Poetry
In prison cells they sit with silent walls, who pause
not once to see and smell and sing in verse. The earth
displays, not flat but fragrant when allowed; most loud
when joined by pens that paint the earth in verse.
We live in poetry who freely pause, no walls.
(From "The Savor" by Donald Paul Owens II. Read more here...)
Donald believes that poetry is, as Franz Kafka said of books, "an axe for the frozen sea within us." Like Kafka further said, "If the book we are reading does not wake us, as with a fist hammering on our skulls, then why do we read it?" Donald's poetry seeks to debunk the myth of the mundane; to reveal goodness, truth and beauty wherever they are clearly seen, which is everywhere if we have the eyes to see.
Donald learned his love for poetry from his mother, but only discovered that fact after her passing when he was 16. Since then he has been reading the great poets, including the Poet of poets, and using words to call readers to wake up and see.
Donald is still seeking representation for much of his poetry. Because of varying publication rules regarding unpublished material, much of his work remains unlisted on this site. Stay tuned to see links to his work as it gets published.
Published Poetry
Improving Time
(First Published in Good Work Magazine, Vol. 1, Issue 4, Spring 2025)
Forsake not age-smooth wine of father-friends
or ripened proverbs, sweet across the tongue.
May border-stones set firm by ancient hands
grow moss and weather straight, revered by sons.
Let hymns and creeds of ages mold your prayers,
and century-ripened liturgy your mind.
May you feast rich on wisdom of the years,
like dry-aged beef, and cheddar on the rind.
Improve your work; persist, nor lazy stall.
The chisel's handle only shines with use.
May skill's patinaed beauty grace your halls,
with work-wise polish only years produce.
Lay up your love to cure the length of life,
as whisky mellows, pure and aged from youth.
May silver crown the heads of man and wife,
no shortcut; practice making love improve.
Give laughter woven through the loom of years
with layered connotations, inside jokes.
May humor brace your arm and pale your fears.
The gold of mirth oft polished, sparkles most.
Pass on the blessings you were handed down,
worn books, traditions, wealth your father made.
May you obtain your children's children's crown,
for leaving an inheritance of weight.
