Stand near the cotton candy maker;
What a carnival atmosphere!
Sugar permeates the air,
    
We breathe; moisture glistens on our skin,

The taste briefly lingers on the tongue. Yet,
The thing sweetly desired obtained
Becomes a sticky mess.

Marsh lilies will open only in darkness
And last just a few brief hours in the night.
So, the bees are up early before the light
To drink their fill of the gifts of sweet nectar.
 
Miniscule Thumbelina frogs float on water lily pads
And sleep inside, cradled in sacred blossom beds;
Which bloom, opening with the morning sun
So that each might drink in the sun's sweet rays.

Day begets night, night begets day.
Thumbelina frogs sleep, wake; Marsh &Water lilies bloom
Refreshed with the dripping of heaven and drops of dew.
With each turn of the earth, the cycle starts anew.

Stand near the cotton candy maker;
What a carnival atmosphere!

Sugar permeates the air we breathe;
The taste briefly lingers on the tongue.

Yet, the thing sweetly desired obtained
Becomes a sticky mess.

That scent which rises up into my nostrils  
From the soil:

Iron, sand, leaf litter, first memories;
Black gumbo soil rich with organic decay

The scent that invades my nostrils
From the heavy rains:

Pine, pecan orchards, river, lake, fishy-ocean salt;
Awash in the field of drying grasses

It is an unwanted scent entering my nostrils
From the lack of a dusting cloth:

Aged, layered, rancid, oily, brittle pages, decay;
Things coming to their end.

My heart is ashes
Now, the light winds start to blow
Bit by bit I go

Pink snow falling soft
A stroll in cherry blossoms
My soul rejoices

Into mellow fields, all manner of beings go.
The bird to gather bug or seed,
The workers with their hoes;
And, maidens who gather stands of wheat
In dresses that are blown.

Some days sitting with my pad & pen,
I am feeling sad and blue.
But, then I remember the number two.
I realize that I am no fool.

I simply add to the end the number 2,
Then I am happy because it's so cool
To go on rhyming with this little tool.
And I can smile in the end,

With the number two as my friend.

It's hard to imagine a world without you in it.
The sun still rises.  The day is still filled with seconds, minutes.

Should I not have reprieve rather than be sentenced to grieve?
Why don't I have to tell myself to breathe?

The sun still rises.  I still **** breath.  And, grieve.
There is nothing left but this chiseled granite.

I wish that it were I there decomposing in it, death sublime.
Or perhaps we both could lie there, intertwined

Forever;
Together
Enshrined.

When in life you reach dead ends
Listen carefully to me, friend,

Stop to enjoy the view
Because in life we have too few.

But, here's the message that I send,
Simply turn around and start again.

The journey need not end.
To start again, turn around my friend.

One thing alone could end my love,
When Time has stopped my Heart,

Though you have left me, here alone
To stumble in the dark.

Then, I heard the Raven say,
"Nevermore!" today.

We deserve an answer,
We are not just prancers

In your dance.
We have the right

To have a chance,
And equal might.

No, we are not the dancers
For perverted glancers.

We too have free-will
Not solely for your thrill.

We too are people
And our pains are real.

We hurt, we cry, we feel.
So I am fighting with the quill!

We are all your equals!
Listen up you creep-os!

Stop strangling me
With marionette strings!

There are so many things I could have become.
I could not concentrate on just one.
So, I flitted to a multitude until each was done.

Buzzing from knowledgeable flower & blossom like a bee;
Feeling that if I looked hard enough I would find 'me'.
But in the end, I see

I am all the total sum of the complete.

You don't have to be bad,
Or mad,
Or sad,
To get my attention.

No surrender,
No hidden agenda,
No strings,
No other scary things.

Just say you need me,
Say you need someone to hear you,
Or simply say I'll do.
I'm here, anyway, for you.

I know it is the natural progression of things.  Certain plants only live for a season then die.  Others wither and retreat into a cover of soil until next year.  Some hold on as long as possible only succumbing to a hard freeze.  Although I hate the heat of summer I love the life it brings to the Balcony Garden which is waning already.

As summer pants its hot last breath
Autumn comes to give her rest.

And winter looks for spring to green;
Then summer once again ​we see.

Within the turning of each new season
Our hopes and dreams are given reason.

Springs and spirals cling and climb.  
Ever upwards, ever onward day by day.
Greening our everyday lives along their way.

I can smell the rain coming
As the Texas heat and humidity
That had me held like plastic wrap
Around my face and body loosens;
And the cooler air sinks down to fold us.
I can breathe, feel exhilarated, want life!
Then the downburst!  Like a cow relieving itself
On a flat rock, large drops scatter, loudly, until
The tin on the roof tinkles a melodious song.
In a Texas summer, we live for days like these.

After we fell apart I tried to put the pieces back together.
But they just wouldn't fit, the parts that made you did, just fine.

Not mine,

They no longer belonged so I threw them out.  I grew.
Two weary-worn, tattered lives had lain side by side so long;

I was left to start again, cut new pieces, lay them into a new scene,
One without you, you with your unchanged YOU,

Me ANEW.

