The American Experiment

Photograph by Dianne Woods

The American 

Experiment 

is not dead

regardless 

of your despair

or what they tell you.

The American 

Experiment

is not broken

but doing exactly what 

we should expect it to do 

if left attended 

by a select group 

and not the collective 

for whom it should speak. 

The American 

Experiment 

has delivered

painful lessons of neglect 

and made public the shame 

of our complacency. 

The American 

Experiment 

has survived 

great afflictions that have

given us a vision of the perfect 

because we have experienced our imperfections 

and lessons in healing 

because we have suffered 

and caused great suffering.

The American 

Experiment 

grants no immunity 

to the righteously indignant

who deny their guilt

and cast blame upon their neighbors.

The American 

Experiment 

sings 

the song of the Body Politic 

written with the sound of voices

complicit in their silence.

The American 

Experiment 

pauses at all crossroads

as we determine 

if these are the times that were

or the times that shall be.

Ken Owen    Van Niddy Press   December 2016

Move The Bed

In the room
that I rent
the bed faces
a closet

with full length
mirrors
on each
door

and
for the
life of
me

I cannot think
of a more
disheartening
or torturous way

to begin
and end
each day
than by subjecting
myself
to the review

of what
all those days
of crazy
living
and bad
decisions

have done
to this image
that was
once
beautiful.

Tomorrow

I move
the
bed.


Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   December 2016

The Haunting

Since I could 

not put an end 

to the

haunting 

I have decided 

to become

cordial 

with the ghost.

I've made my way 

back to 

the edge 

of the chasm

where we 

can now be

civil and

exchange 

heartfelt 

greetings 

and 

well-wishes

from across the 

unspoken forever-space 

high above the ruins of

our smoldering bridge.

Not what I had imagined,

but it's better this way
as long as you don't
look down.

Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press        November 2016

The Beauty of Dying

Photograph by Dianne Woods

There seems 

a rural mystery

of an unwritten law

amongst people who live

out in the country:

they let old barns 

die at their own pace.

There is something 

about an old barn
past its prime

abandoned
alone
in a field

it is architectural death
in slow motion
on public display.

There is an instant fascination
when we see a barn

crooked
stooped
held up by the wind and visions 

of its former glory

that causes us 

to pull over on our Sunday drive

and take a picture to document
the beauty of dying slowly 

in a rolling field

and the thought comes

very naturally
that all it would take
is one gentle push
to end the suffering

so
why don't they 

do it?

    ***

The Japanese are famous
for the respect they bestow
upon their elders

but we hide our old folks away 

from places they want to return
in places they don't know
and pay people to make sure 

they stay there

while we turn away
from discussions of suffering
and one gentle push

yet we let barns
take their time dying
where they have always been

and we pull over
to watch.



Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   

November 2016

You Know Something She Doesn't

I have always thought
that if sex could sing
it would sound
like Mavis Staples.

I have also thought
yet I carry no supporting evidence
that Mavis Staples is
most likely
a deeply religious person
who would bristle at the very mention
of that analogy.

Chances are slim
at best
that I will ever get the opportunity
to meet Ms Staples
but even if I did
I would never see myself
telling her this
even though I'd be dying too

so that creates a secret
hiding somewhere out there
in the dark

that you and I share:

Mavis Staples
will live out the rest of her days
never knowing I think her singing
sounds like sex

but
now
you do.


Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   November 2016

Fall Haiku 2016

In formation: birds

     fly south effortlessly above

crawling freeway cars

          ~~~~~

Golden light of Fall

     dances upon still waters--

High tide at sunset.

-West bound on the San Mateo Bridge, October 2016

          ~~~~~

Without reflection

     the mirror holds no answers.

Become The Mirror.

          ~~~~~

Fall quickly, blossom,

     and embrace your destiny 

in the world beyond.

          ~~~~~

The old dog sleeping--

     twitching limbs, quivering lips,

dreams of love and war.

          ~~~~~

Waves upon the shore

     proclaiming a steady pulse---

the earth's beating heart.

