One of his poems appeared in the Robinson Jeffers Newsletter (No. 93 & 94, Winter & Spring) in tribute to friend, and fellow poet William Everson. He has been a guest lecturer at various colleges in California, lecturing on the nature of the creative process, and he has conducted poetry workshops, mainly with young adults, especially those struggling with various addictions or having come from an abusive household, using poetry as an instrument of discovery for both self, and as an entry into the world around us. His collection of poems: Eddies in the Rush (ISBN 0-971256-0-0 [149 pg.]) was endorsed b C.C. Bailey and poet William Stafford (1914-1993) a "National Book Award recipient."
You can read/purchase more of Bruce's poetry at the following links:
http://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/009502667
http://www.solopublications.com/jurn0204.htm
http://itsaboutimewriters.homestead.com/OwensBruceGiveMeAPoem.html
Empire Sleeping
The ponies will ride the wide spaces
where aromatic wisps flower
The poppies will spill into a gold coin
that rolls along the edge of the horizon
The morning will peep into a mirror
and slip into the damp gowns
that govern the shadow of trees
The cars will stop the incessant chase to nowhere
The wars will ceasefire and sleep
forever in the sounds of a rainforest
where the fluted throats of birds catch on fire
No cell phones will hum
No tigers in cages
The zoos will release the wild
No guns for children
Playgrounds will increase
No abuse only kindness
All the neighbors will greet each other
There will be no enemy
The State will dissolve in a bowl of Jell-O
No more taxes
No need for parking meters
Sirens in the night will cease
Prostitutes will marry their John
Third World hunger will sing with wheat in their hands
Gold will have the value of snow
No electricity in the computers
and digital will go analog like waves
lumbering towards the shore like a lullaby,
as the Empire goes to sleep and gently grazes
in a moon lit meadow
~Bruce Owens
that rolls along the edge of the horizon
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and slip into the damp gowns
that govern the shadow of trees
The cars will stop the incessant chase to nowhere
The wars will ceasefire and sleep
forever in the sounds of a rainforest
where the fluted throats of birds catch on fire
No cell phones will hum
No tigers in cages
The zoos will release the wild
No guns for children
Playgrounds will increase
No abuse only kindness
All the neighbors will greet each other
There will be no enemy
The State will dissolve in a bowl of Jell-O
No more taxes
No need for parking meters
Sirens in the night will cease
Prostitutes will marry their John
Third World hunger will sing with wheat in their hands
Gold will have the value of snow
No electricity in the computers
and digital will go analog like waves
lumbering towards the shore like a lullaby,
as the Empire goes to sleep and gently grazes
in a moon lit meadow
~Bruce Owens