What else could I do?

This stillness at dusk, its radiant heat;
The comfort from the soil beneath one's feet;

Dimming light's playful shadows sweet
Which shift and dance and oft' repeat.

Filled to the brim, I am a soul lifted up.
Thus, I rise like a drinking cup.

You, oh Day, have comforted completely
As another page turns in this life sweetly.

Paint the night sky
With my breath
With my soul

Canvass of black velvet
Crystalline drops of mist
An essence eked

Paint the black velvet
**** in
My soul

there is wonder of all kinds
never boring
beating my wings
moon over life

Experiencing love for the first time,
The heart constricts, the throat catches in a dry strangle,

Lightheaded, one grasps to breathe in the dense, thick air.
The full sensory of time and space constricts, pinpointed on the ‘THEM’!

And then you touch and evaporate into a mist of sensory overload.

for Kathrine
She loved every season, getting all that each had to offer.
Sunbonnet on her head, she would venture out into the hot summer garden;

Waiting for the change that would allow pumpkin, turnips,
and greens to be grown in the fall

When the sun would soften and the turning trees begin to feel the coolness.

Then, into the mellowed golden rows she would venture
hoping to gather what summer may have left behind.

Later, in the sharp chill of winter, she would stand in the fallow field
planning out each row and path to spring planting;

Dreaming of abundance.

If there is a word
Glory in miniature
A contagion's caught

Just as the moon shines
Alone the bright emanates
Within your deep tomb

The infinite sound of poetry
So infant-ly a part of my brain;

I lie down to read one of the multitudes of books
Collected over the years.

They will not tell me how to write or what to write.
But perhaps they will help me recover

That part of the old grey cells which always thought TV
To be the scourge of it.

There are three known states in which substance is to exist:

A solid, which has a definite shape and volume.
Liquids, although having a definite volume, can only take the shape
       of that which contains them.
Gases; death and beauty in our conundrum; have no definitive shape,
      nor volume.

Ice
Water
Air

The ethereal nature that does exist,
An un-defining ethos,
This trinity of you.

My granny loved Banny hens.
They are small but they can be feisty.
Just as was she.

Have the crocus bloomed, yet,
In their rainbow colors?
I wait for them above all others.
Not because they are the loveliest.
Not because they are delicate & fair.
But, because they bravely poke their heads
Into the rarified air.
And then I know hope.
Spring is on its way!

The sun broke through, shining on a nation;
Black clouds thinning into edges of grey mist.

Such a convection of hate starting to dissipate
Replacing the heat of vitriol; and in the coolness

Love becomes a lump of coal glowing in the frigid climate
Blown into a warm flame of unity’s hopeful heart.

Of trees
Of blades

Of green
Of gold

Of life
Of change

Of letting go
These are the things I know

Of leaves

Of books
Of page

Of filled
Of empty

Of trees
Of blades

Of green
Of gold

Of life
Of change

Of letting go
These are the things I know

Of leaves

Getting to the other side feels pretty good
Let love rule

Slowmo though fast enough at present
Lifts love up

We will join hand in hand
Loosening hate

Rise with me

A female is very different than a male
In human physical makeup.
There is no shame in that.
It does not need to be defended,
But it does call for an explanation.

Compare: Can the rugged bear or stallion
Sprout wings and fly?
They were made to plod the terrestrial,
Earthbound;
Their brutish power, ever recognized.

Throw a stone and you get a mere snort
As they decide if you should live or die.
But here is where the weaker sings.
The bird, that lilting tiny powerhouse,
With its fragile hollow bones was made to fly.

Soft and warm, a quiet storm
Quiet as when flowers talk at break of dawn, break of dawn
A power source of tender force
Generatin', radiatin', turnin' me on, turnin' me on

Oh, you short circuit all my nerves
Promising electric pains
You touch me and suddenly there's rainbow rings

Quiet storm blowing
Through my life, oh
Quiet storm blowing
Through my life, oh blow, baby

Oh, when you sigh, we can ride
A butterfly caught up in a hurricane, hurricane
Lucky me, I'm glad I'm free
Suddenly I'm caught up in your summer rain

oh, shower me with your sweet love
I will bathe in every drop
Through all the seasons
Let it pour and never stop

Quiet storm blowing
Through my life, through my life
You're just like a quiet storm blowing
Through my life, through my life, through my life
through my life, through my life

Blowin', blowin', blowin', blowin'
Ah, through my life
Oh

Hail soft storms of loving me
Let them play on my desires
Kiss me softly
Let your lightenin' light my fire

Quiet storm blowing
Through my life, through my life
You're just like a quiet storm blowing (blowing, blowing)
Through my life, through my life

Quiet storm blowing
Through my life
Quiet storm blowing (Oh, yeah)
Through my life

Oh

Shower me with your sweet love
I will bathe in ever drop
Through all the seasons
Let it pour and never stop

Quiet storm blowing
Through my life, through my life
You're just like a quiet storm (blowing)
Warm and tender, through my life (oh through my life)

Quiet storm, you're blowing
Through my life, through my life, through my life
Quiet storm blowing
Through my life

Blow, baby
Blow, baby
Blow, baby
Blow, baby

Oh yeah, quiet storm
yeah, quiet storm
Blow, baby
Blow, baby
Blow, baby

Try JW dot Org

Have you wondered about the meaning of life?
Is God to blame for our trouble and strife?
Do you have unanswered questions that make you sigh?
Do you ever wonder what happens when you die?

