Ian Bowen

Ian Bowen Poems

121. A Need For Further Investigation 2/3/2010
122. A Sign Of The Times* 2/20/2010
123. Achieved 2/24/2010
124. ...And You 2/24/2010
125. ***varying Emotions*** 2/16/2010
126. ***shopping With An Angel*** 2/24/2010
127. ***poetic Suicide*** 2/24/2010
128. A Merry Widow 2/3/2010
129. A Third Helping Of Pork 2/2/2010
130. A Queen For The Day 2/7/2010
131. A Slave To Temptation* 2/17/2010
132. ***the Grasslands Of Tranquility*** 1/7/2010
133. ***i Remember Crying In My Sleep*** 2/16/2010
134. ***alternative Rhapsody For A Queen 2/17/2010
135. ***dying Of Time*** 12/29/2009
136. ***the Dream Watchers*** 2/5/2010
137. ***on Becoming Blind*** 1/6/2010
138. A Poem About Nothing 1/30/2010

Comments about Ian Bowen

  • '' Stiltskin '' Stiltskin (12/7/2014 10:15:00 AM)

    hmmm I've found him to a malicious lying little cunt, hey-ho

    7 person liked.
    4 person did not like.
  • Mimi Brown (9/11/2009 2:22:00 PM)

    It is the first thing I do in the morning. I log on Poemhunter and look for the nugget of joy, sorrow, nature, real life. Heart tugging moments, pure elation, a bird's eye view of the world. All seen though Ian's eyes. I think he is the best of us. He is an inspiration and a pretty cool muse! Thank you for all the comments and considerations, Ian. The bright spot in my day.

  • Stephen Stirk (9/10/2009 9:11:00 AM)

    I'm delighted to comment on Ians work here on Poem Hunter. He is the sort of poet I always single out as having a unique and entertaining perspective. Poems full of imagination and poems unrivalled in their diversity. A true 21st century poet who writes with an imaginative flair, unrivalled honesty, and charming imagery. I much admire your work and talent Ian, and I am in absolute awe of the quantity, consistency and quality of your output.
    Best Regards

  • Catrina Heart (5/12/2009 3:22:00 AM)

    A poet having a fantastic imagination.....clever and creative, a wordsmith of time! ! !

  • ~ Jon London ~ (4/28/2009 6:55:00 AM)

    Ian's works have tender, sometimes mind stiring, rib tickling, heart pulling lines packed with flowing imagery that every reader of the finest poetry will enjoy.

    All the very best Ian

    Jon london

  • T S (4/10/2009 3:44:00 AM)

    I am such a fan of your Poems Ian!
    Humerous, well written and charming...
    Alway a pleasure to read,

    best wishes

  • Sivan P.G Menon (7/14/2008 4:27:00 AM)


    global..divide is between the haves & the have..nots....
    ....we have to start believing this..

    an..IAN touch....



  • Sivan P.G Menon (7/13/2008 3:31:00 AM)


    .. logical flow of expressions.. a distinct poetic' charm

    traces of humanness...



  • Lynda Robson (1/25/2008 6:09:00 AM)

    I am a great fan of Ian's poetry. He has a way of expressing his thoughts, whatever the theme. I would recommend anyone taking a look at Ian's work, I'm sure they won't be disappointed.
    I echo Will's words.

  • Will Barber (4/10/2007 5:00:00 AM)

    Ian Bowen's poetry moves through concrete, particular images to the universal. Whether he writes of boyhood or of his mature years, a constant theme emerges - deeply felt experiences, expressed compactly in in vivid, utterly convincing detail.

    Pathos, humor, and sheer narrative skill distinguish his verses - deeply felt, and eloquently expressed.

Best Poem of Ian Bowen

A Poem About Nothing

I want to write a poem about 'nothing'
(not an easy thing to do) .
I want to describe the emptiness
that I've found since I lost you.
The crashing waves of ecstasy
will me missing from my verse.
There will no expletive adjectives
or headless-chicken curse.
The glorification of life's scenery
will be omitted from this page.
I will not mention the 'seven wonders'
or some ancient, historic age.

I will simpy be negative
and just scribble what comes out.
Leave you hopelessly pondering...

what this poem is all about

Read the full of A Poem About Nothing

***dying Of Time***

Now in my grey-haired heart,
Flows the blood of seasons past.

Those pastoral beats, that once surged
In a sea of windmill leaves.

My haygold, harvest days, warmed
My cockles; all splashed in sun.

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