Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger

Mighty

Looking up down upside loud

Real stop like pop rock aim

Leak bend tangle making undo

Ameliorate rift seeping mid

Ralf rewind accurate tipsy tube

Feet flounder value kite mike

Rouse laugh morbid angel peek

Lewd prevent stupid moves stew

Pee-yew dude mark Mack tackle

Type hike might lite pipe stipe

Veer mere mirror zebra bath tick

Rickety spite wack allow mighty

Playing the Fool

Trying to keep my mouth shut

As fools parade around me.

Are they stupid, or

Am I just too proud?

Could it be the log in my own eye

That has to go first,

Before I take the speck

Out of my brother or sister’s?

Perhaps, it is just me,

With blocked and swollen vision,

Struggling to make my way

Through this fallen world,

Seeing ghosts and goblins

Where there are none.

Yes, I am in need of healing,

Perhaps more than any.

I will think twice

Before playing the fool.

My Love (A Sonnet)

My love is like a budding rose.

She’s such a pretty little thing.

I like to look down at her toes.

Or gaze upon her goofy grin.

We’re quite a team together, see.

We always have a lovely time.

I’ll tell you, confidentially.

Sometimes she helps me make a rhyme.

If I could do it all again,

I would not choose another one.

She is my lover and my friend.

A special kind of true woman.

It is as plain to me as that.

To her, I have to tip my hat.

A Sorry Excuse for a Sonnet

I want to write a song.

I don’t know what to say.

I hope it’s not too long.

I’m getting tired so today.

What would you like to hear?

Should it be something that rhymes?

Or should it be about my dear?

We don’t have interesting lives.

I might try hard to tell a story.

I might fail miserably, though.

Perhaps I’ll tell of fame and glory.

That just would be a lie, I know.

I’m not exciting as some men.

I rest my case, so say amen.

Gone Too Soon

Connecting the dots

Is hard sometimes

With those who are

No longer with us.

What would he have said

At that special time?

How would he have felt

When that happened?

I would like to ask him

For his advice.

I would like to hear him

Say something funny.

I wish he could have been

With me in the hard times.

I wish I could have been

With him in his.

I would have liked to say

How much he meant to me.

I wish I could have told him,

“Please, don’t go.”

If only things were different,

Tragedy didn’t happen,

Those who are gone too soon

Would know how special they are.

My wishes don’t change

Reality, I’m afraid,

But maybe he can hear me

Calling his name.

The Adventure of Love

We never know

What will come next.

There are so many opportunities

To extend the love

We have for each other.

Sometimes, it is easy.

Those are the happy times,

What most call, the good times.

But, there are other times,

That are even better.

It is those times,

When it takes work,

Lots of work.

When it is not comfortable.

When we have to stretch ourselves.

When we mess up.

We have to forgive each other,

For the ways we fall short.

And none of it depends on

What either of us do.

It is a God-given blessing.

The heart and the mind

Working together,

In a beautiful dance.

Sometimes, we don’t feel it,

And, then, the mind has to step in

And say, didn’t you? Don’t you?

Isn’t it worth it, in the end?

It takes discipline,

And without the dedication,

Loyalty and commitment,

It would never happen,

And the heart provides the fuel.

The heart says, it’s worth it.

Keep going.

You’ll be glad you did.

Spreading It Around

I’m full this morning.

Full of it, maybe.

Writing, spewing, covering it all.

Over the rest, the best, the real.

Challenging, channeling, choosing

The right or the left,

It doesn’t really matter right now.

Can you choose, do you?

What is real for you?

Is there a truth, that means

Something to you?

What is truth? What is you?

My truth comes naturally,

Sometimes artificially,

Sometimes broken into

Little tiny pieces,

Like water, flowing through

My greedy hands.

Sometimes, I cannot grab it.

Sometimes, I cannot hold it,

I cannot keep it for myself.

I can only watch it, briefly,

As it falls from the sky,

Like so much rain,

Running down my face and body,

As I stand outside,

Without an umbrella.

Sometimes, it is like snow.

I catch it in my hand for a moment,

And, just as soon as I notice

What it looks like,

The beauty, the miracle of it,

It melts into my hand.

So, try to capture it,

But it will elude you.

Comment away,

Till you and your captive audience

Are nauseous from it.

Spread it around,

Like so much manure

On a garden, in desperate hope

That it will blossom.

After all, that’s what we do.

What brought you here?

Wrong. No, right. No, with it.

No, on it. Around it. Being here.

Realms of wrongness.

Rude awakenings. Rowdy

Happenings. Toothy grins.

Kickstarts of caffeine,

Overflowing.

Mopey comments.

Encouraging tangents.

Taking liberties with

Types of helmets.

Tweeny boppers.

Type 2 diabetes.

Rythmic dancers.

Happy hands-on.

Creating melodies.

Captured moments.

A passing fancy.

A pulsing deep inside.

Quicksilver dynamite.

What brought you here?

American Sniper

A hero.
But is this someone
To inspire us, really?
Is this what we want our children
To dream of being,
When they grow up?
Someone who kills people
For a living?
Yes, he saved many lives,
And that is admirable, in itself,
But does that mean
We should glorify it?
Should we all read the book
And watch the movie?
Is it that important?
Obviously, to the military,
He was a very good man.
But is killing
Something to admire?
He was very skilled.
He helped others.
He killed more people
Than anyone before.
Something seems wrong
With that picture.
Perhaps,
There is nothing wrong
With the man.
It is we who are in the wrong.
The man did
What he was supposed to do.
Now, what are we supposed to do?
That is the question.