Day: August 9, 2014

A Look Behind The Future

It’s all right here
So they tell me
I don’t know, I think they might be right
If I could only catch a glimps
It would be so much easier to tell
if they had any real insight?
Or just liked to hear themselves talk?
Who are “they”, anyway?
Parents, priests, teachers, lawyers?
Maybe the Pope or a pig?
Who are “they”, anyway?
How did “they” become so aware?
So keen?
So brave, stupid, worthless?
“They” must be the real deal
It’s all right here
heard so many times, so many lies
Who are “they”, anyway?



Lock-down is for thinking

A constant reminder
That we really aren’t good
Not good at all, really
And the reasons?
oh, too many to tell
Some like me, for concoctions
Some like Big Al, for meth
Or was it coke?
Some just like to steal
Lie, punish, hurt, burn
Or even abuse
The reasons are countless
I’m thinking
But, alas, I can’t say
For it’s lock-down, I think
© Dicky J Loweman 2014



Night Tide

I get loneliest during night tide
I get antsy, wound up too tight
I find myself pacing this quiet, cold house
Longing for a companion to talk to
Someone who sees my point of view
and is as lonely as I
I get loneliest during night tide
I feel the need to drink and play my music
I find I search for any mild, acute distraction
Filling glasses too tall
and smoking too many cigarettes

trying to fill a bottomless void

I get loneliest during night tide
I scratch my beard
I ruffle my hairs, scratch my nuts, maybe rub one out
Often it’s in time of these
the release is self-induced
and I fall back to loneliness and sip from a dirty glass
I get loneliest during night tide
I find I have a desire for you
You waste my nighttide, my solitude
You’re nothing more than someone who sees my point of view
Please go away and just be as lonely as I


I spend countless nights with you
Smoking cigarette after cigarette
Drinking the booze, drinking the beer
We fancy ourselves poets, intellects
Really just smears of simple and sod
I spend countless nights with you
Roaming the city streets
Looking for one more speakeasy to let us in
In search of arguments
Or deep soul-searching, meaningless conversations
I spend countless nights with you
Fucking more for sport than love
Convincing ourselves we need it
Only to spit cursed words at one another
Finally holding each other and wanting to know
How could it get to this?
I spend countless nights with you
You sleep off your cheap wine
I stare out your dirty window
Nervously awaiting the sunrise
That which signals the beginning
The long and torturous time where we wait
Until the next countless night
© Dicky J Loweman 2014