The Sunken Man Is Real

Lying at the bottom of an ocean of tears

held under by the weight of his fear

The Sunken Man is real

and dreaming...

...he convinced her to jump

she fell into his arms

she had to land somewhere

he made sure it was him.

Pretty to look at

delicate in her shell

but no help with demons

his or hers.

Her bad mood lasted a couple of years

they all knew why but never understood

they just hoped for the best and rallied to his cause 

for her sake.

With her, not within her,

where love leaves wounds that never heal

The Sunken Man is real

and dreaming...

...a small child 

music his only companion

riding majestic horses in furious gallop

to the sound of great orchestras

rhythm in his head and his hands.

As a young man

the song, the dream

travels to distant lands to spread the joy of his heart,

his comfort, his music,

it was all he needed.

Now those who share his gift sustain him

and those with none pay him

in compliments and whiskey enough to dull his pain

so he won’t miss what he no longer feels

The Sunken Man is real

and dreaming...

...living with the madness that steals his peace

bottom of the staircase

basement rooms by the ocean

mumbling pleas through squeaky floorboards.

Falling into grey

each session deeper, darker, longer 

and he worries one day he might not make it back.

He did his best before he left

but it's the same all over again:

children of mothers who won't let go

and will not hear his appeal

with no dreams left to steal

The Sunken Man is real.

Ken Owen,  December 2012

Love Makes Wings

Moonlight through the window

turned her skin to alabaster,

if I outlast her

let my time be done.

Dream light, cool and easy

like a creepin cat in shadow,

leaves all her cares as she goes

to the sun.

Love makes wings,

turns falling to flying,

makes living out of dying

every day.

Love makes wings,

and will teach your heart to sing.

Daylight through the clouds

kills her dreams as they fly past,

I’d make them last

if I knew the way.

Love light in the night,

I give all I have to give,

so I can live 

in her light every day.

Love makes wings,

turns falling to flying,

makes living out of dying

every day.

Love makes wings,

and will teach your heart to sing.

Ken Owen, Van Niddy Music,  December 2012

Life Is The Book

It'll happen soon enough,

Sink or swim, call the bluff.

If you listen then you'll know,

when to duck and when to go.

No remorse, no regrets,

take the chance, place your bets.

Do your best, seize the day,

you can't win if you don't play.

Every hour, every minute,

see the magic deep within it.

Don’t be humble, just be good,

and things will work the way they should.

The story is how you lived,

and the chances that you took.

Days are empty pages, 

life is the book.

Who’ll sing your song when you’re gone?

Who’ll tell the stories you’ve told for so long?

Who'll carry on with your thoughts and memories?

How long will you wait for the day?

How many hours will you give away?

How big a wave will you make through the centuries?

Learn a lesson when you fail,

back on that horse, head down the trail.

Lift your head and dry your eyes,

don’t need answers, reasons why.

All you need is deep inside,

behind a wall of foolish pride.

Look within, not without

clear the mind, remove all doubt.

Keep straight ahead, don’t look back,

do all you can to stay on track.

When the train comes stand your ground,

we'll see who wins and who leaves town.

The story is how you lived,

and the chances that you took.

Days are empty pages, 

life is the book.

Ken Owen,  Van Niddy Music,  December 2012

The Lost Church

Christ-bearing Warrior 

descended from the Mount to the precita at el rio

and began his search for The Lost Church

where hymns from the pulpit stage

float high over hot footlights 

and fall in cool shadow.

...and he'd show them the blood on his hands,

and he'd show them the pain in his heart,

contrition for all he had done.

Caravans passed of refugees 

from harder times than these

with all they had before them 

and nothing left behind.

Full moon high in the night sky

as he entered town a stranger

where one-legged dancers spun in circles in the street

and the crazed flew straight into danger.

Candle in the window - look up or you’ll miss it.

Behold the temple sublime

where holy water and holy wine linger 

with misery and melody in the House of Jack and Ginger.

As the sacrament began he wondered, 

“Will they understand a pilgrim from a distant land?”

...and he sang of the blood on his hands,

and he sang of the pain in his heart,

contrition for all he had done.

Huddled in dark communion

sinners heard his confessions

delivered salvation and praise

but his guilt be not absolved, forever stays.

Christ-bearing Warriors head out of town

go forth and sin no more

$10.00 at the door

offerings in collection

the price of soul redemption.

Ken Owen, Van Niddy Music, November 2012

I'm Going To Grandma's (Sing Loud, Sing Often)

Mother Nature’s rain

poked me right in the eye,

as her wind and clouds had their way with me.

In this city full of pain I give it my best try,

but I’m not sure you can live here 

and be free.

It’s not safe here anymore,

this place is ready to explode.

Who’ll light the fuse on this box of dynamite?

Draw the shade, lock the door,

help me lay down this load,

and we’ll sleep with one eye open tonight.

maybe I said the wrong thing...maybe I looked the wrong way...maybe I just gotta go.

Grab the cash, drive all night,

no more city left in sight,

up that dark and lonely mountain road.

I’m going to Grandma’s.

She’ll know what to do.

A cup of tea with lemon

a hug from Grandpa too.

Gonna learn me how to laugh again

from my belly, deep within,

and when Grandma sings

its like a bird on the wind.

My heart will fly,

and I’ll be fine.

She’s cooking something grand

in her antique roasting pan,

while spinning yarns into wooly hats of rainbows.

A leopard house coat suits her

as evening attire,

and with stray dogs by the fire,

I’ll be welcome in the House of Fur.

..and I complain about how obsessive people in the city 

tell phony stories and are just trying to be seen

and it’s all a game!

..and she tells me wonderful stories

of when the smell of orange groves still came through the window

after they were gone.

..and I plead to her for the answers 

I so desperately need!

