with a tear that rolled down your cheek,
As I opened my eyes, I just caught a peek
of you trying to cover it, not wanting to show
your sadness at parting. I know; I know.
...

Large wet drops lose clouds firm grasp
and fall on hills to which plants do clasp.
The drops sink in, they’re gone so fast,
Without the rain no plant would last.
...

I sat on the sand, as the sun went down,
I listened to the sea, white foam as her gown
My mind was in neutral, my gaze far away,
as I listened to the sound of the sea today
...

Human spirit’s a strange thing to see
It lives deep within both you and in me
You can’t go and buy one from a shop or a store
Yet its often displayed and when seen you want more
...

The cloud is low, it’s colour grey
The start of yet another day
My mood is low in tune with this
The news I have like winter’s kiss.
...

As dawn breaks into consciousness, my hand stretched out to touch
your soft, warm form ‘cross pillows strewn. It’s sometimes just too much
for me to only gaze upon. My love swells up, my arms reach out to gather you to me
I gently stroke your sleep away, from dreams that set you free.
...

I stay outside in sun and rain,
my thick black coat is on again
it’s sometimes heavy but has no weight -
look, get up will you, I cannot wait,
...

Why is it this quite small chap
can out-perform a well sprung trap?
His legs are tiny, yet hinged just right
to give him extra-ordinary height
...