"bowles" poems
Maveric Prowles
Had Rumbling Bowles
That thundered in the night.
It shook the bedrooms all around
And gave the folks a fright.
The doctor called;
He was appalled
When through his stethoscope
He heard the sound of a baying hound,
And the acrid smell of smoke.
Was there a cure?
'The higher the fewer'
The learned doctor said,
Then turned poor Maveric inside out
And stood him on his head.
'Just as I though
You've been and caught
An Asiatic flu -
You musn't go near dogs I fear
Unless they come near you.'
Poor Maveric cried.
He went cross-eyed,
His legs went green and blue.
The doctor hit him with a club
And charged him one and two.
And so my friend
This is the end,
A warning to the few:
Stay clear of doctors to the end
Or they'll get rid of you.
3.2k
We are Americans, confident and condescending, never pretending. Pretentious with a fictitious flare. Apologize? Cauterize our past
We will always be and forever last.
Past the hatred that spewed from our bowles. ******* and ***** disliked but grow. A show of force divorce from the norm.
A new norm. A storm from the top to dismember the bottom. Mathematic and Systematic relief of liberty. Care from elite, delete, delete.
Depopulated with information. Education dedication a lie.
Down the rabbit hole of darker days. We stay,
Unblinded by the pictures they wave.
A flag.
The towers.
the showers of bullets
turrets from afar.
A star.
This is America
We are Americans.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
Rooting Home
She crumbled, exhausted.
Lost to unresponsive paralysis.
Movement limited to deep gasps of breath,
Soul spinning the universe.
She knows not where; a struggle to root.
"For, if I continue, I'll surely die."
On her back, for how long? How hard?
Thoughts replaced by feeling.
His breath. The back of her neck, he slides inside;
Rooting his soul, her's returns home. "This is hard."
"Very hard! Faster, Baby!! Fire, Passion, Love. Bring me home!!!"
-Shane Bowles.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
I've thought of you
In many ways;
Many complexities
On many days.
I've contemplated your meaning
To my life and the world.
To the universe and beyond,
Through flatiron and curls.
Through tumbling and leaping
Through broken leg and pain.
Through cold winter months
Through sunshine with rain,
Where you opened my eyes
Like the first time you opened yours,
To see what's beyond
Rainbows and other worlds.
You made me cry when you entered THIS world
I've often had tears
Of pain for your suffering
And your glorious new peers.
I think of you often
Over all these tough days
Of life on the planet
Where most is in haze.
Where struggles bring us light
To see far beyond
The sensory input
Such meaningless glum.
You now are much grown
You've gain more than I.
You're far more than I dreamed;
I sit here with sigh
Of relief that you're here
That you've grown to this soul.
With comfort to see
You'll learn more than I'll ever know.
That you'll make your mark
Not judged my a man,
But by whom you are within,
Your soul, your biggest fan.
Stay true to that spirit
Connected to all
Know your worth,
Realize your call.
You've nothing to prove
You are whom you are
And in 1997,
Your mom and I literally made a new star.
You ARE our universe, Carly Grace Bowles.
Happy Birthday! I so much love you.
Yes. I know I'm early. Lol
Muah!!!!
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
Stirred in Chaos--The Scattered Beauty I Still Love
You're a very mixed up beautiful soul;
Stirred to chaos, looking to grow.
Afraid of the light, and darkness, too;
Unsure that you're worth the "I love you's".
But there's something there; I wanna know.
'Cause I feel your soul will make me grow;
To know myself, through knowing you.
Where we are one; never, again, blue;
But Angels complete with love of two.
--Shane Bowles
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
A glance. Then another.
Where a thousand smiles,
and laughter, hiding, finally found light;
Though lips moved no more than eyes.
Caught. Captured. Drawn in.
Like inescapable black hole gravity,
Taking us to an unknown realm;
The start of a glorious adventure;
A destiny we've always known.
In late nights, where questions became our partner;
Where longing had become our friend;
Where songs of Mississippi blues origins,
Teased; mocked, our souls;
Laughter, passion, shared thought,
Replaced them with answers.
We found memories that have yet to happen;
Comfort, yet to exist.
Tenderness, following seizured passions,
Burned audacious passions within our chests.
Fallacious reasoning? Imprudent coordinates plotted?
Not from the pilot's seat;
Mind; heart; spirit; guided the inevitable course of your soul's smiling gaze.
Now we are lost again;
Unsure of which path to take;
Questions as our company; longings as our friends.
Is it unfair to wonder? To wish? To dream?
