The Poet… The Wordsmith … to all my friends and fellow “rhyme-masters”

The eloquence of words doth lure the pure of heart and cure the ills of spirit.
Beauty of verse transfers all times, all rhymes, all minds.
We write in light upon our psyche and share, if we dare.
A poet is a worthsmith, creating new lit with her/his gift.

Deborah A. Bowman

cropped-cropped-writing32.jpg

My Pledge to Myself and Others …

My little pledge of hope…

Angel
Angels dwell among us!

Everyday

In some small way

I will reach out and touch someone

On a hunch … just for fun …

A little or a bunch …

To write, to care, to share, to dare

To uplift, to shift, to drift into a storm

Offering my loving thoughts and feelings warm …

Most of all, to understand, lend a hand, take a stand

There is nothing we cannot weather

If we band together in love and reverence

With respect, time to reflect, direct reference

To the joys of living, the acts of giving …

HOPE!

–Deborah A. Bowman

Today …

Will there be a tomorrow?

Will there be happiness or sorrow?

What happens if we speculate,

Delegate, regulate, designate

Our feelings, dreams, and ideas for tomorrow

And there is no tomorrow?

Find your happiness, dreams, future in a different way.

Live, love, cherish TODAY!

–Deborah A. Bowman

 

 

Haunting Music, Paw Prints in Ivory

Tiny paw prints on ivory keys

And yet no one ever sees

The furry culprit in the dark of night

Reflective, gold eyes that need no light

To find the baby grand

The eyes enlarge, she has a plan

To pull the humans from their bed

“A little music will get me fed!”

Dancing tiny soft paws

Tapping in time, delicate claws

The clock strikes 3:00 a.m.

An eerie melody, a lyrical gem

Startles the couple awake

“What’s going on, for heaven’s sake?”

A woman’s voice utters in fear

They both emerge from their silent room

Expecting a harbinger of doom

The impish creature who serenades

Has jumped to the floor, a renegade

The light switch is flipped

Terrified fingers together gripped

Expecting a ghostly apparition

They sigh in relief, a chuckling transition

The man says, “Why do we allow?”

The wee thief in the night answers, “Meow!”

cat and piano
Molly the Cat

Dare to Capture the Elusive Soul? By Deborah A. Bowman

Standing stones of antiquity … prehistoric vintage

What hands fashioned this fantasy on earth?

What type of man with ancient lineage

Knew how to create the energy and give birth

To a masterpiece of rock and nature

To fill the minds of evolved men for all eternity?

He who ventured forth to find and nurture

The natural essence of relearning to see

The life of gods and goddesses

Who once lived upon this planet

Before time and reason vanquished hostesses

Of the otherworldly amongst the gamut…

Surrealism, wizardry, soothsayer

Magick, druidism, and worship…

Faith of water, sky, soil, and fire

By divine deities who flourished

Secreted in our world

No longer remembered or nourished

By nature’s abundance and song

Where have the elusive souls gone?

cropped-cropped-debs-stone-henge.jpg
Divined by ethereal giants, built by unknown creators

Write Every Day!

I’m trying to keep a promise

I think it will be harmless

To write something every day

To help someone on their way

To express what they feel

Penning words to describe what’s real

Hiding in the depths of our hearts

Words bring people together

Don’t let them tear us apart

Let words and feelings make us all better

Than we were at the start of each new day

Spreading gifts of creativity to everyone along our way

By Deborah A. Bowman

books and journals