A Resonance

I heard across the span of years the sea.
A younger smaller form of you-and-me:
Our latent powers weakened by the storm,
Each pressured in our ways to fold, conform —

But on that shore, we held to skin on skin,
Our bronze desire: to escape again
Into a world we hoped we could make last,
And be unchained from still more distant past.

But on the brink, a sudden hesitance;
The sea-sound of our hearts, a resonance
That echoed over shores where blue turned gray,
And blew our fragile happening


Memories from The Suicide Crisis Line

…People always make fun of me, she said,
Kids in school said I was retarded

[oh, girl, i know i was there, i never spoke up for you i’m so sorry]

No boy has ever loved me, she said;
I don’t even have real friends –
Well, I have one.
My mom got me a spa membership, and
I made one friend, a woman at the spa

So, you’ve made a friend?
That’s good, I said,
Tell me about her

She’s older.
Her name is Daisy – she’s a teacher —

[my mom has made friends with her… of course.]

So you talk when you’re at the spa?

Yes, she also brought over
An extra workout mat I can use at home –
She’s really nice —

How’s work been going?

It’s lonely —
College cafeteria work – kids my age, but
They don’t even look at me

[i’m going to talk to you when i see you tomorrow! i will.]

Have you had any more thoughts about suicide this week?

Yes –
She said —

You have a lot to live for – you’re doing great…

Roger? — you sound kind of sad yourself,
The last few times we’ve talked.
Are you okay?

[i’m great, except i’ve hated myself from the moment i realized who you were…]


Oh, no, I’m fine Kathy. I just
Wish sometimes I could help you more.

You all are there to talk to.
That means everything to someone like me —
Well —
I’m gonna go now…

[my god, i despise myself right now]


an intimate moment
seems a lifetime,
so hungry are we
for them,
and so rare
as they often are.

an intimate moment,
is of course a lifetime
captured in an instant,
with only two
real participants

If you cannot view the video that comes with this piece, and would like to, click here. – Owen

Yellow Haze

Seasons in a yellow haze,
Mysteries unfolding,
Loving nights and glowing days,
Happening and holding,

Everything he’d wanted, ever,
Melodies and gladness,
Seasons in a yellow haze,
Happy in the madness.

Harvested and forested,
Golden in his seeking,
Loving much, but caring more,
Knowing without speaking,

Saved for winter, kept in store,
Banking on the morrow,
Harvested and forested,
Safe from wear and sorrow.

Seasons in a yellow haze,
Finally, an ending:
Holding on is all he’s known
Now there is no bending

Cabin sits as ere it did
Though the past is fading
Seasons in a yellow haze


lutes of green luster

My father was both an painter and an accomplished classical guitarist …

my father’s art and music:

lutes of green luster playing
sounds of classical
strings as they wound around
paintings sketched with pen-and-ink and
laid in with watercolor wash through
medieval antiphons

with cats in the background

and peanut brittle on the table

with a half-finished crossword puzzle

near his family

Asylum Cat

When I was the insane asylum –
Where poets belong –
There was also a cat living there.

Unlike Christopher Smart’s cat,
This one seemed ignorant of theology.
Unless you consider being affectionate
A theological virtue, which
I do.

Being officially crazy at the time –
Because I had paperwork saying so –
Talking to the cat was not
Frowned upon.

I would say, rather,
It was encouraged;
Or, at least,
Encouraged a lot more
Than sleeping with
The nurses.

Not that I ever did that,
Even while officially crazy.

Instead, I went to therapy,
And talked to the cat,
Whose name ought to have been
But wasn’t, because
No one there knew that story.

When I told it to them,
They just looked at me

Like I was crazy