Is that only torture? The life unseen?
The passions, only distractions from past and present obligations?
Were we stealing away what wasn't ours?
Or are the choices of the past, stealing away from us?
I know I can't answer those questions,
Sitting with my old friend, the blues, strumming;
haunting twangs in darkness; without laughter; without passion;
with your thoughts frozen and alone.
I think; I feel, I know. Yet your late night friends are a part.
They murmur quietly, indiscernibly; as if unstudied answers on a test.
Ones you feel you know; but frightened too much for rest.
It all could have been just one more life quiz;
To redirect our life's journey; asking what we shall miss.
If that be the purpose; no regrets will have claws.
I'll cherish the connection;
I'll remember the glance;
The smile of your soul has sparked in me, again;
A passion for a chance I'd hidden as if not wanted for fear of loss.
And though it might seem crazy, as weirdness abounds my being;
I DO feel loss. I DO miss memories unseen; swaying dances unrealized.
Yet, the silliness of pain is tolerable. I'll sleep again someday;
And dreams awakened, once lost, will guide our way (s?).
--Shane Bowles
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
They say there are three ways people can escape their woes
Sleep,
Drugs,
And death
I've tried 2 out of those 3 things so far
And so far,
I'm tired of my bed
And my supply of green has turned red.
You see, my problems are a lot like my addictions,
Just a bunch of smoke and ash
Cause I can't get up off my ***
This poem is for the boy Who packs his happiness into bowles with no milk
And measures good times in grams (not. golden)
Nothing feels as good as purple
And redheads are only cute when they come off of trees.
Can't you see
I'm mentally ******* ill!!!!
But you know what they say
That sticky icky can sure cure the sickly.
Quite quickly
As a matter of fact
If you don't mind I please ask,
Have you ever smoked marijuana before?
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
He covertly rubs his hands,
wiping an "A" from his mouth
sprinkles his ankles
with ashes of "summer's days".
He licks his blue lips,
parting to speak:
Not empty but "full", he howls
and, rolling the empty bowles-
with loads "of sound"-
to the edge of the table:
"And fury" he cries- shrill and brief
- Crash!
the little green ****** the *******
that word-loving thief!
He slides down the wooden leg,
silently now, scurrying back.
Head low, mouth sealed,
yielding
the field
to the writers.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 7:25 PM UTC
Books in Barnes;
A Noble night.
One of laughter,
Not of fright.
We walked and read
With coffee, hot.
As I watched your head
Bow to words so smart.
We waited an hour;
Then a bit more.
For you to see
My one fine *****
I'm joking of course.
She's really quite grand.
As you are to stars
And I to any man.
And that little bundle
Of energy and words
That never stops,
As if were birds.
Oh, the *** food with salad
Dead fish without tan.
Talking about the stars
As if ocean sand.
So immensely vast
Just as our souls
You read your lyrics
As we shared our Bowles.
You told of life
And the struggles thrown
At each of us
And how it's known
To rock us roughly
Then settles to peace
As we know more each day
And walk with more ease.
To find another
As we found they
Across a parking lot
Waving "hey".
But not your first meeting.
I'm not talking about Jim and Nick's;
But beyond what we see
In stones, leaves, and sticks.
We are out of this world
And in the center of it.
Lives crossing through others
Bit by bit.
So you know them well
You just missed their smiles
And the giggles unlimited
While we spun our tires.
We've danced before,
But not like this.
We've hugged like bears
With ethereal kiss.
Across the miles
Through water and fire;
Through earth and wind
By slave and friar.
By king and jest,
Princess and queen.
Through beast and fowl
We each have seen
Each other before
In glancing ways
And finally spent one of my dreams
At night, after one fine day.
And I'm thankful to all
That we met up that night.
That we shared our shared being
Through touch, sound, sniffing and sight.
And to the cosmos
I'll say this quite loud
I love you three the mostest post toastest. Ha!
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
Camilla owes her crown to Diana.
If Diana had been a traditional royal Spouse
She’d have turned a blind eye to Charles’s betrayal
And just enjoyed the perks of Queenhood.
But - alas - she loved that perfidious son-of-a-monarch
And couldn’t abide being only his *******
Had not she stormed away from that Sovereign Throne
Madam Parker Bowles would have had to remain
The grasping and greedy, outstandingly common
***** that she was and will ever remain.
And Charles could have then joined in the very long line
Filled with unfaithful Kings and their cheated-on queens.
LJM
May 6, 2023
May 6, 2023 at 12:57 PM UTC