Short Owen Poems

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Owen Fife, once heaven known iron,
Fought who to Seven...

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Grandson
 Great fun











This is dedicated to our grandson Owen who's six...

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George Emslie Owen
a WWIi artist back then
A Scot from Stirlingshire
his brush was there for hire...

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Poet Wilfred Owen won an MC
dying in France to make it free
Creator of 'near-rhyme'
helping verse in English 'chime'...

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"love's craft"


there once was a gnu named Owen
who knew all that was known and so in
South African Zulu
said, "Kukhulu!"
which then became a zen koan...

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sounds like the bitter former lover, 
venom with a point of view, 
copped a few darts me, whenever, 
crossed her path the arrows flew, 
that december...
blue :(

Don

re:Poisonous Barb.....Owen Yeates...

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Adduction abduction,
Of a mind,
Thats doing time,
In the blind.
Undaunted dreams,
never knowen.
Leaves one owen,
To this sin.
Mindful meanings,
To the hurtful.
Looks like art,
Until both sides
Pull apart....

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O-utstanding
W-riter
E-mploys
N-ifty

B-rilliance
U-sing
E-xcellent
N-ame
A-s
V-erse
E-xpresses
N-otable
T-opic
U-nder
R-emarkable
A-crostic

Topic: Birthday of Owen M. Buenaventura (July 22) 
Form: Vertical Monocrostic...

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Wilfred Owem 'FUTILITY'




           \/,\/\\/
      \_/,\|/,\|/_\/,_\
       _\ ,/_\|/\|/_,\
        /, \_\||\|/ ,_\,/
         \_,\|/,|\|/_/
               |
               |
               |
               |
     cotton candy floss...

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He plays guitar and flute
Walking the streets alone
Asking, looking always on alert
Looking for his son

Every street in every town
Every boy that  passes by
He looks to see if its Owen
Taken by his wife he knows not why

Contest. 5 minute challenge

Penned . 13 May 2013...

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The colour of my party's flag 
that flutters in the wind. 
The colour of my cheeks,listening to Owen on the radio.
And to see Owen on the tele, like a red rag to a bull.

What we need is Corbyn, oh what a red letter day !
We would lay out the red carpet
make it a red letter day.
your always better off, red than dead, with a jeremy in your day ! ....

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On the 28th day
of June 2014
I sit alone
in my lounge
smoking a pipe
reflecting that 
it was on 
28 June 1914
when War
to end all wars
broke out exactly
one hundred years 
to this day
now I feel  tears
in my eyes for
the great young
Poets it spawned
aye spawned
but also killed  
especially I weep 
for Wilfred Owen 25 
and Charles Sorley
poet extraordinaire
only 20 when killed....

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Spread your cherries
be brave; when a man
calls you:
Do the right thing (but have your
Loaded 45 to hand)

Check first his credit;
Does he have lightship 
Standing?
Is he  a trader?…do terms
Apply?

As an inter-stellar prostitiute
Working for peace, you know
You will be protected

Do the right thing:
What else is there?
Let’s face it; you come
With the apartment.

Dulce est decorum est



(With apologies to Wilfred Owen)...

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We
Buy
Poppies
Red as blood
And wear them with pride
In memory of fallen heroes,
Those young men and boys, slaughtered one hundred years ago.

No !
We
Cannot
Remember
Because we weren’t there,
We cannot recall what it’s like,
Save for witnesses : Owen, Sassoon, Blunden and Brooke.

We
Can
Only
Experience
Remotely, ‘tis true,
Through the words of those who were there –
The blast of the shell, the gas, screaming, maiming and death....

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