Carys Owen Poetry

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‘Kus-Kus-Sum’ she whispers across the river

She heaves a great sigh

together we breathe

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No longer hemmed in

no longer braced by steel

nor weighed down by concrete

.

She is free

free to return

to her natural state

~before industrial levels

of resource extraction

clipped her wings

~before the take, take

of newly arrived men

reshaped her banks

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She is free to return

to mourn and honour

her K’omoks ancestors

laid to rest by the Pəntl’áč River

where life flows unending

where salmon have journeyed

back and forth for ever

.

Where Nootka roses once decorated the shore

where salmonberries ripened in June

and red flowering current in July

shaded by Willow, Alder and Douglas Fir

watched over by Queneesh

the great white whale

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The way it was for millennia

the way it was meant to be

the way it will be once more

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‘Kus-Kus-Sum’ she whispers across the river

She heaves a great sigh

together we breathe

.

Kus-Kus-Sum

Kus-Kus-Sum

Kus-Kus-Sum

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By Carys Owen

You rest so lightly

on these petals

barely bending the stem

as you fill your

bags with nectar

and pollen

.

~ nectar for honey

and pollen to

feed your young~

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A sharp eye will

notice you dropping

fragments along the way

but unlike a careless

traveller with

an ill-fitting valise

shedding socks and

such in his wake

you do this

on purpose

perfectly adapted

to the inter-being

of bee and flower

.

Where you agree

to serve as courier

in return for

sweet ambrosia

ensuring the return

of abundance year

upon year

.

~ you are

the embodiment

of generosity ~

.

And I couldn’t love

you more for it

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Carys Owen

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I’m sinking like a hippopotamus

walking on the bottom

water overhead

.

I push myself up to the surface

take a great gulp of air

before falling again

.

Gravity pulls me down

I’m too dense too float

filled up with woes

.

Down below I wander

make new trails

try to find a way out

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With all my might

I rise to the surface again

thirsty for air

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Then sink, sink, sink

to an in-between place

where sounds are muffled

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There’s a channel I follow

made by an elder

who came before

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This is the way of the hippos

forging underwater laneways

opening up weed beds

allowing ideas to flow

along with fresh currents

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This is the way of the hippos

bringing life in solitary journeys

then gathering in the shallows

to share stories and love

and new ways of being

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By Carys Owen

‘Hippos’ is based on another great animal fact I just learned.

Perhaps you already know that hippos don’t swim- they’re too

dense- so they either hang out in the shallows or walk in the

deeper water, pushing themselves up for air every now and then.

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Into the dark

December is here

tightening the belt

before the shortest day

.

December is here

we fall into darkness

before the shortest day

not knowing how to fly

.

We fall into darkness

and reach for fairy lights

not knowing how to fly

the tar barrel flares

.

We reach for fairy lights

tightening the belt

the tar barrel flares

into the dark

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By Carys Owen

Note: this poem is a pantoum- a form that contains echoes

that can transform a simple poem into something lyrical.

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He sits in the parlour

playing old-time fiddle

singing songs of the mines

with a voice so true

.

Do they hear him?

The tunnels below?

The multitude of miners?

The ones who didn’t come home?

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He sings of hardship

of tunnel collapse

of injury and blackness

of dying and turning to coal

.

I hear it echo

in the underground shafts

down a misty alley

among crooked shacks

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He sings of resilience

of carrying on

of camaraderie

and perseverance

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Do they hear him?

The tunnels below?

The multitude of miners?

The ones who didn’t come home?

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He sings of suffering for all

of mothers and children

thrown out on the street

soon as Pa was no more

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I hear it echo

in the underground shafts

down a misty alley

among crooked shacks

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An age old story

of mining black gold

of extracting riches

for another to hold

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He sits in the parlour

playing old-time fiddle

singing songs of the mines

with a voice so true

.

Do they hear him? 

The tunnels below?

The multitude of miners? 

The ones who didn’t come home?

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By Carys Owen

Inspired by the band ‘The Fly Smackers’

who played at the Woodstove Festival 2024

in Cumberland BC

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Lost at sea, tossed by the waves

seeking safe harbour

I sail through metaphors

to the truth of the matter

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Seeking safe harbour

I follow chart and compass

to the truth of the matter

to the place where words swim free

.

I follow chart and compass

keeping my head above water

to the place where words swim free

and my eyes come into focus

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Keeping my head above water

I sail through metaphors

and my eyes come into focus

lost at sea, tossed by the waves

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By Carys Owen

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Today I wrote a pantoum for the dVerse poetry prompt:

‘The prompt for today—write a poem about boats/ships, boating of any sort.’

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Early hip-hop

~ we’re talking early 80’s ~

blares on the boom-box…

…we pass an arm wave

round the circle

holding hands

and laughing

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I’m working in

a youth centre

~ in my early 20’s ~

trying to connect

with the disconnected

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They lay down

flattened cardboard

in the middle of the room

crank the music

and take turns

busting a move

popping and locking

three-step into worm

shoulder freeze, shooting star

and head-spin

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‘Go on!’ they shout

‘Have a go!’

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Caught up in the moment

wanting to reach them

I step forward

bow my head

kick up my legs

with no fear

of breaking

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By Carys Owen

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This week’s dVerse poetry prompt: ‘You must simply pen a poem to the theme of dance.’

This brought back a long forgotten memory of some cool teens trying to school a twenty two year old me. Good times!

Fellow trivia nerds will be interested to know that Breaking (Break Dancing) will feature in the 2024 Paris Olympics.