The poetry goes on… We will never die…

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The power of the quill never dies

We worry the quill will dry out

The inkpot break or crumble to dust

We fidget, grumble, fear, shout!

But hush, hush; don’t rush…

Stand still, inhale the rich, warm fumes

That fill the air and allow words to bloom

Do not panic too soon

The poetry will sigh

We will never die.

Deborah A. Bowman

Borrowed Time…

You hear these two words quite often

Are they meant to soften

The inevitable?

The unpredictable?

The eventually?

The harsh reality?

So many questions and no answers to be found

So we ponder and wonder…

Maybe we’re not living on “borrowed time”

Maybe we’re meant to be!

Destined to see…

Blessed to spend our lives

In the beauty of strength and drive

To become more than just “killing time”

Deborah A. Bowman

 

 

 

 

 

Remembering…

    You dare for a moment to hope that you see
    The hint of a glimmer at the end of a tunnel
    Then, quick as a shimmer of lightning can be
    A memory surfaces and funnels
    Into your happy place
    You look in the mirror at your own face
    It is  troubled, sad, distraught
    No matter how hard you’ve fought
    To get beyond this hurdle
    Your beliefs sacred and fertile
    You feel you should be beyond this
    But you’re lost once again in a phantom’s wish
    Remembering…
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hoto by Jennifer Murray on Pexels.com

Beauty in nature

We find ourselves lost and alone sometimes

We don’t know how to cope

But that which combines

Beauty and hope

Can calm and heal the mind

Strength lies in the beauty of nature

We are never alone when we allow God to nurture

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Bowmanauthor’s 4th of July Poem … Strike Up the Band!

 

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The JOHN HANCOCK is signed

We can easily find

The names quilled in ink

But does it make you think?

Our country needs everyone

To take a deep breath, exhale

And set out on a new trail

Listen to the wind blowing through parched minds

As it clears away the boundaries and lines

We are all citizens of the United States of America

We are all one, whole, connected, searching for Utopia

There may not be Utopia, but there isn’t Dystopia

We can rearrange; we can change or stay the same

It’s all up to you

To do what you believe to be true

Every heart, every soul, every red-blooded American girl or boy

Reach out your hand; take a stand; embrace each other with love and joy

I am alone this 4th of July

But if I cry

They will be tears of redemption

That will fill my emptiness

United We Stand

Strike Up the Band!

 

poem by Deborah A. Bowman