Category Archives: Ciara Bowen

Friday Night Lights; By: Ciara Bowen

Friday night lights

Mean more to us than

Touchdowns and passes,

Cheers and pom-poms,

Hot dogs and nachos.

To us they’re a chance to shine,

To be the stars twinkling in the dark.

Sweat.

Tears.

Pain.

Preparation.

It all culminates on the field,

When we get just a few minutes to show the product of our labors.

Half-time is show-time beneath

Friday night lights.

What I Like and Don’t Like; By: Ciara Bowen

I like to write and photograph.

I like to listen, but not to talk.

I prefer nodding or smiling. I enjoy the company of friends and strangers alike when pushed together at journalism conventions. I like talking to teachers more than students. I like having mature conversations.

I like taking pictures of people

I don’t know and of abstract ideas.

I like walking through woods by myself, camera in hand.

I like hearing the pounding of hooves on dirt when I stand at the race track in the early morning.

I like seeing my articles published in newspapers, the words rippling like water under a gentle wind as the pages are moved.

I like knowing random facts, but not being too fancy or too tarnished.

I like editing articles, but not all the time.

Words and meanings being twisted-

I like that least of all.

Kings and Peasants; By: Ciara Bowen

When I stand at the rail

I can’t help but overhear

Conversations

Conversations about the next race,

Conversations about bets,

Conversations about past performances.

I look over and see a motley crew.

Young and old.

Plain and sophisticated.

Smart and yet dumb.

These people don’t see

What really goes on.

They don’t see “behind” the gate.

Only before it.

Instead of looking at the people

They only see the names they think matter.

They see the jockey who maneuvers,

The trainer who fine-tunes,

The owner who drops the money.

What of the stable-workers?

The grooms who brush, feed, clean?

The hot walkers who cool the horses out?

The exercise rider who gets thrown?

The agent who’s always on the phone?

These people, the ones I overhear,

Don’t care about everything

That goes on.

They only want to see

Colors flash by them as

Hooves pound

And dirt flies.

They don’t want to recognize

Everyone.

If the names aren’t at the

Top of the line.

If they aren’t Zenyatta or Secretariat,

Calvin Borel or Mike Smith,

Bob Borel or Steve Asmussen,

These people don’t care.

They call this the sport of kings.

But even kings recognize the peasants.

I’m From All This; By: Ciara Bowen

I am from books stacked so high they topple over, a sacred spot on my dresser for the Harry Potter series, pieces of hay clinging to hoodies and jeans, my photography framed in my room, artwork preserved in plastic page protectors, pencils and papers, cat toys scattered through every room, horses, and cowboy boots laying wherever they were pulled off.

I am from pine trees and the smell of their needles as the fall, old halters, lead ropes, and a mounting block, apple trees and rose bushes.

I am from nickers and neighs, neighbors who don’t speak much and neighbors who help catch horses when they break the fence, a pack of wild dogs who kill the cats in the area.

I am fro Memaw Kathi and Papa Dick in Tennessee, from Meme and Papa, Uncle Rob at the race track, Aunt Jennie and Aunt Kris. I am a Sis and a C.

I am from “Don’t let your grades drop,” “You are going to college,” “Clean your room,” “Put the book down, turn off the light, and go to sleep,” my sister arguing over who’s turn it is to have the bathroom first, “I want the front seat!”, and “I told you so.”

I am from turkey with stuffing, deviled eggs, green-bean casserole, lemon cake, red beans and rice, pecan pie, and sweet tea.

I am from the wood that makes up Moon’s stall, from memories that sometimes seem like a dream, from boxes hidden in my closet, and diaries disguised on my bookshelf.

I am; By: Ciara Bowen

I am calm and trustworthy

I wonder what a star would feel like

I hear the pounding of hooves on sand

I see horses made of waves

I want to write a book

I am calm and trustworthy

I pretend I attend Hogwarts

I feel like magic’s real

I touch the wind racing across the plains

I worry nature will be obliterated

I cry when characters die

I am calm and trustworthy

I rage when animals are abused

I know Heathcliff loved Catherine

I bring books for those who want them

I need something new to read

I take orders from the drum major

I am calm and trustworthy

I understand that Darcy loved Elizabeth

I say miracles do happen

I dream about being an author

I try to read two books a week

I hope people stop being so rude

I am calm and trustworthy

Abandoned; By: Ciara Bowen

Abandoned.

One simple word,

So  much meaning.

It haunts nightmares,

Lurking in the shadows

Like and ugly beast.

It is a predator,

The lion waiting for the lamb.

When people think about it

They quiver

Like a leaf in the wind.

Ultimate betrayal.

Quintessential denial.

Torture.

Piercing pain,

Such misery.

Undeserved.

Unexpected.

Denied.

Abandoned.