Thomas P Owens Sr

Oct 2016

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Heavy chested I breathe
as the moon whitewashes the night.

The season is changing
and in the wind is the vapor of hyacinth
in the thick of which
the glowworms drink the nectar of night.

They have no philosophy and I have many
like while they dance just for the sake of life
my mind enveloped in obscurity
has shackled my feet and clipped my wings.

I wonder if the glowworms have a mind
that knows when they dance
they have an audience.

Maybe the stars know the same way
when they twinkle.

Thomas P Owens Sr Oct 2016

addicted to the word

when the last line is written
when the last rhyme is pulled from the bowels of that…
place
when the brain burn and the message is to my liking for now
i will return to the folded arms comfort of night
pick out a star and float to it
sleep

unlike the wicked warmth of tequila
or *******'s almost passive attempts to own me
the word is my true addiction
the insidious hold it has
drawing me in
calling to me every waking moment
i fear the whispers will not end in death
and i shall face an eternity living the nightmare
of an incomplete batch of words
that hold the key to my missing life

Oct 2016

Akira Chinen

24 hour coffee shops

Where are the late night painters and poets and dreamers
The 24 hour coffee  shops with chipped saucers and street musicians  and black  and white photo opportunities
The 3:07 am philosophers and talkers and ******* this and **** that "I aint' workin' for the man" protest fighters
Where are the push back the day
I'm not finished with the night
Loners and monsters and strangers
Because normal isn't working and humans are disgusting
So I would rather walk alone
Than be part of a population wearing blinders pretending nothings wrong with living in a world that isn't safe for our sisters and our brothers sitting on the wrong side of a broken justice system
Its safer on the streets for rapists and murders
Than a girl in a short skirt or a man born with dark skin
Where are the architects of love and the masons of kindness and the engineers of empathy
Who's  gonna save us when heaven turns out to be empty
And there's no one there to wash away the blood off our hands for our crimes and sins against  humanity
Without the late night painters and poets and dreamers
The 24 hour coffee shops become ghost towns and the world crumbles
And the only thing beautiful for humanity to do is give itself to death

Thomas P Owens Sr Oct 2016

last lover

the last lover leaves
before dawn
before the necessity of conversation
stale coffee reheated
brings the numbing thought that this was your last chance
old man
there's nothing left
no slivers of heart to give away
no whispers in the dark that clever lovers say
you can no longer dance with brittle bones
your game has left you
and they were all games
were they not?
until the last sliver

now walk the shoreline as you always do
when they leave
and ponder the idea of love

inspired by Denel Kessler's 'Season's End'

Oct 2016

Denel Kessler

Season's End

you will go your way
despite my protests
no use lamenting
what was never promised
the sun rides low the horizon
soon it will not clear the treetops
storms gather in the northern sea
needled wind to scattered seed
hoary frost on yellowed grass
dark leaves in mirrored puddles
a suspended death
crystalline and indeterminate
there is no fire hot enough
to stave off the first chill
of a careless winter
the numb hibernating sleep
soft gray melting days
the desperate wish
to regain summer

Hello my poet friends! What a lovely surprise to wake up to this blustery morning. Thank you for sticking with me through a crazy summer of sporadic posts - you are all wonderful. Much love!
: )

Thomas P Owens Sr Oct 2016

not alone

it is truly sobering
what life has to offer
once one begins to listen
begins to search
begins to accept
what our senses are telling us
it is there for us to explore
and oh
how I have explored these last few years

when the doubts have subsided
we can enter this illuminating world
we can touch the other side
hear the voices of the past that are not chained by time
observe those that observe us from afar

this is the life I have come to know
phenomenon within my grasp
the unbridled certainty
the crystalline clarity
the cleansing freedom that comes with the knowledge
that we are not alone

Thomas P Owens Sr Oct 2016

what a fool

I am numb with morphine
and the shadows are moving in from the edges
like ghosts awaiting my final slumber
but the mind
in its final stages
in its final pulse of energy
begs to go back
to the night I paused
when you pleaded for clarity
where our lives were headed
did I love you
and I refused to crumble under your tears

I lost you somewhere between blind cowardice
and my detached heart
all the while searching for a reason
not to love you as I did

the thought of you could come at any moment
and stayed with me as clearly as
this final vision I hold now
what a fool I was
what a pitiful fool