Thomas P Owens Sr

Thomas P Owens Sr Nov 2016

lies

I grapple with the everyday
nothing smooth
a sumo wrestler on ice skates
a one armed juggler
a 4 eyed ******
the muck and slime
that passes for normal
has overtaken my well
climbed my wall
I'm unfit to fit
too unscrewed to view
through a filtered lens
don't smile at me when you pass
but stop and ask what the **** is wrong with you
wake me up
and maybe I'll speak
maybe I'll peek around the corner this time
to see how high the **** has gotten
to see my childish dreams forgotten
and buried in the lies
that I've become

Thomas P Owens Sr Nov 2016

eternal

as the last of the thorns are removed from my hand
and the blood congeals like pudding on a stove
and the heart slows to a methodical beat
of one resigned to the approaching day
the sound of still darkness is deafening
stars stare in mock silence
taunting me as they defer to the moon
'her moon' as she called it
how she grieved over the death of its secrets
more so than the coming death of our own
beautiful
secret
which breathed in the magic of the darkness
and found us together
always
in each other's light
as the Sun approached

I drop these roses here
you would always say it was such a waste
'flowers for my love'
but your eyes would not lie

Thomas P Owens Sr Nov 2016

Remember November

I remember how November began
too many late shifts for this old man
pulling up and over Pine Grove Mountain
in the early morning hours

mist and a frightening silence along the roads
were following me
I shivered half cold and half fear as I reached to add some heat
and when I looked back
he was standing in my lane
beast of a buck
white as snow
majestic
broad shoulders to accommodate his massive rack
staring me down
head raised proudly in the second before I swerved
the second that cost me my life
as I was held transfixed in his beauty

I rose above the trees and viewed my crumpled jeep
on its head
tires still spinning
the beast still eyeballing me as I slid into the ether

It is December now
and I watch as my kids open their gifts for the first time without me
they are older and their hearts will heal before the coming of Spring

Thomas P Owens Sr Nov 2016

in the name of hate

How does one learn not to hate
after facebook shows me a group of teenage thugs
savagely pull an old man from his car
and proceed to kick and sucker punch him
under the guise of who he voted for
if that were the reason
then why did they pick up everything that he
dropped on the ground and place it in their pockets?
How can someone be classified as a human being
that commits such an inhumane act upon a fellow human
I contemplate what I would do if I were there
to witness this cowardly attack
I could not stand by and watch as it appears
bystanders did
My stomach is in knots
my heart is thumping like a train
in my contempt for these cowards
these pathetic individuals who swarm like wolves
not in the name of survival
but in the name of hate
when I think our species might be progressing
I see such disgusting behavior and feel years of progress
were only a mirage

Thomas P Owens Sr Nov 2016

there are no dreams here

there are no dreams here
they are but fragments of thought
dismissed and abandoned to the wilderness
of our imaginations
to intersect or collide
perhaps hundreds or thousands at a time
to create some kind of patchwork mosaic of
tossed millisecond ideas and flashes of imagery
that have nowhere to go
these are not dreams
a vast wasteland of connected disconnected energy
of the mind

last night we walked together
and discovered our shared love of art
and ghosts
while the world slept
while I slept
I later met you in a book store
where we paged through Vangogh prints
and discussed the peculiarities of 'The Smoking Skull'
I awoke to a beautiful Sun and for a few joyous seconds…thought to
call you

there are no dreams here

Nov 2016

mk

there must be a place where broken words go

there must be a place where broken words go
the ones without a limb
not fully formed
not spoken right
not heard

there must be a place where broken words go
the sentences left uncompleted
the trailing words that never left the lips
the "but" and the "and"
that were always left hanging

somewhere between silence and speech
there must be a place where broken words go
full of stutters and writers block sufferers
somewhere between the "i love"
and the "you" that never followed
or the "wait"
that was whispered into the air
the "please come back"
that made peace with dying
on the corners of a turning mouth

there must be a place where broken words go
the words spoken but never heard
the letters written but never posted
the train of thought that crashed into the clouds
the words in the bottle that traveled the sea
but sunk to the bottom before it could ever reach

there must be a place where my broken words go
the stains on my diary that didn't come from a pen
and the letters on my thighs that don't make sense
the things i could never say
and the things i said that came out all wrong
all the broken alphabets in my song
that cry for salvation
for one more chance

there must be a place where broken words go
there must be a place i can call home.

#poetry #broken #words #home #silence #speech #stutter