Wednesday …

Midweek for those who seek

A time to catch their breath.

Maybe a day to stop and smell the flowers?

A day to reach into your inner depths

To find a way to reach towers

In the skies and heartfelt spiritualism.

We must take a moment to ritualize

Our feelings of destiny and oneness

With all things of the earth and heaven above.

We must grasp onto all that we love…

Blessed greetings to all God’s souls

On a Wednesday, as it unfolds.

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Photo by Digital Buggu 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

 

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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Fickle Inspiration

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Fantasy Inspiration

I see the trinkets that surround me

But do I really see?

These are so precious to me

They inspire and capture my creativity

But not today

I have no words to say

But those that get in the way

My inspiration does not shine

In silence I seek the divine

And all will be well in time

My Annie doll will speak her mind

And tell me of her trip from Ireland

When she came alone to Ellis Island

The castle will sing its tune, the dancer spinning

And a new story will be beginning

To weave its way into my soul

The faerie pixie will rise and flow

Through ancient dreams and glowing scenes

Dancing on the sun’s rays, amidst the colors of the rainbow

The Kindle will light with fire: reds and yellows; golds and blues

I’ll slip on my glasses so I can see true

The beautiful forests and haunted hills

I’ll experience thrills and wills and chills

As a new world comes alive inside my brain

Some of you may think me insane

As the keyboard beckons and calls my name

Not all the words have gone up in flames

I just had to write them to know their game

Of hide and seek, catch me if you can, find me if you dare

The words will scatter unless you show them you care.

NOW THE STORY LOST IN TIME…

HAS RETURNED TO SPARKLE AND SHINE!

Deborah A. Bowman

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Where Did I Go Wrong?

photo of a pathway in a forest
Shadowed path in sunlight

Okay, life is tough

Complicated, complex, rough

It’s supposed to be

How can we see

Where we lost our way

Unless we find out where we went wrong?

Here’s to finding life’s path; be strong!

Deborah A. Bowman

 

 

 

Winter Wonderland…

Snow nestled in silent hills

Silence in the frozen chill

Awake to the dawn of a wonderland

Beneath a sky painted by nature’s hand

Your whispered breath on the window pane

Mist of tears in your eyes gain

Momentum, then fall in heaves and sighs

You want to share the heightened emotion

But all that you see is your  own devotion

He would have loved the snow

For he had no where to go

Now he dwells at heaven’s door

Asking nothing, feeling the cold no more

Deborah A. Bowman

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