Far-Off Friend

Simple and sweet

Short and without

Awake without sleep

Head off the stout

Drinking to increase thirst

Want to want not

Refuse food and won’t eat

Breathe slow… In and out

Find inner peace

And release the words from my mouth

Floating in the wind my wishes that whisper

Quietly in your ear

I hope you are well

©️ The Sad Owl

The Train is Never Late Only Too Early

Vermillion velvet ribbons fall in tandem

Like tethers to fates, all the places I can’t follow

Soft as they gently caress me, only in a memory

Cerulean droplets given, all sin demands them

Light feathers at gates, fall in a space where I am hollow

Aloft they sway arrestingly, heaven has not sent for me 

Swain in the big city with trains to my heart on time and swiftly

Iron tracks and steely gazes hitting me and then the sight of you

Graceful and elegantly holding onto the lamp post, smiling 

Plain and unworthy but my heart pained with no words, just what I see 

Lights on intact, freely wasted in your glow, there was no night with you 

Tasteful can be negligently folding the ticket that cost us… another fare to ride

We somehow missed the train that night just to coincide 

But not all things happen together

© The Sad Owl

The New Age

It was a long time ago, long before I could know

Of obsolescence

Ancestry; old books with stories that now collect dust

Of romance and history, once new with gleeful shine turned to rust

Quieted, berries of passion red, saddened blue

They will say the golden times had every hue 

Knitted and depicted on inwrought tapestries for you

To remember

Old letters as reminders, the ink has settled where it once ran 

As souls do when they have found their peace long after their laughter

Old photographs of places and people that no longer stand

Put in cardboard boxes in the attic to never be seen after 

Along with lovingly knitted sweaters that now belong to nobody 

With no one left to answer back to an impromptu 


I love you

The windows we run to have an e-mail, no more rocks or Juliette 

Or night time runaways who whisper sweetly in secret

The amazons we explore for thrills give us knitted sweaters

With no love… and no place to really go in gloomy weather

No meaning, n’or past or future it can hardly be a present

When we pull the plug, there will be nothing that remains

Of our lives or anything we’ve touched


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Purple Heart

Under the yew in acrid taste; poison on my tongue

Where consternation grows as wild as this overgrowth

To have lived so long in the bitterness of a memory

Red passion, lights that signal; the end, stop.

As I try to pick up these small fragments

Fallen and cursed to grow into the now dyspeptic 

Grown ill and still, unmoving words cobble together becoming the plinth on which I petrify

I am terrified as the limberness and joy in my smile fall sullen 

The elasticity of my soul is too, waning 

Wrinkles in the fabric of time will hide who we were

Just as we hid away under warm sheets on cold winter nights

Pneumatic puffs creating small clouds in the dark, our heaven 

But the air here is transparent and without

Warm and preventing of a glacial cessation

My heart keeps beating violently defying the nature of its love 

Alone I try not to breathe so that it too can be blue 

© The Sad Owl

Wrong Place For an Apology

I was crying

To put it bluntly

But the sharp stinging in my eyes

Was anger and no, I was not the least bit sad

I found myself wishing my life away

If the rain falling through sewer grates was

Rushing water city serenades

Then my head was so hot that the roads sparkled in refracted rays

Beaming ubiquitous thoughts of…

How sorry I am

© The Sad Owl

All Tied Up

Whimsical and sick

Delighted though distraught

Diseased and can’t resist

With heart lessened, learned to not

Perturbed and taught to be tied in knots

Restricted, each breath comes to a stop

Halted in the silence then loud gasps in a struggle

To be swimming but losing energy

Trying to find you in some distant memory

Beginning to drown, reality is hard to swallow

To have no fears if what it means is to follow

I reach out and grasp at nothing

Desperation or hope

Maybe both

Underwater where you spoke

A piece of rope that simply broke

But still tied to you forever

© The Sad Owl

Old Visitor

Exquisite and cultured coriander sweat

Dripping expectation and runaway 

Small crumbs of bread in my hand

Pray for me and safe travel 

I’d sip wine the most bitter

If it could donate my will and hope

Blood that I have saved, all for you

Hundreds of drops

Slow and sincere, stepping on toes 

Heads down and apologetic prose 

Unable to dance in the vistas of northern India

My heart chilly as the night, whimpers 

Wanting to run right into your embrace

Always warm like the south 

Never jeering and undaunted 

With you my smile never faded

But that was a long time ago

Breaking The Habit

Ad infinitum a never ending sequence

Lying in the wake of repetition; habitual frequence

To wonder predictably all the same things is the unconscious

Dauntless and diving, freefall thoughts thriving; to want, I want this

Faultless and driving, the sea calls out trying; a wave, reaches for the sky


The heavens sit not on clouds but seafoam, heavily salinated and floating

A sea for the dead with white haze, bubbles that carry earthly desire; doting

The angels walk on water by no miracle and wash their feet

The rough callous scrubbed off falls back down as sleet

A little taste of heaven from the snowflake on my tongue


An only partially formed thought of the unknown is still no answer

I stir the ice in my glass, rejoice in the sound and quench my thirst

If I wait too long the ice melts and the glass overflows

Sometimes I have too many questions and too much imagination 

I need to know or at the very least, I want to know


Thinking about winter on an autumn day I thought about the leaves

So I tried to catch one on my tongue, a fiery red mischief o’ertook me

A sieve as I sifted through black earth for gold, a thought for thieves 

I was supposed to be raking of course but the taste was so earthly 

All the beautiful colors of autumn that I had piled up, stolen

Jumping in I thought that I would be transported to another world

But at last, we are never anywhere but here. 


I flipped on the TV and put the dried leaves of tobacco in a pipe

Truth be told, I never smoked before that day; never in my life 

Was this the allure of hell? I thought. Sun-dried leaves picked by poor commoners

Somewhere warm was a man with dark skin and a gold tooth, smiling. 

People just trying to get by day by day, doing the same things day after day.

A whole lifetime toiling, always in the same place with the same people and the same city 

And for others, the same hours, the same lunchtime and the same vacations 

To the same places where the same people who picked the same tobacco leaves would meet these same people

Is that sane? I thought, in some world it is.

I couldn’t do it any longer, as I coughed out the smoke from this terrible tasting experience

I had decided that it was time to break the habit.

©️ The Sad Owl

Tapas and Wine

We were laughing


What was it that we found so funny about that word

I wonder now as I lay by our favorite window seat

The rain tapping at the window

As if someone is calling to me

From somewhere far off

Splaying along the translucency

Like fingers spreading open to fit between mine

A body tired to retire 

Not inspired n’or ire

Sorrow quells a fire 

Happiness alone, says the liar 

Maybe it was just the way that Spanish cuisine makes fancy snacks

But we were happy with just tea and Graham crackers

“Tapas”, we laughed with smoked salmon and cream cheese making a mess 

Laughing because we weren’t even hungry and you were gesturing me to come change my wet clothes

Like a fish in the sea with no school to follow

The days of my youth and education have somehow left me lost 

I no longer sleep in that room, I prefer the window seat on rainy days

Still in my wet clothes… I hope I catch a cold 

©️ The Sad Owl