Thomas P Owens Sr

Thomas P Owens Sr 2d

the saddest part of dying
is what you forgot to do
the ideas born in lucid dreams
that vanished in the hue
the mountains never seen
the oceans never crossed
the poems written on scraps of paper
a lover's smile now lost
the tears you held inside
the chances never taken
the landscape of your life
an oasis now forsaken

#old #older #reflections #undone

Thomas P Owens Sr Apr 3

Soliloquy echoes in a Western sky

the town had just come into view
as the western sky turned a brilliant blue
he pulled up alongside a prickly pear
lit up a stogie and rested his mare

how long will this beauty last
he'd wonder
the calm was hushed by distant thunder
no time to doddle
as the blue went gray
it's rollin' in fast
best be on our way

the echoes roll in the western sky
farmer's plea answered
by the Lord on high
let's pray for peace and the end of change
Our Heaven on earth
this open range

the title came to me in a dream

#vision #peace #beauty #nature

Thomas P Owens Sr Mar 23

Hollow Man (repost)

I searched the face of the hollow man
as I drove the dagger through his empty heart
drained by love given
but not replaced
he cried to me
conceiving his defeat
to shield his soul from the pangs of living
the blood of fleeing life
and the tears of anguish
fell in drops
to the time-worn floor of the dismal room

a light breeze eased the curtain aside
a blinking hotel sign
revealed a dead man
lying beneath a mirror
smeared with blood
dried to the image of a stretched palm
many hours later

I posted this in 2018, but I wrote it in 1974...and read it in front of the Creative Writing class. I got very strange looks afterwards. I was a very quiet teenager and this was unexpected I'm sure. The faces when I was done reading in that classroom are etched in my memory

#depression #suicide

Thomas P Owens Sr Mar 15

I notice them (revised)

the slight movement of a Santa doll
in the corner of my eye
flickering light as I begin to doze
then a whisper or a sigh

a kitchen ceiling bulb cover
seven years without a peep
decides to loosen and shatter
as I lay fast asleep

heard the voice of a young man....Arthur
when I botched the last name at his stone
'my name is not Stickler, it's Strickler!'
he said in a mild mannered tone

He spoke a second time one year later
during a recording session in my den
clearly said my name...'Thomas'
as he flew left to right
and back again

I notice them when they visit
there-in lay the key
they notice when I notice them
the grateful dead
and me

true

#spirits #ghosts #friends #real

Thomas P Owens Sr Mar 8

a poet's dream

the poet made his way through
the fog of memory
trying to find refuge in a phrase
that hides from him each day
each waking hour
and now
he has found it in his dreams
it reveals hazy clues
in glimpses of his past
life unfolding through back room windows
familiar faces that he met briefly
or perhaps just shared a smile
it lives within us all
and begs for our attention
the past is the sum of what we are
keep it close
allow it space
and your dreams will write the poem for you

this one wrote itself

#dreams #past

Thomas P Owens Sr Feb 27

the day has come

this is the day I begin to feel old
the back is always sore
the knees are shot
the shoulder aches
my real teeth are down to four

a bout with cancer has taken its toll
but they caught it early so I shouldn't moan
what little strength that had remained
has left with my testosterone

my feet and toes are turning numb
my eyes are fading fast
it takes an act of congress now
to exercise my wrinkled ***

my memory now is headed south
it wasn't good to start
the only things I do more often
is eat, sleep and ****

but I'll be 70 come July
I really shouldn't *****
I've seen and done some crazy things
and I've yet to lose that itch!

getting old

#older #meaner #gripier #age

Thomas P Owens Sr Feb 19

Dark Strokes

sometime in the early 60's
when I was still that near-empty canvas
about to be painted
the dark strokes began
the old man with the long grey hair
***** beard and tattered clothes
digging through the trash outside the Smithsonian during a first grade field trip
we all stared...no words spoken
no explanation from our teacher
that is my first vivid memory of the dark strokes
the second was an incident in Dallas, Texas
this was black paint in very bold lines
that never seemed to dry
smaller dark strokes were interspersed with bright colors as well
for this is the painting of life
learning we were poor
that my father worked two or three jobs to feed the eight of us
over the many years
such a good man
a quiet genius set out to provide at age thirteen when his father passed of TB
it was all he did...work
but he was a brilliant man
if not accessible...a poet as well
which I discovered after his death
his colors
his painting was very dark
save for one bright stroke of light that drew the eye first
the crowning achievement of his lifetime
my Mother
who added so much light against the darkness in all our paintings
an Angel on earth
the balance that provided hope
moved us along
matched every dark stroke life threw our way
gave us all reason to view our paintings upon completion
with the joy of knowing that we would soon be with the artists
once again

life is a painting

#life #memories #family #hereafter #human