Tuesday…

Some think that Tuesday is an uneventful day,

But the day is what you make it!

Save some interactive times, come what may,

In which to remember and organize your to-do list.

The week is set up; you’re back in the groove;

You can make things happen; you’re on the move!

Business is growing; ideas are flowing;

Your unique confidence and capability is showing.

Let the world see your true self … on Tuesday!

by Deborah A. Bowman

group hand fist bump
Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

Monday…

A serene rain drips from the sky

Washing the world clean in silent tears,

A soft beauty under full gray clouds.

Workers will dodge through sodden crowds

As the business week begins again…

Breathe in the crisp air.

Close the umbrella, if you dare.

Feel the chilled droplets of autumn

As rusty leaves slither to the ground.

by Deborah A. Bowman

a woman holding an umbrella up side down
Photo by Ali Pazani on Pexels.com

 

Sunday…

A rich day of sun and reflection

As early autumn sneaks into our lives.

The time of bountiful renewal is expected

As the orchards and harvest thrive,

Preparing for winter’s sleep.

But in saying goodbye to another season,

Do not linger in sorrow and weep.

All has come and gone for a reason

For tomorrow brings its own awe-inspiring scene.

In the bright colors of God’s paintbrush,

Sunday is perfect … silent, glowing, serene.

A whispered breath of glory; do not rush

Through a day of splendor!

by Deborah A. Bowman

red and orange autumn leaves on the ground and on trees beside body of water
Photo by Jake Colvin on Pexels.com

 

Saturday…

Is this our favorite day of the week?

As we seek reprieve and rest or for some

Is it lonely, deserted, unfriendly, bleak?

The day of parties, get-togethers can become

A day of emptiness, searching, hiding, no fun.

Opposites, depending on the circumstances

That life has served up this day.

Reach out in some small way

To brighten this day for someone ill or alone.

Happiness dwells in acts of kindness

As much as in the respite from toil.

Saturday can be a time of refinement

As well as a personal day of joy!

–Deborah A. Bowman

adult aged baby care
Photo by icon0.com on Pexels.com

The Hunting Owl…

Creature of the night

Caught in flight

Hunting among  redwood trees

No one knows what those eyes see

In the faint moonlight in the breeze

Long, sharp talons extended

Reaching for small prey, life-ending

The balance of the hunted and Hunter

All must live and die in shrieks of thunder

Large flapping wings overhead

Filling small hearts with fear and dread

Nestled under the earth or scattered leaves

The tiny family grieves

As the owl takes to the skies

In the dark of night, eyes that hypnotize

In the glow of the moon, caught in flight

The owl with his nocturnal sight

Painting and Poem by Deborah A. Bowman

Apocalypse fallen on the earth

What if? Will the flowers bloom again after the Apocalypse? A small piece of descriptive, deep imagery. We humans need to heed the warnings and save our earth. My two cents … bowmanauthor/bowmaneditor.

Check out the incredible writings by William Johnson, https://storiesoffantasy.com

Stories of ecstasy

The world was cracking apart, and breaking into two. It felt as if lighting came dashing over this world, and a shining light filled our eye site. The human kind were born to make this world better not to cause destruction. Ashes all round the place, the fire blazing and the screams of the people echoing back every time i take a step forward. The people deeply buried under the buildings and the fire is taking over us to handle this Earth better. But nobody knows what may happen to this world. What will happen after the humans are wiped out from this earth. What? Something humongous just raised out from the land like it is the almighty god and has always been there for us. The flowers blossomed again, the trees cherished. Beauty was rising from the ashes.

Photo by Stefan Stefancik on Pexels.com

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The Humanity of Words

A computer will never take the place of a human wordsmith/editor. Robots and artificial intelligence cannot duplicate the true emotion that lives in the connotative nuances of words. Only the heart and soul can breathe life into black-and-white ink splotches on a crumbled page which will become art, drama, perception, persuasion, and pre-cognition. It is our history, our current timeline, and our future. The human brain and Universal mind produces words that sing, inform, rejoice, or weep; sometimes, most often heard in the silent pauses between descriptive utterances of voice and breath.

Hence, the philosophy of one lone humble poet and writer, “bowmanauthor/bowmaneditor”.

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