-A day in Pacifica, CA

          ~~~~~

Oh sleepy suburb,

     Tonight, 8:00pm, Magic!

Country AND Western!

-Live Music at Bird and Beckett Books and Records

San Francisco, CA

          ~~~~~

Experiencing

     his image in the mirror,

what would the dog change?

          ~~~~~

Let impermanence

     bring not fear of tomorrow 

but joy for the Now.

          ~~~~~

Leaping to his death,

     the leaf hit a spider web,

"Stick around," said Fall.

Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   November 2016

Sharp As A Tack

One morning
as I was walking 

into a local burger place 

for a breakfast sandwich

a white haired gent
was coming out.

He looked happy
but he was shaking his
head and saying

"My oh my oh me oh my oh."

He didn't notice me
until I said

"My sentiments exactly."

Startled, he turned
looked up
looked me over quickly
and said with
a big smile

"Yeah, but I'm retired!
Are you retired?"

I couldn't figure
what that had to do
with anything.

"I'm working on it"
was all I could
come up with.

"Great pun!"
he exclaimed
with an even bigger smile.

Retired
Happy
Crazy

and sharp
as a
tack.

I hope to be that lucky

when I'm retired.


Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   October 2016

Large Puddles of Rain

Ruby, age 3: 

"Popi, we should go to the park 

and see how the swings are doing."

Popi, age 58, laughing:

"Well honey, since you put it that way, sure.

Just then
Grandma came for a visit
and in the excitement
all thoughts
of checking on the swings
were lost

so Popi sat back in his chair
at the backyard picnic table
opened a beer
and watched his girls
continue to play in
large puddles of rain.


Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   Sacramento, Fall 2016

Advice to a Sad Friend

Get a journal. 

Start scribbling. 

Now. 

Do it. 

Keep it with you. 

Look up. 

Look around. 

Be quiet. 

Notice. 

Listen. 

Write it down. 

Document your 
experiences 

for your own posterity

to remind your future self 

what a shitty mess this felt like 

and how 

in the end 

it was nothing more

than a small blip. 

Turn your suffering 

into beauty.

You'll be glad you did

and so will we. 

Chin up, dearest.

-Ken

for j.d.o.

Van Niddy Press   Fall 2016

Eyebrows of a Dog

. . . and it was then that I realized he was my equal. 

He knew it and I knew it, yet there I was, drunk, drinking whiskey and eating bits of salami and cheese and throwing him the occasional morsel like I was Henry the 8th or some shit when really I was just another drunken asshole with a dog who loves him and looks up at you thinking, "Really? Again?" 

George Carlin was right, it's their eyebrows that get you.

(a stream of consciousness while reading 'Post Office' by Bukowski)

Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   August 2016

Summer Haiku

The Universe is

experiencing itself

through my consciousness.

Playful cat chasing

summer shadows, unaware

the hawk chases him.

Observing the fly

walk the blades of summer grass,

I feel like a god.

The Journey of Life:

stumbling between two dark holes

alone with reason.

Morning dew lingers

then hangs heavy in the air

spurned by listless clouds.

~~~~

Fat woman snoring

across the aisle, a bad day

to forget headphones.

On awakening,

fat woman eats her Cheetos--

My diet starts today.

Son of Fat Woman:

reeks of smoke, saggy pants, hoody.

We do not judge...much.

Full figured woman

losing gravity's challenge,

I wish her good luck.

-Amtrak, Fremont to Sacramento

 ~~~~

Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   Summer 2016

Three Stars

We stand in silent awe
Heads tilted, lips slightly parted
As we orbit their perimeter
With envious gazing
Wondering what it must be like
To live in their circle.

Three sister stars
Aligned with unseen tether
Shining through the darkness
Their position fixed and eternal
In a sky that would change
Forever should they dim.

for Angela, Mandi, and Lopa


Ken Owen     Van Niddy Press   August 2016

How the Sun Feels

(On A Day Like Any Other)

On a day like any other

The Sun and I woke together 

and rubbed sleepy clouds 

of morning from our eyes.

