["Feather on Asphalt" by lisa]
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Something about the snow tonight, Brings a deja vu to mind. An evening not so long ago, And rampant fear that left me blind. Remembering a winter eve, My love, and a joyous snowball fight. A shadow figure, stealthy crouched, And patterns triggered—fight or flight. My love grabbed me by the hand, Running faster, scared to death. Soft muffled footsteps on our heels, Slowing, stopping, ragged breath. My husband face—visibly relieved, Rumors of his other life, She ran too slow to confront me, His hidden child, his second wife. Was I blinded by the snow; Or was I blinded by my love? It doesn’t really matter now, I’ll take my guidance from above. Lord, please help me. By Lisa H. Owens
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In the moments you thought you were dying, you called my name. In the moments you were living, you called everyone else. By Lisa H. Owens Inspired by true events.  Decades spent, clutching shards together. A daddy, taken too early. By Lisa H. Owens A haiku inspired by true events - 5/22/2020 An Ode to Cigarettes (A curs-ed haiku) Ye smoldering fiends. Ye enemies of mine lungs. Ye sticks-o-fire. How doth thou do it? The lack of thee maketh me... Crazed, ye curst Devels. If mine love shall ask, Thy curs-ed hold I rebuke. Me smoketh? Never. By Lisa H. Owens Inspired by a Poetry Prompt - Liberation - 6/24/2020 Reddit r/poetrycritics June 2020 Poetry Contest-Liberation I thought you were my knight in shining armor. You swept in, taking me by the hand; You gently pulled me out of the abyss. I waited and waited to be your one and only. As I waited and watched, your collection grew. It was then that I realized you like broken things. You keep your life compartmentalized. In boxes. Each box unaware of the existence of the others. I make a discovery. A discovery of boxes; Each containing a toy, broken. The boxes are silent; waiting for you to speak on their behalves. I hear laughter and quickly hone in on one box. This box is different. This box contains joy. A broken toy tending a child. The child healing the broken toy. A broken toy mended by a child. The child created by my knight, now their knight. I love this broken thing. This unspoiled child. This broken toy. Now unbroken. Not broken. Now mended strong. She will take their daughter’s hand and walk away. By Lisa H. Owens I took a walk. It was raining. The rain saturated the ground. The ground soaked the roots; The roots of grasses and flowers and trees. The grasses did not seem to be worried; they sprouted pale green baby shoots. The flowers were unconcerned; they sprouted buds of fuchsia, white and blue. The trees? Business as usual; they opened branches wide to accept the sunlight after the rain. Matthew 6:27-29 KJV Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. By Lisa H. Owens April 4, 2020 Published on Beneath the Surface News 4/28/2020. Published on Lockdown Journal 4/4/2020. Hiking is my jam; you know? Just me and the clear blue sky. Treaded boots tromp over branches, as I watch white clouds swirl by. Pitching a tent, building a campfire, now in survival-mode, Breaking-down camp, black sky turns to gold, leaving this lonesome abode. The journey (though harsh), conditions raw, like oysters on a platter, Harmony, peace...I CAN BREATHE...and color doesn't matter. By Lisa H. Owens Inspired by a June 2020 Shut Up & Write Picture Prompt Challenge Posted on Beneath the Surface News June, 6 2020 [Reddit Writing Prompt] You have accidentally died. No, no, no, you didn’t die in an accident. You’ve accidentally died, as in, the Grim Reaper has no idea what you’re doing in the underworld. Oops… What the heck, Bill? Why are you here? According to the list, it should be a year. ‘Til deep in the night, my scythe you shall see. I must do research, on how it can be. That you are in line, at the Pearly Gates. Awaiting to hear; what might be your fate? Will it be Heaven? Or will it be Hell? You're not on the list; so there’s no way to tell. Back to your home, in limbo you'll be. Until the right time, December, twenty-three. But until that date, you'll exist as a spirit. No purpose at all, you'll not want to hear it. So sorry. My bad. Ashamed I must say... It wasn't my fault... ‘Twas my very first day. By Lisa H. Owens Inspired by a Reddit Writing Prompt Just like Judas; your words ring —Hollow. Just like Judas; your kisses breathe —Betrayal. I ask myself; What would Jesus do? And like Jesus, die a soul-crushing death, Then forgive you. I want to say; Forgive him, Father; For he knows not what he has done. But I am filled with —Doubt. Instead, I ask; Why did thou forsake me? But my ears are met with —Silence. Then inundated with —Excuses. I want to reach into the void, where your heart Should be, and extract the —Forgiveness. I want to —Take it back. But when I happen upon you; you kiss my —Cheek. I look into your —Eyes. But see only brokenness —Reflected. I feel dizzy and pull away. I cannot —Linger. You know the Siren's whisper causing me to doubt —Myself. In my mind's eye; I revisit the —Betrayals, the —Lies, And self-doubt is —Arrested. But unlike Judas; you do not look away in —Shame. By Lisa H. Owens Shut Up & Write Poetry Prompt - Today, turn to a random page in your journal, close your eyes, and pick out three words as prompts. Write a haiku with one of these words on each line. Necklace ● Prayer ● Nightmare I remember well, the day I got the necklace. Twas the answer to my nightly prayer, A gift for me; not for her. You gave her one gift. A child. Wasn't that enough? It is time for the nightmare to take leave. Time for me to leave, taking the necklace; leaving you. Now a father. By Lisa H. Owens Inspired by Shut Up & Write Three-word prompt haiku: Necklace ● Prayer ● Nightmare When you ask me to be funny, my mind fills up with dread, and Thoughts flash through my head of baby bunny dead, and The neighbor's house on fire, and my husband is a liar, and My nephew failed his test, and Dad was laid to rest, and Mama Has dementia and is living with my sister, and My mailman is a dick, and I hope I don't get sick, 'cause the virus don't discriminate. Don't want it to eliminate, the one causing my heart to break, but that shit isn't funny, now I'm back to the baby bunny. Don't ask me to be funny, 'cause I'll fail every time. By Lisa H. Owens Runner-up in a Reddit r/poetrycritics writing prompt - 2020 Humorous Poem Contest. I am strong. I am fearless. I can lift you up. Help you soar. Help you shine. Help you reach new heights. Help you make your Mark. Me and you; you and me. Redefining gravity. I am the wind. I am beneath your wings. I make you fly. I am invisible. By Lisa H. Owens You are merely a distraction. One in a long line of distractions, as important as a grain of sand is —to the ocean. Do not flatter yourself that you are different than any one, in an eternity of stars is —to the sky. You are merely a distraction. Nothing more. —Nothing less. By Lisa H. Owens |
