Goodbye, Old Life

[This is a reworking of the first blog post I ever wrote, in prose, on another hosting site, after my divorce and selling of our old house. – Owen]

It’s time to say goodbye, old life – it’s time for me to go…

To notches on the door-frame as we watched our children grow,
To walls that once held shadows from a child’s puppet show,
To unavailing efforts when we try to stem time’s flow
(For life will go the speed it goes, be that speed fast or slow)
To lives we built together here – the one I came to know —

Goodbye, old life. It’s time for me to go.

And now, I take a look around within day’s fading glow,
I loved you, but it’s over now. There’s no more con or pro –
For you are where you need to be; you’re neither friend nor foe.
I close the door and shiver as I feel the cold wind blow,
And think these words, this brief adagio —

Goodbye, old life

It’s time for me

To go

with gratitude

hearts beat but for a time,

we make our way to rest.

so is it silly preening, now,

if i am hashtag-blessed?


for when in trouble sore,

we reach out in our pain,

we find how many can relate

to sorrow’s heavy bane —


but that can’t (surely) mean

when fortune breaks the tension,

that we should not this, too, set down,

for good days merit mention.


for much has happened glad that i

could not have ever guessed;

and it’s the simple truth: i am

a man who’s hashtag-blessed

(Inspired by a audcast from Ra Avis – Owen)

in soul of search mates



the sad is search and
difficult with all of its
dramatics to turn oneself into a
prize it’s moral

acrobatics we love because
we love to love to need to feel
inside but all that ever was
and is is made of clove and

pride we string along our
platitudes we soon evince our
longing but souls are made of fragile
stuff and yearning for


In Passage

You and I had mastered the sails by then –
And we steered as well by moonlight
As we ever had in the daytime, often
Looking over to see if the other one
Was looking

But now the canvas ruffled in the wind,
And we unspeaking smiled across the wet
Spaces between us, ropes and oars under
Our feet

And in those times before music was
Everywhere, there were sounds many have
Never heard –
Like the sound of a lighthouse as it
Revolves, its eye spinning restlessly

We heard the waves, and a gull, and the lighthouse, and
We steered back to where I leapt off onto
The dock as you fed me rope to moor

I took your hand to help you up onto the dock,
You thanked me with a look, and we
Muscle-tired, traveled wet and sandy,
In your old Volkswagen through the quiet night

In passage, we find that
Expectation is old, and tired, while
Experience is as varied and unexpected
As life itself

We shared this time together
Not a dangerous time,
Not a time of bodies touching,
But a time of

Cooperation, companionship and harmony

And in much that fills a life with meaning,

There are those moments we spend
Simply doing
That which we love

Because we love it

[Inspired by this post.- Owen]


Unlicensed Life Expert

Now all day long, I give advice.
It’s free, but well worth twice the price;
Just come to me with all your woes:
I’m sure I can solve all of those.

For unlicensed life expert (me)
Will counsel you to sanity:
With bromides, and with pale cliches,
I’ll guide you through life’s twisted maze.

And though you might ask who the hell
Am I, to think that I can tell
You how to live, or who to date,
Believe me: I’m just really great.

So join our new proclivity
To dwell in positivity:
For no cents, you will get no sense,
And little

my closest friend

music (for years) has been my closest friend,
too intimate, too shy to show or share;
in covert moments / hours without end,
the heart wide open and the soul laid bare

for soloist and single instrument
as though within this very (sort of) room
becomes a touch between the shoulder blades
a shiver of excitement, doom, or gloom

sometimes, in black-and-white, with spare guitar,
and old harmonica across the plain,
the universe expands in lone acoustics
within its sonic, intimate domain

so much we do not dare to ever share
that changes lives
when no one else
is there


I have beliefs and values, it is true;
But I want to communicate with you.
The real you, not some front or some facade;
There person who you are, in all the odd

Circumstance that makes up where you’ve been,
The tangledness of women, and of men
I’m fortunate to meet along my way
As each of us goes through the solar day.

My friends of other countries and beliefs –
Each buoyed by joy, perhaps, or weighed by griefs –
They make the world of truth I want to know.
Each of us just a flake within the snow

Or piece of soot within the grimy air.
My life herein is given for you there
For all I am is someone just like me
My only coin
Is naked


Inspired by this post, which is currently being kept private by the blog’s author. So don’t bother clicking just yet.


PS – Yes, I know I use a pseudonym. But this is really me.

A Critic’s Response to “She Pulled It Off”


(Never let it be said we don’t give time to opposing viewpoints here. – Owen)

Dear Mr. Servant:

This post I found offensive.
For it seemed to provide
A woman with no clothes on.
At least, that was implied.

I do not read your poetry
For mere licentiousness;
“She pulled it off,” indeed.
Your whole dang blog’s become a mess.

I will not be a party to
Some other WordPress whore:
So cancel my subscription,
I’m not reading anymore.

I read these words in wonder.
Could this person be real?
The woman in that piece had just
Pulled off a business deal.

Which her close friends had doubted.
I thought it only zen
To celebrate her talent and
Her business acumen.

But somehow, he saw something else
Not a pure celebration;
But poets always have been prone
To misinterpretation.

But wait a minute, one more thing,
I knew that sounded funny –
This guy had a subscription?
Who’s been getting
All the money?

You Are Letting Me Go?…

[Inspired by this post.  I do not know the author, so I hope she accepts my apology in advance for using her post in such a manner. – Owen]

= = = = = | = = = = =

You say you don’t deserve me, and
That I deserve much more:
But yet it’s only you I’ve ever wanted.

And so it is your fault, but it is
Me that’s out the door.
I must admit it – for all of your vaunted

Honesty, I have to say, that I am not convinced.
Except for one thing:
That you don’t want me.

So write me off, unable to stem your dissatisfaction:
Condemn the man you say
You’re setting free