..and never losing her smile,

she sighs, then whispers:

“Sing loud, sing often,

and let them know,

this world is your stage,

they cant steal your show.

Give your gifts, they are balm for those souls

that are weary and worn from their heavy loads.

Be silent no more,

and take your time, because it’s yours.”

Of course, she’s right,

sing and hold tight. 

Leave things inside 

and they will eat you alive.

Release it,

and you can breathe again.

I traveled many miles

trying towns on for size.

They just don't fit.

So I found my own mountain

with meadows of green

and made a simple life of simple things.

There is a simple life.

I take the long drive to the ocean under a bright blue sky 

and bask in the love of friends so dear.

It’s hard when you can’t keep all your loves near.

The edges have softened,

the fear has flown,

and my purpose now is clear:

“Sing loud, sing often.”

Ken Owen,  Van Niddy Music,  March 2012

Guadalupe

Guadalupe in the window,

bleeding heart and tortured smile 

of silent suffering,

peers through tattered curtains

absolving the sins 

of the world.

Candle at the alter

summons images 

of those since passed

to dance on walls 

in ghostly light.

She dreams,

the weight of absolution gone.

The city’s roar; crashing waves,

choking heat and stale air; the smell of sea and wind.

Hearts and letters drawn in sand,

but lovers never there

when waves wash them away

as she walks the beach alone.

Guadalupe in the window,

parchment aged and color worn

from years of nightly petition,

peers through tattered curtains

absolving the sins 

of the world.

Ken Owen,  Van Niddy Music,  July 2012

By Your Good Grace

By your good grace,

I live the life that others dream

but may never realize

through solemn servitude. 

By your good grace,

I see the world

in all her splendor

from the other side of the window.

By your good grace,

I write hymns of love

as the voice of broken spirits.

By your good grace,

I walk the cliffs 

and drink the vast horizon

where sea meets sand.

By your good grace,

my eyes have opened

to see small things 

that went unnoticed.

By your good grace,

I know why things 

appear like magic

just when we need them.

By your good grace,

I can do what I must

because you give

more than you take.

By your good grace,

I can see the path 

that brought me to you

was the right one all along.

Ken Owen,  Van Niddy Music,  July 2012

We Won't Say Good-Bye

The plans of the day,

I tried them all

one by one

nothing worked

when I heard the news of you.

If there was a way,

to hold you

just once more

I would tell you

all the things I hope you knew.

To get you to stay

I’d give it all

that and more

without question

for more time before we’re through.

The things that they say

we’ve lost you

you’ve left us

gone forever

but I know that isn’t true.

We know where you are 

you’re everywhere at once

now that the spirit has flown.

Our love will be the light 

to guide you home...

...tonight,

you’ll watch a million memories burn bright

and joy from all those yesterdays take flight.

Through the tears we’ll cry

we won’t say good-bye

we’ll say good-night.

As the days go by

the wind upon my cheek

the warmth of summer suns

will be you.

As I face the fears I dread

the voice inside my head 

will always sound like you.

It’s time to be strong

tell the stories

say a prayer

to remember

we will never be alone.

And our love will be the light to guide you home...

...tonight,

you’ll watch a million memories burn bright

and joy from all those yesterdays take flight.

Through the tears we’ll cry

we won’t say good-bye

we’ll say good-night.

Ken Owen,  Van Niddy Music,    June 2012

Ken Owen, Songwriter, Part 2: The Drummer Has A Songbook

(originally published to Facebook December 2011)

I am proud to announce that I just completed my second semester of Jim Bruno's Song Writing class at Foothill College in Los Altos, CA. I call it by it's official title, though some have mentioned that Jim's class has become more cult-like than class-like, with some veteran students taking the class a dozen times or more. The passion and dedication that these folks show to Jim and his teachings could be it's own case study in the need for the supportive environment we all seek while trying to learn and grow. Jim's class is a testament to the power of positive reinforcement, and Jim is a Master.

When I started Jim's class six months ago, I had a notebook with over 20 years of song ideas, titles, poems, stories, etc..that I had never completed. With the support and encouragement of Jim and his talented song writing students, I now have 12 home-recorded original song demos, and the new-found courage to provide them online for public review. That's a huge leap from where I was when I started this class! I can look back and see a tremendous improvement from my first song to my latest, and my folder continues to get many new song ideas.

One of the assignments we had was to write a song emulating a fellow class mate. This was an interesting experiment in not only trying to copy someone's style, but it showed how much every student in class was affecting each other. Lots of emulation assignments became "that has Brian's vocal phrasing with Paul's favorite tempo and Tom's rhyming scheme". Fascinating! And imagine my pride when a few folks chose to emulate me and my fledgling song stylings - I became the de facto country song writer of the group - I was beaming with pride!

I also learned about collaborating with other song writers, something that brings it's own positives and potential conflicts; editing a song, also an eye-opening part of the song writing process, as in "my song is too long, but where do I cut?". The music that the students brought with their lyrics was wonderfully crafted and performed, and some of the vocal performances were outstanding! I found myself rooting for others while watching their personal development, and seeing their efforts get better each week extremely inspiring!

I can't thank  Jim and his students enough for their encouragement and support I received each week with my submissions. I would recommend anyone with an interest in song writing take one of Jim's classes at Foothill or The Freight and Salvage in Berkeley. And of course, I would have never accomplished any of this personal growth if not for the encouragement of Maurice Tani: Master Song Writer, Musician, Band Mate, and good friend. It was a great experience.

So now, because of...

Maurice Tani:

http://www.western-independent.com/77eldeora/

and

Jim Bruno:

http://www.jimbrunomusic.com/home

there is...

Ken Owen

http://soundcloud.com/ken-owen/

Thanks to you all for your encouragement and support.

-KO