Time to face the day, I groaned.

Time to be the day, said the Sun

as it tenderly kissed my cheek 

and sent me on my way.

On a day like any other

I came out at noon to see the Sun 

shouting at ladies under parasols 

and gentlemen in tight collars.

Must you be so stern, I asked.

Must you be so insolent, demand the Sun 

as it stung my cheek with a burning reprimand 

and went on about his business of parching the distant hills.

On a day like any other

I sat facing west and watched the

The Sun look guiltily over its shoulder

as it left for the night.

Thanks for all your hard work, I said.

Thanks for understanding, said the Sun 

as it gently kissed my cheek and painted 

its apology in the clouds.

Ken Owen    Van Niddy Press    June 2016

Us and Them

(Thinking in English)

On my way to work this morning, I stopped at the corner market for a lottery ticket and said good morning to the shopkeeper from Pakistan who was arguing with his wife in Punjabi. He calls me Boss, and I like that, but I know he calls everyone Boss.

After I dropped off my laundry with the quiet Japanese man who owns the dry cleaning business and bows ever so slightly when I arrive and leave, I stopped in to say good morning to the husband and wife from the Philippines who own the train station cafe so we could show each other our latest grandbaby pictures.

On the shuttle to work, I practiced saying "Good Morning" and yelling "You Crazy Fucker!" in Vietnamese at the other drivers with my friend Tien the Shuttle Bus Driver. This makes him smile.

At lunch time, I got something to eat from my friend Andy who runs the cafeteria. Andy is from China, works 6 days a week, 12 hours or more each day, and tells me he has no time to look for a wife. Andy likes the fact that I have a day job and a night job, and whispers to me, "Most Americans won't do that. Good for you!"

On the ride home from work, Tien the Shuttle Driver was having an argument on his phone and driving like he was maneuvering the streets of Ho Chi Minh City at noon, while the two Middle East software programmers sitting behind me were discussing code in Farsi. I asked Tien to drop me off at the corner market so I could buy a bottle of beer from the owner who was now arguing with his son in Punjabi. His son was answering his father in combinations of Punjabi and English.

As I left the corner market, I was thinking in English that perhaps we could all have a ceremony one day to officially abolish the concept of 'us and them' once and for all.

Ken Owen    May 2016

Van Niddy Press 

Flowers of The Battelfield

I dreamed of wild flowers
sacrificed and buried
without ceremony

trampled under foot
by frightened young
farmers-turned-soldiers

and brave captains
shouting great rallying
cries of war

The crushed seeds from
Blue Belles and Buttercups
and Flowering Dogwood

fed with the blood of
patriot causes gave birth to
a new generation of flora

saddened with consciousness
and uneasy with the search
for answers beyond the clouds.


-inspired by "The Civil War" by Ken Burns



Ken Owen   

Van Niddy Press   April 2016

Spring Haiku

Winter / Spring 2016     

     Off in the distance
shouting the time across town--
     the 8:20 train.

           ~~~~~

     The sparrow performed
a precision landing on
     a cactus flower.

           ~~~~~

     The Screeching seagull

answering the train whistle:

     "All clear from up here!"

            ~~~~~

     Let all your footsteps

kiss the earth with gratitude 

     for her patience.

            ~~~~~

     Resting on a cloud

just above the horizon,

     a sleepy spring moon.  

            ~~~~~

     Like kids in the car,

spring clouds barely made the trip

     before they let go.

            ~~~~~

     'Six Days on The Road'

is to Country Music what

     'Misty' is to Jazz.

             ~~~~~

     Who are we to say

of what should and should not be?

     Bow and keep quiet.

              ~~~~~

     Brother mosquito:

in life, annoying; in death,

     fine art on my wall.

             ~~~~~

     Stay with me, lover

watch the creeping moon shadows

     while we catch our breathe.

