A Gust of Wind

A gust of wind 
sent down from the gods on high 
made its way 
down the snowy pure-clean mountains 
down through deep valleys and across green fields 

to the sea where it stirred the great waters 

and the currents and clouds gladly followed
until it dragged crashing waves upon the distant shore
to announce its arrival

and as it flew through towns and cities
howling down the concrete canyons 
and the rich man raised his collar 
and the poor man searched for shelter
and you and I huddled for warmth
as we walked that crowded street

it continued its long journey 

until it found the battlefields of war
and carried the billowing clouds of destruction 
and the smell of death and despair
back to the heavens to let the gods know
though their winds of change blow long and hard
man stands as still as a mountain 
that takes years to form anew.

Ken Owen    December 2023
Van Niddy Press

Just Coffee: Lookin’ For Signs, Part 1

One night I was out drivin’ and thinkin’ and lookin’ for signs of what my next move might be, but I was gettin’ no answers from the parade of headlights underneath a blanket of stars as the broken white lines sliced the blacktop right through the heart of an endless night. And as my mind drifted through all the lost possibilities left behind on roads not taken, a faint blue glow lit up the road as I came upon an all-night roadside diner with a jittery neon sign struggling to say “OPEN”. So I pulled into the empty gravel parking lot and let my headlights and the hiss of a grateful engine announce my arrival to no one in particular.

The diner was small but clean enough with no customers if you don’t count the drunk snoring in the last booth. The cook was leanin’ against a cold stove reading the horse-racing form and lookin’ for a winner down in Tijuana while the Mexican radio station reminded you that you don’t have to know the language to know it’s a sad song. I was letting the scene take its place in my mind when an old waitress looked up at me, laughed and said, “Looks like you beat the crowd, boy; anywhere you like,” and waved her hand like a queen blessing the palace with her dangling cigarette like a scepter that froze time.

So I picked a booth and collapsed my weary self down exhaling my burdens like the sigh of a Norther as the broken spring in the seat reminded me my search for comfort-mental and physical-wasn’t over, and the only thought I could muster was, “…might as well order somethin’.”

The waitress got up slowly, takin’ her time and, obviously not pleased with me choosing the booth furthest away from her royal throne, made her way towards me managing a painful limp that made me feel guilty and my feet hurt just from watching her.

“Somethin’ to drink?”, she said.

 “Naw,” I said, “just coffee.”

It seemed that after years of taking a beating from the same lesson every night, one sign had finally stayed lit long enough to find its way into my view and make me realize that my response to the question, “Something to drink?”, was going to require a bit more consideration on my part from now on.

-KO and PR, Fall 2023 

I Seriously Doubt It

 

There seems to be

a mental storage closet in my 

chameleon brain

placed there by either

millions of years of evolution

or a flaw in the great design

whose sole purpose 

is to keep certain 

images and melodies

locked away and long forgotten 

until some mental misfire

of questionable origin demands

we reach in and dust off 

these ancient memories 

for further inspection

like my young joy at being

picked for kickball that day 

during 6th grade recess

or the image of my father smiling

when he looked at me holding

his first grand daughter.

I sometimes wonder

if these random thoughts could be 

generated by bits of cosmic energy 

telling us a review is needed to make sure 

something of significance was not overlooked 

and its life lesson received.

But

after further review

I seriously doubt it

because

try as I might

I could find no reason why 

I woke up this morning with 

‘Danke Schoen’ by Wayne Newton

playing in my head.

Perhaps

there’s a lesson in there

somewhere.

Ken Owen   September 2023

Van Niddy Press

What The Hell is Wrong with People?

how many times a day

do you find yourself

saying

out loud

to no one



        what the hell is wrong with people?



once or twice

might fall within 

an acceptable range given 

the way things look lately


but any more than that

and it may be time to

turn off the news

and quit clicking on

headlines for a while


and you might consider

taking a long walk

on a beautiful trail

in a park or meadow


and hopefully

you won't see

any trash scattered about

or dog poop left unattended

that would cause you

to say

out loud

to no one



    (well…you get the idea).