Yes - Life may trouble you
Bad news may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

Have you wondered; "Does God really care?"
“Does He listen when we pray - is He there?”
“Will war and suffering ever cease?”
“How can we find inner happiness and peace?”

Yes - Life may trouble you
Crime may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

The reasoning is clear - the answers are viable
They always adhere to God's word in the Bible

Yes - Life may trouble you
Doubt may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

Life may trouble you
Doubt may trouble you
So try JW.org website.

Try J W dot Org Website Try J W dot Org
Try J W dot Org Website Try J W dot Org
- Brendan Vincent Owens


Have you wondered about the meaning of life?
Is God to blame for our trouble and strife?
Do you have unanswered questions that make you sigh?
Do you ever wonder what happens when you die?

Yes - Life may trouble you
Bad news may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

Have you wondered; "Does God really care?"
“Does He listen when we pray - is He there?”
“Will war and suffering ever cease?”
“How can we find inner happiness and peace?”

Yes - Life may trouble you
Crime may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

The reasoning is clear - the answers are viable
They always adhere to God's word in the Bible

Yes - Life may trouble you
Doubt may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

Life may trouble you
Doubt may trouble you
So try JW.org website.

Try J W dot Org Website Try J W dot Org
Try J W dot Org Website Try J W dot Org
- Brendan Vincent Owens

I peeked in on you this morning.
You were curled into the prettiest little shape.  
Your long hair lay around you.

And, I thought, "She looks just like she did at age 10 or 11.  
Just like in that photo of her that I cherish.
So lovely, so precious.”

I was never here.
You never saw me.
Mums the word.

If we were in one of those old British shows
I would lay my finger next to my nose.

With a brief tap
You’d know that
I was incognito.

Taste the lily pond
The eye holds volumes of tears
Strange looking mixture

The swallows fly out to catch the little eddies of spring;

I close my eyes to the sun as the clouds part above
And let the warmth gloriously take me.
Days, weeks, months, my balcony of interaction;
Lone people occasion to pass by, my chance to greet
High above the dog walkers, trippers to the community bin.

What is isolation if you allow your soul to fly out with the swallows?

The earth sighs, we breathe in
A common breath.
Breathe, exhale. Breath in,
Exhaled.

Humanity sighs, we fear
A common breath.
Vapor floats, spreads out,
Breathed.

We hold our common breath -

the truth is a modest little flower

- be not content with one flower of truth
- had one been sufficient there would have been no more

gather each with all earnest effort
gather, ever seek for more

until every nook and cranny overflows
within your strong mind’s vessels

My skin drum beats the message
Deep from within my chest sending
Out the rhythmed vibrations
Hopefully, the sound will pound
Upon your own heart

Sweets of the flower
Opening, full-throated
Beckoning the welcomed bee.

Gifts are exchanged.

“Come or go,” she says,
“You remain free.
As long as you return to me.”

Therefore, he does.

Busy hours buzz,
The gatherings of love
Under the warmth of the sun.

Heat fades into cooler climes.

As always, winter comes.
There is 'a comfort' in that.
All must fly -

Bees, birds, time. . .

We live; we die.
Like a flowered vine clinging
We have offered ourselves up.

It is for the greater good, after all.

My wounds were generally not self-inflicted.
Most represent lessons learned, many from people that I love, still.
Now that I am older, at times, I will locate the scars,
Seeking them out, reaching into uncomfortable regions
To feel the now smooth flesh-covering,
Wrinkles in the brain.

You are the bright new future
Sparkling like a dime lying in the dust of an imploded building
Waiting to be picked up, pocketed, and saved for goods much
           needed.
Spend wisely young one.

I wanted to see it plainly
So I typed it out in Consolas
Only then could I understand
You really were gone

If there is a word
Glory in miniature
A contagion's caught

When we are a child we live in that barefoot moment of fascination.
We run through open-aired spheres of delight unabashed.
We bare our skin to the honey-tones of the sun to be browned
And we allow the moon to powder our skin and face with shimmer.

Then we grow up.

We clothe our bodies, don foot coverings, and shun the rays of the sun and moon.
We fear aging, alter our skin, dye our hair, and ‘Peter Pan’ on.
And when in the pseudo-insanity of an aged body and mind that has seized us, at last,
Let us throw off other people’s expectations.  

That is their problem.

Let us once again live in those barefoot moments, so few now, so precious.
Let us mentally run through open-aired spheres of delight unabashed.
Let us bare our skin to the honey-tones of a healing sun
And allow time to powder our hair with shimmer;

Finally to allow ourselves to eat the fruit of our labors.