Ian Bowen

Poet On A Bus - Poem by Ian Bowen

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

From the top deck,
through the front window
he drank in the view;
his inspiration.

Scribbled phrases
rested on his shaky lap;
later to be honed
and positioned
by the moving
fingers of experience.

The tractor
in a distant field
would become
a black charger
the marsh meadows.

Burning stumps
of summer corn
the breath
of some internecine dragon.

Lines of waving trees,
soldiers awaiting
the bugle call to charge

Fluffy clouds
would roll
like the smoke of battle.

He would see the ghosts
of the defeated, marching
amid the mist of streams.

His return ticket,
lay in his pocket...

like a second poem.

Comments about Poet On A Bus by Ian Bowen

  • (2/6/2010 8:11:00 AM)

    a rarity sometimes for me - it made me laugh! (Report) Reply

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  • Sadiqullah Khan (2/2/2010 6:48:00 AM)

    10 and goes to my fav list. thanks (Report) Reply

  • Sadiqullah Khan (2/2/2010 6:45:00 AM)

    This is witty, and very true. There is not much of a difference between a lunatic, a poet and a lover, said Shakespeare, they create world which has no relevance to the real. Since your poet here has done that, I strongly resisit the temptation of buying a ticket and be out in a bus on my poetic voyage, (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Poem Edited: Monday, February 8, 2010

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