Monday, January 28, 2013

Chief Coonscar Rides The Big One

Silver haired foxes 
shuffle through the redwood compound
high in the valley of the harvest moon,
where the ancients gaze down and laugh quietly 
when the wind whispers.

 You can see the ocean from here.

Stars in the sky, stars on the wall, 
broken arrows, broken numbers, 
shiny plates of gold, 
chronicles of memories 
everywhere you look.

From here to there and back again.

Chief Coonscar rode the big one
until his bus got stuck in the mud,
he's been here ever since,
a junkie for mayonnaise and salt
and how he loves them farm-fresh eggs.

Pep pills are not our policy.

Deep within the inner-circle 
family and friends
spin dusty antique whirling machines
capturing magic in warm caves
so some might speak and cross the bridge of silence.

Nice work if you can get it.

So this is what what the money built 
after the gold rush - Tranquility Base,
with every note 
of every song
in boxes on the shelf.

 You would too if you could.

Ken Owen,  La Honda, CA, January 2013

Saturday, January 12, 2013

On My Way To You

On my way to you 
I drove the canyon road
through forests red and gold
with green leaves dead and dying
Fall fury sent them flying
as they rained on me like multi-colored snow,
I tipped my hat and gave thanks for the show
as i will sometimes do
on my way to you.

On my way to you
the waves crashed loud and strong
and screamed I don't belong
but the sea could not compete
with no excuses for defeat
and spirit strong to help to guide the way,
I sailed on and gave thanks for the day
as I will sometimes do
on my way to you.

All the things I see 
right in front of me
I turn them into songs of love for you.

On my way to you,
the dream of a thousand nights
that dance under moon so bright
that look from across the room
the fear of loss too soon
when we held hands until your time to go,
now I lay your favorite flower in the snow
as I will sometimes do
on my way to you.

Friday, January 11, 2013

Put It Away

Pimp Daddy Porter must be doin something right,
escorting three fine ladies on his arm tonight.
(Yes ma'am, thank you sir)

Seen in fancy restaurants and struttin’ ‘bout the town,
they use up all the sidewalk so you'd better walk around.
(Look out, here they come)

But at their favorite dive,
that's where it comes alive,
his girls are gonna sing,
so keep plucking on that string.
("Won't you let me take you, take you, take you..")

Give it away, give it away, they'll never give it away,
until your dying day you’re gonna pay.
Put it away, put it away, gotta put that thing away,
if you want to stay, put it away.

The impression you made,
the expression you gave
when the room fell silent 
with all eyes burning on you.

Frustrated paparazzi and the man from Rolling Stone
bow their heads and genuflect as Daddy takes his throne.
(sa-weeet, so sa-weeet)

Keeps his eyes on the gentlemen callers from another time and place,
“I don't care about your name, but I never forget a face.”
(no romance in this slow dance)

Eggs and coffee at the airport bar,
are you thinking that we went to far?
You gotta use all your tools,
to end up with the family jewels.
(It’s time to go)

Give it away, give it away, they'll never give it away,
until your dying day you’re gonna pay.
Put it away, put it away, gotta put that thing away,
if you want to stay, put it away.

Ken Owen,  Van Niddy Music,  January 2013

Thoughts on a Winding Road

Took the winding road from the ocean past long fields and quiet valleys to the old town that hides in the hills amongst sleepy giants soggy with yesterday's rain. Mud and branches and fingers of water lay across the road at every turn as shadow and light danced on the dirty windshield like a light-show from back in the day. least the car is paid for...

They all think I’m nuts, or lazy, probably both, trying all these different things. “...what the hell is he doing?! Seems to me he’s mining an empty shaft, working a pinched-out claim.”

Drinks at noon on a Thursday, 
why not. 
I see you once in a while now,
but it’s not like the old days
when we tried to build things with great excitement
because we didn't know then
nobody cares.
Now I just get up and move about 
and wait for ideas to come.
Maybe tomorrow.

On the way home I always stop and take a picture of that majestic seascape view you love...I think it should be your forever-spot when you leave.

Meanwhile back at Excitement Palace...

Nice fellow (he’s smarter than you think),
but there will be no big boo-hoo from me
when the man downstairs 
moves on.

What price devotion?

We’ll be alright.

Ken Owen, January 2013

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Quiet, Please

I am now an advocate for silence...
(who'd have thought?!)

...its never around when you need it
but it can be.
Don't blame me
just shut the fuck up
and there it is.
Turning off the inside chatter
that's another story

Conviction without volume
should be the daily challenge.

It's time to listen.

Ken Owen,  January 2013

Friday, January 4, 2013

Where Dreams Appear

How strong the unborn lyric cries
with echoes through halls 
of house and mind.

How long the floating image lingers
in sleepy morning fog
fresh from nights haunting.

The sonnet rhyme undone
the melody unsung
the story to be told.

How strong the cry and who will dare
to lift the veil
where dreams appear.

Ken Owen,  January 2013

That Dream of You

Had a dream I went looking for you
brought you home
in the old family car
that big green monster of a thing.
You were drunk again.
There was yelling in every room
crying behind closed doors
but it was a comfort to feel you
after all this time
and I wondered
what would you think of me now?

Ken Owen,  December 2012

First Voice

Listen to the first voice
not the others that come after it.
The first one is the real one
the subconscience connection to The Universal Mind.
It knows what to do and is trying to tell you
but when the conscience hears it
it will try to knock it down
with its fears and doubts
and shove it back into the darkness
while you 
frozen with indecision
pause to watch the battle and do nothing.

That's when you lose.

Ken Owen,  January 2013

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Waiting For Jeopardy

first round:
limited brain power swimming in false hope.

second round:
a reminder of possibilities lost
from all the pot we smoked in high school.

final Jeopardy:
when you show the world
how life has made you an expert
in crafting wild-ass guesses.

Discouraged with reality's slap
but tomorrow night
I'll be waiting for Jeopardy.

Ken Owen,  January 2013

If You Were Here

I never call you on the phone
thats just the way it is with me
gabba gabba gabba
Its not you.

If you were here we'd talk well into the night
on long walks from too much coffee
discussing where we are and how we got here
on different roads to a different part
of the same place.

Everywhere I go
they still talk of our time together
as the good old days
high above paradise.
They might be right.

If you were here we'd be closer
but lets face it, you’re not coming back
so I fill the space in the links of our chain
with feelings still fresh in the mind
from memories stored in the heart.

Ken Owen,  January 2013