             ~~~~~

    With marijuana,

decriminalization

     serves the greater good.

-for Trick

             ~~~~~

     In grief I summon

no intermediary 

     to will you my love.

-for the people of Brussels, March 2016

             ~~~~~

     Angry waves reclaimed

the cliffs where we cast our dreams 

     to the horizon.

-for Half Moon Bay and Pacifica, CA, Winter 2016

             ~~~~~

     Spring day, winter day,

then back again, Mother Nature

     struggles to let go.

             ~~~~~

   California spring:

on a bottle of sun screen,

     sticky beads of rain.

           ~~~~~

          Flying overhead,

geese late for breakfast shouting

     "Good Morning Down There!"

           ~~~~~

     Mind the sidewalk snail!

Return to The Now, spare all

     brothers and sisters!

           ~~~~~

     In pale blue moonlight,

whispering breezes rescue

     glistening lovers.

          ~~~~~

     A drunken sailor

demanding everyone sing--

    The howling storm wind.

          ~~~~~

    Running from the rain,

the squirrel has bathed enough

    this blustery day.

          ~~~~~

    Green tea, warm slippers,

I fall asleep listening

    to the Winter storm.

          ~~~~~

    My voice to give you

the joys of my singing heart

    goes mute when you smile.

-North Beach, San Francisco

          ~~~~~

   Prediction of rain

became blue skies, quilted clouds.

    Either way is fine.

          ~~~~~

     Watching in wonder,

flowers along the freeway

     offering their gift.

    Staring straight ahead,

commuters on the freeway

    never see the blossoms.

-Morning commute, Milpitas, CA

          

          ~~~~~~

     My disappointment:

awoke from a flying dream

    earthbound and powerless.

          ~~~~~~

    Kissing tenderly

under a blanket of fog,

    sea and sky make love.

-Amtrak, Fremont to Sacramento 

          ~~~~~~

    Each Spring rain puddle 

circled with golden pollen

    brings tears to the eye.

          ~~~~~~

     "God is dead."  -Nietzsche

"God is dad."    -Mr. S. Freud

     "god is Dog."    -Owen

          ~~~~~~

          

     Workforce Reduction--

office mates yesterday, then

     one box and good-bye.

-Alviso, CA

          ~~~~~~

    Each morning I leave

the dog wondering why I

     gave away our day.

-Morning Commute, 9:15a.m.

          ~~~~~~

     Empty boats pass us

on the river of life when

     loved ones leave too soon.

In memory of Kimberley Kenney

          ~~~~~~

     What power, your vision!

Blissful reverie the cause

     of my silly grin.

          ~~~~~~

     Cowboy hat and boots--

A stranger in The City

    rustling free poems.

-Sunday at The Glen Park Library, 4:30pm

          ~~~~~~

     Old man observing

from the tavern window, dreams

     the old neighborhood.

-Sunday at The Glen Park Station Bar, 5:45pm

          

          ~~~~~~

     Policeman shouting

"Don't Move!" quickly ends the chase     

     on a moon bright night.

-Police action in the neighborhood, Fremont, CA, 12:30a.m.

          ~~~~~~

     Winter storm complete,

satisfied clouds deliver

     the morning rainbow.

         ~~~~~~

     The proposition

of our final certainty

      is beyond question.

         ~~~~~~

     To warm your old bones

Ladies and Gentlemen, Spring!

     Love, February 

         ~~~~~~

    You spit in the face

of our collective knowledge.

     Take your god and go.

-for Hitch

         ~~~~~~

     Yesterday's puddles

bored with their own reflection,

     waiting for the sun.

Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press    March 2016

The Roadside Cross

                                                 home
                                     made
              roadside  cross   fading artificial flowers
                   altar for the poor            candles
                              por los muertos
                                    to mark
                                    where
                                    the
                                    spirit
                                    broke
                                    free




Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press    January 2016

Most Nights...

Eyes
      open

      Eyes
shut

 no difference

   your
   image

won't leave

Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   January 2016