In amity, to hold on with longanimity

Light pink turns red

A clear tear can appear blue 

A bright fire can turn to sapphire

Cold and without feeling

Stay with me, I can’t believe the past becomes reality

While I remain presently in disbelief

A heavy sigh with no retake

Breath held to prevent a future, drowning in the same sorrow

Tomorrow only varies from today, slightly ever so

Leaves green turn to gold, red, and ash into snow 

Seasons pass and soon we go

To new places, see new faces

Time changes as it all ages

Photographs will keep your smile uncreased

Until they are folded over, forgotten

© The Sad Owl

An Excerpt on Love

I think love is when you can’t close your eyes to sleep,

because you haven’t heard the familiar lullaby of a voice from the one you love…

Love, what is it?

Is it a long and distant lullaby

Remembered long ago, a mother’s voice cradling a child

Love, who is it?

Growing up lost, to try

In a time of constant stop and go, changes going wild

Love, when was it?

Realized by two, born to die 

My love will surely go on after a soul departing gently smiled

Love, where is it?

Now gone only left to wonder, why?

© The Sad Owl

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

Passing On

Rustling leaves along the smooth red fade of pyracantha 

Hummingbirds hover gracefully over trees

Fast wings will fly away with my mind chanting mantras

But the melody of my words are lost in bees 

Pollen to which I’m allergic they gather and bring to me

Mistaken because I am no queen, I sneeze

No peasant, no person, no love to which I’m chosen to be 

Just living on the surface, drifting with the breeze 

Peace, love and knowledge gently floating on the sea 

Under the sun I am who fell off, so I am what… Leaves?

Hoping to pass on what I have, I let go of my seeds.

© 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


I don’t think you quite understood

Pocket watch with cracked quartz

Hands still

Can no longer reach for you

Frigid heart

Like a deer in headlights

Lips tremble

Shaking tea cups create nervous encounters

Strangers hold hands

When the imminent will overtake them

Love blooms as deep as the rabbit hole

How far? I don’t know.

How long? I will never know.

© The Sad Owl

End of The Line

Rubbing mitts together on a cold morning

Awaiting the desert sun with puffs of warm breath

Longing forever without warning

The imminent will come, the past will have left

Rosy cheeks where you waited

Laughing as I ran and barely made it

Youth is as foolish as forever

But that’s how I saw you

On time becomes untimely

As the first of us to arrive will too

Surely be the first to depart

All those times I left you waiting

I regret that with all my heart

© The Sad Owl


It was pointy

The sharpness of a pinprick; needle

For the various mistakes that I –

would often try to mend


The wincing of a forced smile; feeble

For all the time borrowed that I –

will not give back again

I am sadly

Reading letters from then

A present from the past that I –

remember from when we were two people


I still tend to pick up my pen

Writing tender words about you

Every now and then but I –

am what remains unread

© The Sad Owl