Bentley Owen (beat_fan) wrote,
Bentley Owen


It's been awhile. I've started school, and gotten deeply into my senior year, preparing for college by never starting an essay before midnight, keeps me on edge.
I've become a vegetarian, finally. I'm on day eight. (I accidently swallowed abotu 2% of the clam content in my clam chowder today, though. It was not as easy to avoid as I thought. No more soup for me!).
I'm moving in a couple of days, to a house that is approx. 1/4 mile away from the current one. That's fun.
Here are two poems I wrote today.
They were written so close together chronologically, that I explored similar themes, but they cover new ground for me.

Weeping in the Park upon Seeing the Leaves Fall to Death

- Why must tears be warm?
Warmth: an implication of the old cliché
of 'Home,' a continuation, something happy.
Cold is the sensation of death and corpses,
vast emptiness, desolate nothing.

But as I sit here, crying warm tears, I
am reminded that we cry because we
are alive.

Farewell Album

I hear two voices in the tired, old
singing-man's song;
there is the bad voice, weight of
age; and there is the implication
of a time when it had a power, a
revealer of beauty, an interpreter
artistry and words.

It is so sad that soem must die before
their real death, the death of a man long
by a name, slowly fading into a shelter of dust, struggling with
strong fingers to grrasp ephemeral memories
to keep from falling off the soft jagged cliff.
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