Several years ago I gathered my courage and showed a selection of my poetry to a local ‘Writer in Residence’. The most powerful message he gave me was to continue writing with my ‘ordinary words’, as I called them. Since then I have been on a journey to continue writing using ordinary words, which come from the heart.
.
I twine my fingers
amongst green leaves
feel the pea tendrils
tug at my arm
.
my fingers sink
into soft soil
as I thin the kale
and ease out weeds
.
strawberries watch me
fat but still pale
bobbing on their stems
as garlic scapes curl
.
the busy silence
slows my pulse
and brings me gently
down to earth
.
in my mind I shrink
Alice-like
and walk the rows
feeling cool rain
on my face
seeing tender leaves
bend overhead
.
I am immersed in green
watching the chlorophyll
brighten like starburst
hearing bees
bumble about the flowers
.
I soak up the lushness
of this garden life
and drink in the
newly minted air
.
reluctant to resume actual size
I feel so at home
in this garden life
and wonder what fruit I would produce
were I to stay and
lay my roots down here
.
By Carys Owen
.
Hold my heart
this way up
don’t tip it
or drop it
don’t leave it in the sun
.
Hold my heart
this way up
don’t rattle it
or poke it
don’t leave it outside all alone
.
Hold my heart
this way up
don’t shake it
or test it
don’t wait too long for love
.
By Carys Owen
While you’re here, please check out
my ‘stories’ page where I have also
added a new poem.
If you visit my ‘stories’ page and scroll to the bottom, you will find a video recording of one of my favourite poems- Smart Dog.
Please sign up on my subscription page and I will notify you whenever I post a new poem. Some of these poems are new and some are old favourites- all written by me, Carys Owen. You will be able to unsubscribe at any time.
.
Take a tiny seed
a memory
~ dried up and dormant ~
of something
that brought joy
.
re-enact the scene
re-engage the feelings
the sights, the smells
the fullness of being
.
a walk in the woods
a visit with a friend
a song long forgotten
your own secret recipe
.
practise it faithfully
though joy may feel far off
practise it faithfully
a few minutes a day
.
be there, be in it
let your body remember
let your heart recall
how good it feels to connect
how good it feels to create
.
grow some joy
from a simple act
~ even for a moment ~
place a kiss
on your hurts
and delight
in your soul
.
By Carys Owen
‘Oh Shit…’
.
This world is f*@#ed up
when our young men and women
when our black men and women
when our racialized men and women
are told to behave or be shot
like they’re not worth a whole lot
are told where to put their hands
how to hold their heads
which words to use or not
.
like it’s somehow their fault for being
for walking down the street
for driving to the mall
for sleeping in their beds
for jogging down the road
.
like they’re othered
and not allowed to be afraid
and not allowed to mess up
or mis-step
the way a white man can
.
and parents try to teach their kids
the impossible, ever-changing rules
of how to make themselves small
in the presence of police
.
and parents try not to show the fear
they feel each time their child
steps outside the door
.
they are not even rules
they are the arbitrary whims
of whoever is inventing the code that day
they are the sum of fears and refusal to care
.
no wonder the black body is terrified
to be stopped by the cops
to be expected to know the dance
that is waiting to be choreographed
.
the dance they know might end
in a river of blood
in a severing of oxygen
.
‘Shit, I just shot him!’
Taser / Gun
Gun / Taser
it’s not like mixing up salt and pepper
.
there is no ‘silly me!’
no ‘oops, my bad!’
no chance to start the conversation over
.
there is no life left
in the one who fled the rising danger
unarmed, unheard, unprotected
.
what happened to talking it out?
why this quick lunge for hate?
.
there are answers standing right here
in front of us
about history
about slavery
about racism engraved across generations
.
we are all witness to this never-ending horror
we are all listeners to this gut-wrenching narrative
why does it feel like we’re walking underwater
where no one can clearly see or hear?
.
I want to spill my blood in apology
I want to shed my white entitled skin
I want to stand between you and the gun
.
I raise my hands and cry out loud
‘WHY REACH FOR HATE WHEN WE CAN REACH FOR LOVE ?’
by Carys Owen
Some of my poems have interesting back-stories so I will sometimes post both poem and story on the ‘Stories‘ page.
The most recent offering is a 2015 poem called ‘Mea Culpa (Guilty)’.
.
Like a snail
I carry it with me
wherever I go
.
this home is a place
inside of me
not a table and chairs
not a carpet or teapot
or a settee
.
it is the peace
at the heart
of me
.
it is the laughter
that illuminates
each room
.
it is the love
of a lifetime
written on my bones
by Carys Owen
.
Forget the dark clouds
they are not worth it
you are sunshine
and starlight
the secret ingredient
that makes the taste right
.
you are the final note
in a perfect song
the laugh
that travels airwaves
and the shine
on a drop of rain
.
you are the surprise
of blue sky
after days of grey
and the snowdrop who appears
one January morning
fully formed
.
you are the breath of fresh air
that everyone needs
in these dark, foetid times
you are all and nothing
the sweetest soul
the wisest word
by Carys Owen
