Carys Owen Poetry

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~

.

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

.

Carys Owen

.

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

.

With all my might

I rise to the surface again

thirsty for air

.

Then sink, sink, sink

to an in-between place

where sounds are muffled

.

There’s a channel I follow

made by an elder

who came before

.

This is the way of the hippos

forging underwater laneways

opening up weed beds

allowing ideas to flow

along with fresh currents

.

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

.

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.

.

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

.

By Carys Owen

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

that can transform a simple poem into something lyrical.

.

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?

.

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

.

He sings of resilience

of carrying on

of camaraderie

and perseverance

.

Do they hear him?

The tunnels below?

The multitude of miners?

The ones who didn’t come home?

.

He sings of suffering for all

of mothers and children

thrown out on the street

soon as Pa was no more

.

I hear it echo

in the underground shafts

down a misty alley

among crooked shacks

.

An age old story

of mining black gold

of extracting riches

for another to hold

.

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?

.

By Carys Owen

Inspired by the band ‘The Fly Smackers’

who played at the Woodstove Festival 2024

in Cumberland BC

.

Lost at sea, tossed by the waves

seeking safe harbour

I sail through metaphors

to the truth of the matter

.

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

.

Keeping my head above water

I sail through metaphors

and my eyes come into focus

lost at sea, tossed by the waves

.

By Carys Owen

.

Today I wrote a pantoum for the dVerse poetry prompt:

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

.

.

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

.

I’m working in

a youth centre

~ in my early 20’s ~

trying to connect

with the disconnected

.

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

.

‘Go on!’ they shout

‘Have a go!’

.

Caught up in the moment

wanting to reach them

I step forward

bow my head

kick up my legs

with no fear

of breaking

.

By Carys Owen

.

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.

This poem is a departure from my usual style. It was written for a prompt from dVerse Poetics : Write a poem that is a prequel to a particular character from a nursery rhyme, Aesop’s fable, book, or mythology. Be sure it’s clear in the poem, who you’re writing about.

.

Fairy Dust

.

I was once the most fabulous fairy in the land

with millions of followers on Instagram

and all the magic dust a girl could wish for

.

I conjured myself fabulous gowns and

diamond encrusted slippers

fancy tiaras and shimmers for my wings

.

Everyone told me how gorgeous I was

how they admired my sparkling beauty

and envied my perfect life

.

But somehow I felt empty and alone

the more I posted, the less I smiled

all my friends were online…were they even real?

.

Then one day I was flying around

~ to be honest I was showing off ~

when I heard someone weeping down below

.

Something turned in me and I found myself

alighting by a sad young woman

sitting by a fireplace wearing ragged clothes

.

For the first time in ages, I sat

and listened and found myself asking

‘How can I help?’

.

The rest is history…

.

By Carys Owen

.