Here you can read some of the poems I have written over the years.
I use imagery as a poetic device in most of my poems and I don't often use rhyme as I find it restricts how easily I can write.
All poems Copyright © Luke Cowie 2020.

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The Lake of Gold
January 2017
By Luke Cowie

I see two birds flying in the distance
Above a lake of gold
The sun sets, casting an orange glow to the sky
The night awakens.

As twilight emerges, the crickets chirp
Frogs all around the lake burst into song.
Howler monkeys in the treetops boom out their call,
And stingrays splash about at the waters edge.

All this comes and goes on the golden lake
And when the two birds return,
The season of plenty begins again.

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A Heavenly Dream
December 2017 or thereabouts
By Luke Cowie

Plumes of colour flowing wildly in the winds...
Diamonds shimmer, falling endlessly...
Light shatters, new colours arise,
Atmosphere of total peace,
Path to divine revealed,
Meeting with clouds,
Becoming space,

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In Tuscany
June 2018
By Luke Cowie

In Tuscany,
The hills speak many stories.

In Tuscany,
A single piece of straw
Mysteries untold.

In Tuscany,
Simplicity is carved into the landscape,
The crickets call out in grand unison and the evenings are hazy,
The tall tree shadows stretch out over the horizon.

In Tuscany,
A man is sipping an afternoon coffee.
The table in front of him holds only a newspaper
And a glass of water.
He is alone.

Something about the cool breeze
Stirring up the pine scent from the nearby street
Calls him,
Begs for him to wander
But he is waiting
For someone, for something.

In Tuscany,
Cobblestones and archways
Grand spires and balconies
All tell stories of their own.
And the people that wander
Amongst alleyways and cathedrals
Know a kind of magic long forgotten.

In Tuscany,
Down by the cafe,
The man, once alone, is joined by a cat.
They walk away into the sunset,
Their secrets, just like those of the streetgoers,
Shrowded, concealed in sweet anonymity.
Towards the fields,
Towards freedom.

In Tuscany,
Down by the wheat stacks,
A house can be seen on the hill.
The man and the cat make their way
Up the gravel road
The cat meows with joy,
Chasing small butterflies along the path.
Tall pine trees in unison,
Leading up to the stability and warmth of the home.

In Tuscany,
The sun disappears behind flowing hills.
The man and the cat return
Through the door and into the living room
Safe in their warm home, they both return to the large couch.
The cat purrs while the man learns Italian.
On the front windowsill,
The man sees a note stuck under a flowerpot.
He goes over to the window, pulls it up and reads the letter...
It says, "Your cat is cute ;)"

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More poems to come later!

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