Saturday, August 29, 2015

Home Upon The Hill


[1st verse]
In the light of early morning
each day when I drive slow
past your place upon the hill top
from the valley far below,
I look up to see your vision
and think about the time
when you were still here with me
and I still called you mine.

[chorus]
I drive the lonely road
past your home upon the hill,
when you look down you'll see
the one that loves you still.

[2nd verse]
I see your smiling face
a vision soft and true
remembering a time
when it was me and you,
our hopes for the future
and all the dreams we shared
I had to let them go
the day I left you there.

[chorus]
I drive the lonely road
past your home upon the hill,
when you look down you'll see
the one that loves you still.

[3rd verse]
On Sunday I'll come visit
at your place upon the hill
we'll sit and talk for hours
amongst the trees so still,
I'll leave your favorite flower
upon the cold grey stone
that marks the resting place
of your eternal home.

[chorus]
I drive the lonely road
past your home upon the hill,
when you look down you'll see
the one that loves you still.

(Refrain tag): The one that always will.


Ken Owen.  Van Niddy Music.  August 2015

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Commuter Blues: Dharma Pops on a Bus


He fought the good fight
    but lost the battle--
Cactus flower wins

                                  for Rudy

Show me how
    then I will make
a different way
                              for L.T.


Commuters parade
    into town,
no smiling, no waving


"Money no matter,
    more important be happy"--
Wisdom in broken English


Working mothers 
    hand off their babies--
Morning heartache, evening redemption


Beautiful woman
    plays with her hair,
men watch and dream


written on a commuter bus
Santa Clara, CA  August 4, 2015


Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press  

Sunday, August 2, 2015

Writer on a Train


Familiar destination,
    different path-
Eyes open again


Low tide,
    dead tires in mud--
What gives?


Along the tracks
    rusting piles of junk--
Nobody cares.


Garbage everywhere--
    We are making
a mess of things.


Trains run through
    the poor side of town
so not to wake the rich.


From this view
    everything needs
A fresh coat of paint.


Horse in a field
   watches us pass--
where would he go?


Small white church
    shines like a beacon
in a sleepy town


Young couple under a tree,
    heads bowed in discussion--
"It's not you, it's me" perhaps?


Field of dead sunflowers--
    parchment brown,
 faded gold


Do you see what I see
    when you look out
that window?


written on the Amtrak train
from Fremont to Sacramento


Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press    August 1-2, 2015