My Side of the Mountain

During each of my

childhood summers

I watched my mountain burn

dry brush and parched weed

set aflame with the boredom of kids 

with no teachers to distract them 

with math and history

and keep them from idle mischief.

Back in those days

there were no homes 

on my side of the mountain

so the fire fighters would just

park their great machines 

on the road below

and watch it burn.

Sometimes when

my mountain 

burned too quickly 

helicopters would fly overhead

and toss great billowing 

clouds of orange dust
on the running flames

while we pleaded with our parents 
to let us watch until bedtime.

My friends and I

could never understand why anyone

would burn our mountain 

so we figured 

it must be the high school kids 

because we didn't 
understand them either.

When we became

high school kids

we still went up to my mountain 

and did all the things 

you weren't supposed to do 

until you were much older

and we never 
burned my mountain

but someone else always did.

My mountain 

was an all-day 

private kingdom 

yet the only thing our parents 

cared about was that we were out 

from under their feet until 5:00pm.

I don't remember 

anyone in my house asking 

what I did all day on my mountain

and that seems 

strange to me now.

Ken Owen   August 2017
Van Niddy Press   

Pass The Salt

Remember. . .

all those times 

in restaurants 

when you'd look over 

and see an elderly person 

pouring the table salt in their hand 

before they dumped it 

on their food

and you thought to yourself

“What the fuck are they doing?”

Well

now you know,

don't you.

They couldn't see it

and now

you can't either.

Welcome to The Inevitable, Tough Guy.

Ken Owen  

Van Niddy Press  August  2017

Say It Now

Let us deliver

to the hearts we hold dear

our pronouncements of love

while they are still here.

Randy Craig, Ken Owen

 Marsh Cabaret, Berkeley, CA
August 9, 2017
Photo by (of a photo by) Doug McKechnie

Distance

As the setting sun warmed me 

with the last touch of its day

I closed my eyes and cast my thoughts 

of you adrift for sailing

on gentle evening breezes

to join the clouds of night

that whisper ever sweetly 

of love to the knowing moon

that its light might serve a beacon

and guide you until dawn

as we share this space between us

in quiet solitude.

Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press

August 2017

How Hot Was It?

Well . . .

the clouds just lay there 

in small broken pieces

too hot to join together and form great works

because the wind had 

no energy or intent 

and took one long nap

birds sat still

quietly hidden in trees

because they knew better

and as we waited

for the burning sun 

to set

I watched a crepe myrtle

smile at the beauty of the day

from my spot in the shade.

Ken Owen  Van Niddy Press

July 2017

Fashion Statement

Her hand bag 
matched her jacket:

a print of black and white circles 

resembling a film negative 

of dozens of deviled eggs

over a black background

a bold fashion statement 

which, sadly

only seemed to highlight

that the rest of her was unremarkable 

but that caused me to review 
my own wardrobe choices for the day:

blue jean jacket
blue flower-print shirt

fading blue jeans
all which seemed to highlight 

me as equally unremarkable 

and much less imaginative.

Matching accessories wins.

-written on the morning work shuttle, March 2017

Live Simply

Photograph by Suzette Odell

Spring and Summer Haiku, 2017

A beautiful day

     to stay in bed with a book--

sloth absolved by rain.

Dashboard hula girl,

     broken, her beauty fading.

Perfect match, we two.



Head down, snail tracks
     head up, sea birds ride the wind--
My morning lessons.

Sunday--when shouting
     "Breakfast is ready" at noon 
makes no one think twice.

Pine box oblation,
     soul collected, readied for
cosmic recycling.

Paradise Market
     Selling Daydreams since Day One.
(sorry, no returns.)

Majestic spring clouds

     crawling across my window

grazing on daydreams.

Morning Aria

     Act One, enter mama bird,

"Come children, breakfast!"

-written on the way to the train station

Dream of you complete,

     cars on sleepy roads tell time--

One thirty a.m.

-May 1st, 1:30a.m.

Silent church of dawn

     begins with an offering:

cosmic do-over.

Sadly, I waited

     to visit the new swallows 

one day too many.

Row twenty seven,
     Three squished mummies, eyes forward,

Trying not to touch.

              

In flight, one bathroom,

     two hundred souls, suddenly 

no gender issues.

United Airlines, Dallas to San Jose, June 2017

 Pleading forgiveness
     all is forgiven until

"lipstick marks, again?!"

from the English subtitles for a bad Chinese movie, June 2017

Golden summer moon,

     keep the secrets of my heart

safe until morning.

-Inspired by a fellow admirer of the moon, July 2017

Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press