I Never Heard Her Sing

She's gone to search new places

for new people and new things,

and I never heard her sing,

never heard her sing.

With a voice like calming breezes

and a wind upon a wing,

but I never heard her sing,

never heard her sing.

I brought her songs and melodies

of sunshine and of rain,

but all that was in vain,

all in vain.

She could not sing my songs of love

while living with the pain,

now she’ll not come again,

ne'er again.

For me she could not sing,

for me she could not sing,

so I gather all the questions

I laid at her door,

and won’t ask why anymore.

When she finds love to fill her heart

and the joy that it will bring,

the world will hear her sing,

hear her sing.

Until then my days go by

always remembering 

that I never heard her sing,

never heard her sing.


Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   June 2013

The Dead Dream Boneyard

It was clear there were some bad things stuck in his thought grinder.

It kept grinding out the same bad thoughts over and over, and it was turning his chameleon brain into some sort of cemetery for dead dreams. He even gave it a name: 

“The Dead Dream Boneyard" 

That made him laugh...and creeped him out a little at the same time.

He was spending way too much time visiting his Dead Dream Boneyard, where broken promises stood like crosses marking spots where rows and rows of dreams were laid to rest, one after another, silent forever. Some dreams had lived long and produced days like wonderful blossoming flowers and nights like they write about in love poems, while other dreams had died young and never saw their promise fulfilled.

He wasn't sure which dreams hurt more to visit. 

No one wants to bury a dream. It's a very sad thing but you have to bury a dream when its dead, there is just no getting around it. Someone has to step up and proclaim, "I'm sorry, we did everything we could. The dream is gone." Mourners come once to say their good-byes when dreams die and say things like “What happened?’ and “If you need anything at all...” and then they go away and are thankful their dreams are still around. Everyone knew what killed the dreams but no one wanted to talk about it or accept responsibility for what happened, and everyone just looked the other way and nervously shuffled passed the rows and rows of dead dreams, but not him. 

He would bring thoughts from his thought grinder in bunches like flowers to each dead dream and plant them with prayers of forgiveness and water them with tears of longing while muttering bits of finely crafted stories under his breath that sounded like nonsense but made him feel better about what happened to these dreams. Then he'd dust off the broken promise markers, smoothing off the rough edges no one liked to see, and like rubbing dusty old magic lamps the dead dreams would come to life and start floating by like old photographs hung in puffy white clouds of memory.

To spend time with old dead dreams is to steal time from making new dreams, and he knew that, but still he came to the Dead Dream Boneyard. And when he stayed too long, dreams that were angry they were dead would howl at him on cold bitter winds that made him turn up his collar and head for home, and he would think to himself, "That's it, no more visits to this Dead Dream Boneyard for me. I'm done with this!" But he always went back.

What he needed was something new to go through the thought grinder of his chameleon brain so he could make some new dreams, but it’s hard to think new thoughts and make new dreams when you’ve just left The Dead Dream Boneyard.


Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   May 2013

The Cool Spot

Jack The Dog has a cool spot in the house where he likes to lay. It's in the hallway, and it's a pain in the ass for him to be there because you have to walk around him all the time but that's his spot, and we all need a spot and that's his so that's that.

It can take a long time to find your spot. It's no easy thing. He's found his spot and I respect that. When he's in his spot, I go around.

It's near the heater vent where air from under the house comes up and keeps him cool on hot summer nights. He's a smart dog, he knows there are small bits of cool air from under the house that drift up and he lays there and collects them. Good for him. He is a 100 pound dog laying in the middle of the hallway in everyone's way and looking at you to say "Sorry, this is my cool spot and I ain't moving. It too late and it's too hot and I'm too tired, so go around." And we do.

I'm still looking for my cool spot. 

There were a few times when I thought I'd found it, but in the end I was just in people's way and I knew it and I had no right to tell people to go around me. The dog is way ahead of me here. He's one smart dog and I am learning a lot from him. When I find my one true cool spot that I deserve, I'll know it, and I'm going to lay down and tell everyone else to go around.

Cool.


Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   May 2013

Day One

As sleep ends,

morning fog of mind

slowly lifting

reveals scattered clouds 

of yesterday's promise

lost,

delivered from your dreams

to the Now

where courage and fear battle

to determine the path forward.

Day One.


Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   May 2013

I Saw Jesus

I saw Jesus in a bagel.

So...there's your proof;

he does cheap parlor tricks when he’s bored.

I saw Jesus at the lunch counter

making tomato soup from a ketchup packet.

He said, "times are tough all over."

I saw Jesus at my friends house.

He sleeps on a lot of people's couches

and you have to tell him to keep moving

or only he knows how long he'll be there.

I saw Jesus at the park.

He does a lot of thinking.

I saw Jesus at the bus stop.

He told me...

"This 'wander the earth' business 

does not pay well."

I saw Jesus walking his dog.

They were smiling and giggling at each other
over some private joke.

I saw Jesus on The Internet.

I couldn't make sense of his blog.

I saw Jesus with a worried look on his face.

I think he is having second thoughts 

about this whole thing.

I saw Jesus in the garden.

No miracles, just weeding.

(I couldn't bring myself to ask him about

the purpose of gophers).

I saw Jesus down by the ocean.

He was creating wild realities

and the waves were yelling at him to knock it off.

I saw Jesus at the blues bar.

He was not impressed and neither was I.

I saw Jesus at Guitar Center

smiling at the young kids playing 'Stairway to Heaven' 

(isn't that sweet?).

Last time I saw Jesus

he said to tell you 

"thanks for everything".

Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   May 2013

The Kiss

The kiss.

The kiss 

will tell you everything.

The kiss

is for knowing the possibilities.

The kiss

will reveal what is and once was.

The kiss

is how two hearts touch.

The kiss

is love-speak. 

The kiss 

sings harmony with rapture and joy.

The kiss

makes echoes in the great halls of love.

The kiss

is the path-stone to passion.

The kiss 

is the fuel of desire’s flame.

The kiss

is the original Soul Food!

Want to know?

Really know?

Say nothing.

Listen to the kiss.

Ken Owen,  Van Niddy Press,   May 2013

All Those Years Ago

I went back to the old home town

to that small cold church

where friends were married

family buried

all those years ago

for one more sad good-bye

remembrances 

how some things never change

and some things can't stay the same.

Our friends were there,

they asked about you.

I couldn't bring myself to tell them

the trouble we've been through.

I let them smile

at the thought of happiness

untrue,

the air was thick with sadness 

enough one day.

...and my mind kept drifting

longing for simpler times

of sunshine and wine

on hot sweaty nights

when things were simple 

and right.

And so it was

as I payed tribute

to all things lost

I realized

how some things never change

some things can't stay the same

and there is no going back

to where we've been

all those years ago.

Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   April 2013