-written while eating breakfast and clicking on headlines



Ken Owen     August 2023
Van Niddy Press

The Sum of All Roads Taken

Photograph by Dianne Woods

this is 
who i
am now

the sum
of all
roads taken

choices made
that built
the journey

were destined
to bring
me here.

this is 
who i
am now

the sum 
of all 
roads taken

the heart
now steady
with gratitude

the soul
glows warm
in reflection.

this is
who i
am now

the sum
of all
roads taken

fear guides
not my
final steps

the view 
from here
is mine.


Ken Owen    August 2023
Van Niddy Press

The Latest Fad

It seems to me that 
little white Tesla cars
are breeding like rabbits.

They’re everywhere.

I remember the good old days

when only rich engineers from the valley

could afford the newest luxury

in automotive technology

but at least those folks 

could actually drive their Teslas

like spoiled kids with a new toy

zip whoosh gone

down the freeway

and quickly out of your 

experience.

Now

the novelty of

owning this latest fad

has been passed down 

to the masses

who still don’t know

how to drive 

or park in the parking lot 

at Trader Joe’s

no matter what they drive.

Tesla Cars: the Boston Terriers of the automotive world.

Ken Owen   August 2023

Van Niddy Press

7 Stories Below

 

Late yesterday afternoon

they told us 

that an emergency surgery

was required to take place

on the old garage door

for our apartment building

and they apologized in advance

for any inconvenience caused

by the operation to be performed

7 stories below.

The old door is a large 

metal grill of a thing

rusted annually from the sea air 

here near the coast.

We said to each other

Well, I don’t think we 

should hear anything way up here

7 stories above

but bright and early

8:00am

the noise started

as they tried to save the life

of the old garage door 

7 stories below.

Just hammering

then drilling

then sawing

separately

then a symphony

of all those things

all at once

as the skeleton of the building

shouted and moaned with

every            bit        of          noise

from the operating room 

7 stories below.

I thought

this must be what it’s like 

for a brain to experience 

a root canal.

So I decided to leave 

our waiting room

and turn my afternoon walk

into an early morning walk

as I wished the patient 

an easy rehabilitation with its new appendage

and the team of surgeons

a speedy completion to their procedures

with hopes that my afternoon nap

would not be impeded from

the operation being performed

7 stories below.

Ken Owen   July 2023

Van Niddy Press

A Deficit of Impartiality

No one in the courtroom paid much attention to me as I waited to be interviewed for Jury Duty selection. When it was finally my turn, the prosecuting attorney asked if I had any concerns about my ability to remain impartial while reviewing evidence and testimony. 

“To be honest,” I replied, “after hearing a description of the charges and the arguments the attorneys for the defense plan to make, I'm afraid I am already running a deficit of impartiality towards the defendants.”

This caused everyone in the courtroom to turn and see who could make such an exaggerated statement. The Judge raised her gaze from her paperwork, adjusted her glasses, looked me over and said,

 
“Mr. Owen, what did you say you do for a living?”
 
“Well your Honor, I am a retired technology worker, a professional musician, and a self-published poet.” 

“I see,” she replied. “What kind of tech work did you do?”

“ I was a Business Process Analyst.”

“And what instrument do you play?” 

“Drums, your Honor.” 

“I’m guessing you’ve played since you were very young?” 

“Yes Ma’am, much to the chagrin of my parents.” 

She then made the faintest of smiles, and went back to her paperwork.

After a brief pause of attorneys whispering to each other in a hushed conference, the defense attorney said, “Your honor, we’d like to dismiss Mr. Owen and thank him for his time.”

Glad to be relieved from service, it wasn’t until I was half-way home that I realized she never asked me about my poetry.

Ken Owen   July 2023

Van Niddy Press

That Same Old Story

 

Stop me if 
   I’ve told you this before…

You know that story
   the one your friend loves to tell

the one…of the dozens
    they have that you’ve heard

many times 
   over the years

and because you can see
   the joy in their sharing

you listen quietly 
   and act like you are hearing

the story for the 
   first time?

Guess what…

They are thinking

   the same thing 

when you tell your stories

   even though you preface each story with

 
“I’m sure I must have 
   told you this before, but…”

as if that grants you pardon
   for your forgetfulness

and they listen quietly 
   and act like they are hearing

the story for the 
   first time

because now
   at our age

this is the price

   we gladly pay

for the privilege of having friends 

   that know all our stories.

Ken Owen   July 2023
Van Niddy Press