What is the difference between dying and dying?

We, all of us, are dying
but only some are dying

What is the step between
this life
and the next

Is it like a step or a

misstep

into darkness

Or, is it many steps of a    journey       toward          LIGHT

Or is it
blissful
nothing

while those left behind hold your empty hand and shout your name
–in an echoed space–
and young children stand alone on the landing from whence you stepped, confusion fear loss fear hope fear sadness fear pain fear fear fear

in each

tiny

tear

We, all of us, are dying
but only some are dying

What is the step between
this life
and the next

and why do we not install a railing?

©2021 Chel Owens

Tradition #TankaTuesday

Still, still
Sweet, silent night
Whispered stable story
Glad tidings sung of hist’ry writ
Baby

Jesus
Night of silence
Stable story whispered
Written hist’ry sung, shared gladly
Still, still

Photo by Burkay Canatar on Pexels.com

©2020 Chelsea Owens

Colleen and Ruth challenged me and I’m very glad they did. You can join in, too, for Tanka Tuesday. This week, we are encouraged to write a cinquain; this is a reflecting mirror version.

The Jones Family Newsletter, poetic edition

Ohhhhh, you better not doubt
You better not sigh
You better not pout
When you see all our truths –
The Jones Fam’ly is writing a poem!

We’ve written this list
We’re sure it’s concise
To make you all pissed that we’re writing these facts –
The Jones Fam’ly is sending a poem!

Steve sees no end to dividends;
Sue’s sponsors all love her;
The twins won State, the dog eats steak;
Oh, the upper class concurs:

The Joneses are out
Out, out of the sky
We’ve got some real clout
And we’ve got a few honest claims –
Our family just sent you a poem!

There’s still time to enter the A Mused Poetry Contest. The deadline is this Friday!

©2020 Chel Owens

Photo by Taryn Elliott on Pexels.com

Christmas Newsletter, poetic edition

‘Twas the night before Christmas so I wrote a poem, And what to my wondering eyes – no one’s home

To read all my prancing and pawing of hoofs, Or really all my kids’ accomplishments I’m proud of.

I in my MLM, Bob in his job, kids with their apps Have just settled down to show off our cat.

Away to the mailbox I fly like a flash Tear open my mail and then put down some cash

To pay for some photos, in new-fallen snow, To be used in this letter you’re reading, below.

So, you’ll hear me exclaim as this letter goes out of sight: Happy Christmas to All, until New Year’s Night!

Please, please, please enter the A Mused Poetry Contest. The deadline is this Friday!

©2020 Chel Owens

Photo by Any Lane on Pexels.com

Our Dreams, a poem

When are dreams
just dreams –
Cotton candy clouds above our
wondering eyes,
Entirely magical and beyond human touch?

When are they
substantial –
Sand or clay or peanut butter sandwiches,
Taken in hand
and formed to what we wish?

When do they
get taken –
Envied, criticized by
abusing fingers
Whose dreams left long ago?

When are dreams
– just dreams –
Substantial
Taken

Missed

And when do we

dream

again?

Photo by Rakicevic Nenad on Pexels.com


©2020 Chel Owens

A Bad Luck Day (Poem)

I dropped my keys
When I just sneezed

Then tripped on Cat
And lost my hat

Which really sucked
‘Cause now I’m bald

I walked to work
Sweat in my shirt

I got there late
To a locked gate

And realized, quick
I was deep in trouble

Locked out here
And, also there
Without a spare

Without house keys
From when I sneezed

Without my cat
Without my hat

The day still sucked
I still was bald

I couldn’t work
Removed my shirt

I’d been too late
They’d closed the gate

I wasn’t quick
Was in deep trouble

Digging here
Searching there
I found the spare

And went inside to see it was a Sunday.

Photo by Amelie on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

You can enter a silly poem, too, for this week’s A Mused Poetry Contest. The theme is bad luck!

Ohhh Eeee Aaay Vacay!

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh
The kids just screamed, “I’ve gotta go!”
And
The trailer’s back there, in the snow;
We needed it for food, sleep, clothes
But
Its tires fell off and it won’t go.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Cry Mommy, Daddy, kids, baby
‘Cause
Sally poked him; “Bill’s breathing!”
The car’s all out of gasoline
And
No one’s ever changed Baby.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaay
Dad’s just asked why they vacay
So
Mom’s offered to give him ‘way
Low tire pressure‘s on display
And
When we get to far, far ‘way
Mom and Dad will droop and sway
But
All the kids will want to play;

Says Mom, “Why do we e’er vacay?”

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

There’s still time to enter YOUR poem for this week’s A Mused Poetry Contest!!