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Bryan Owen
10 Waverley Park
G66 2BP

A cold November morning

Colour has been strained
from the day, this slate grey,
cold November morning.
Clouds sit low on the hills
and winter trees are silhouetted
against the scudding angry sky.

The whole world is quiet –
even people move
from hearth to heath
in funeral mood.
A lone bird sits atop a pole.
The air is heavy, sombre, leaden
as if all creation were waiting
for the final laboured gasp of the year.

Somewhere, deeply hidden
in the mystery of things,
a shoot is ready to burst
through the heavy, sodden soil.
Meanwhile, we live
in the waiting time
and slowly resist the temptation
to lie down and die.

© Bryan Owen 2006


Coffee shop sonnet

Today I visited some of our special places
where we would oft walk without a care;
I saw all those once familiar faces
yet in my aloneness you were still there.

In the coffee shop’s warm and welcoming nooks
I saw again the comforting chair
where you would sit and read your books
but even though empty you were there.

Where we once drank our coffee strong
I struggled with tears in solitary silence;
in the place where we would talk late and long
you are now present by your absence.

My love, I desperately want to explain
so that I can be safe in your arms once again.

© Bryan Owen 2007