Original Poems

The Music of Emptiness

We have known the music of emptiness,
and truth be told,
at times, we have sought it.

Times when we seek,
not to make sense of it all,
but to accept the senselessness
and vanity that comprises much
of life.

This is not sadness,
it is a hollowness:
this us not despair,
it is more like
resignation —

But it is also
a type of detoxification,
an emptying out
to allow for the possibility

of refilling.

Original Poems

When The Old Things Don’t Work Anymore

The old jokes do not make him laugh
The old dress doesn’t make him look
The old him was all into her
The lapse of time was all it took

The vanity she entertained
The love she thought forever true
The hollowness we come to see
In who we are
And all

We do

Original Poems

On The Transience and Vanity of Being A Writer

He let imagination play
And spill across each fevered page;
Of life spent at a breakneck pace,
Of love and hate and
Sex and rage

And peaceful moments that would touch
The hearts of any who might see;
But wonders now, and over-much,
If all of it’s
Not vanity

He wanted what he wrote to shine,
The brilliance of a million suns;
But now, he simply wants to write
Some thoughts that you’d read
More than once


 

(“On The Transience and Vanity of Being A Writer” – 7-11-2015)

Original Poems

So Familiar

So Familiar

A life led by blind desire,
Lurching toward the funeral pyre

Happenstance spun into meaning,
Private times spent posing, preening

Strings of words on worthless air,
Tableaus struck with no one there

Emptiness and vanity,
Sheltered by insanity

Carved from cells once formed by bliss:

So familiar

All of this


 

(“So Familiar” – 10-23-2014)

Original Poems

Raining It In

It’s raining where I work today
But I’ll show up and earn my pay
Or try to: try to prove my worth
As though each day was a new birth

But through this pane of glass I see
The wild world in front of me
And hear the booming thunder roll
All things beyond my weak control

The vanity that is my life
The constant struggle, strain and strife
That daily I myself surround
Like rain, as it comes tumbling down

Original Poems

How desolate this spot is now…

How desolate this spot is now.
I walk around the emptiness –
What once was meant as life support
Lies dead among the quietness
 
And as the summer shadows move,
I hear the evening start its song;
The sun is headed home to rest,
And I should head home too,
Ere long

= = = = =

(I actually took this photo, which is a rarity. – Owen)