Art + Poetry

All Poetry ©️ Bianca Bowers
All Art ©️and linked back to respective Owners
ART: Christian Schloe
by Bianca Bowers

My voyeurism is on repeat

but I hunger still

for voyage


I wish

I was the nearest star,

owned a bunk bed on the moon

but I am mere mortal;

leather journal bound by porcelain skin


Your voice is a prelude

to every ceremonial rain dance

And I collect that rain

to measure

how much love existed

between oceans.


I wish I could travel

like a bottled message

Or build a raft

and paddle to you every night


But this is not

the Night Garden

and I've used up all

my wishes.

ART: Christian Schloe
by Bianca Bowers 

Take me to the chamber

Where you kept your heart

After I broke it

Let me stitch and suture it

With words of regret

And lullabies that soothe

Let me press it to my cheek

like a kiss

Against the rhythm of my own beating heart

So that it knows I am sincere

Let me lead it into the light

To a garden abuzz

with the tiny wings of hummingbirds

And Filled with the scent of Esperance Roses

Let me explain

that it was not my heart that betrayed yours

but the skeleton of circumstance.

Art: Beth Spencer
by Bianca Bowers

My duplicitous reflection is rarely what it seems

A ribbon away from flight

A thorn away from descent


I dream of becoming 


Touching that parallel fate 

Amputating the hunter with blood between its teeth


but instead 

I am bound to another fate, 

a feeble wretch of mediocrity


And I yearn to admit

I cannot breathe with these lungs anymore

cannot be expected to swallow more water 

But to beg like a hungry vagrant 

Would be suicide 

And We have already died together- 

cannot die again 

With you, at least,

But I will die, if we continue to ignore 

the alchemy of silver 


Perhaps I should beg 

Release your prisoner 

Let me go 

Let that be the only destiny

we choose to chase 

Art: Christian Schloe

by Bianca Bowers


The midnight flower waits 

to bloom


When the night exhales blue thoughts

When mother moon crowns the cathedral 

When the stars turn into gargoyles 




At the edge of a gothic forest 

The seductress wakes

Rising above the scent of mist 

Her Jasmine veil and downcast lashes

Flutter like a breeze with wings 


She travels between trees

In the shape of a mystery 

Until she reaches the lake

Hovers like a halo

Before she dives deep

beneath the murk of the living 

Where she tends to the flower 


of her Byzantine heart

Art: Katerina Plotnikova

by Bianca Bowers


An owl stirs behind my eyelids

It knows something I don't


I trace its velvet feathers

with curious fingers

feel the tiny muscles in its wings 



It rises behind me

Like an exclamation 

Opens its wings to full span 

And for a moment, I am a 

winged angel;


One flight away from heaven 

One stairway away from hell


I feel the hook of its beak 

nudge my spine

The orange glow of its eyes


inside my own retina 


We fuse


Flight is possible. 

Art: Mihai Christe

by Bianca Bowers


Relinquish me 

or swallow me whole 

Leave nothing left unsaid 


Relinquish me

Give me last rites 

Throw me from the bridge 

Or split a vial of poison 

Just go already 


You're a liar 

A lair 

Love is so unfamiliar now

It was fabricated, forced, fixed

from the start

I was the succubus to your incubus 

and now we are simply demons 

without name or cause 


I would leave you my shadow

If I had one

But we are not that complex 


Art: Amandine von Ray

by Bianca Bowers


I will read to you

til the stars kiss your lids

til the sandman comes


because I will never leave

could never leave

after you broke your ribs 

bleached your twilight soul

for me



the star that always shone

though you didn't notice

until your personal apocalypse 


And now we are kites


floating above helium and solar 

into stardust and magic


And the sky does not exist

nor the ocean

we have transcended mortal fears


We have escaped the mazes

of our beautiful brains 

who, while misguided,

were only trying to hold the broken pieces

like glue

for far too long. 

Art: Christian Schloe

by Bianca Bowers


On moon days

I am not myself

A hollowed out planet; susceptible to storms 



Space, deconstructed


A Melancholic moon for a heart

An absent sun for thoughts

Alone, yet filled with the doubts of a stranger

Flooded with the emotions of an alien

Sinking deeper, while swimming at full throttle 

Oh why, mother moon, are these days so dark?