Month: April 2015

(smoke ghost)

blue-grey smoke rises

in a swirl about the light

ghosts disappearing

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

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View From The Edge

Soft sands

Rolling ocean

All mine, to keep to myself

I could stay lost here, forever

calming breezes

Soaring gulls

Setting sun

*

Staring outward

Mindless drift

To be caught in the current

Rocking back in her wet arms

Orange skies

Purple clouds

Picturesque landscape

*

chilled waters

Rising moon

Soon will appear, a starlit map

Of all the worlds far away

Closed eyes

To remember

Easy living

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Confused

The sunshine in the daylight can make you shiver

But you can sweat it out, in the dark of night

Especially when it’s a view like that

Have you ever seen such a sight?

It stains the eyes, puts a burn mark on the brain

Hurry it up, we have to get there

Take you time, but hurry up

You’re going too fast

Confused by all of this?

So am I, but that’s how life gets

Sometimes

And just when you think you have it all figured out

Here comes 3,100 pounds of nothing you can decipher

Windtalkers can’t write you out of this one, Joe Bob

Looks like we’re here to stay

Thank our lucky souls

Stay and be put

And just to be put back again

Into the ground with the rest

All the used up, all the leftovers

All that is, which no one wants anything to do with

The worms, the soil, the 300 year old dog shit

But we’ll just call it fertilizer

Still confused?

Yeah, me too

But stick around

The bargirl will be by with our orders soon

Things will even out

They always do, especially

In such a confusing world

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Vapid

Once in a while life can slow down to a halt

It freezes, right then and there

I can look around

And see everything at a standstill

The wind stops blowing, the sun hasn’t got warmth

People stuck,

At that very moment in time

This sounds like it might be fun,

A little charm to the day

And maybe a way to pass some time

But, it rarely tuns out to be a good thing

When all of life can be broken down,

To a still frame, a nanosecond,

All the truths and ugliness can come pouring out

The people walking, only staring at their shoes

Or even worse, caught up in the electronic world

Of phones and tablets

The air fills with a vapid taste

A complete lacking of wanting simplicity and happiness in life

There is no sharpness, no flavor

This frozen life-frame is insipid, dull and flat

I think it’s the reason

I’m always on the move

It takes just one of these ‘lucky’ glances

And I want out

I, in general, have a real distaste for people

I think most are out of touch,

Boring and just like all the others

Predictable

Yes, that’s it

Predictable

Like cattle or sheep

Always in a group, longing to be or do,

What every other cattle or sheep is or does

Vapid people all crammed together

In a lifeless world

Where mundane and grey and boring

Are looked at as excitement

And I wonder why I always feel the need to get away,

To the mountains, the ocean, The desert

I don’t think it’s about the places I go to

I think it has more to do

With the places and people

I long to leave behind

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

 

Shitstorm

Sometimes I think my life can be summed up in one word:

Shitstorm

A complete and chaotic and unpleasant situation

At least that’s how it sometimes feels

I’m heading in the wrong direction

Walking head-up,

Facing the wind, facing the rain

(Shitstorm)

And all the glorious problems, Which so willfully follow,

Close behind

Take right now, for example

I’m stuck on a bus

Which has broken down

On my way to Olympia Heights

I’m not too sure what the problem is,

But it’s taken out the A/C, along with my ride

I sit next to a fat man, who seems not the least bit worried

No, place to be, I guess

On his shirt it says

‘TO DRUNK TO FUCK’

What a life

And the letters keep coming to me,

Asking me why I’m down

Asking if I’m ok

I could write them all back

But all those return letters

Could be summed up in one vile,

Uncaring and ugly word:

Shitstorm

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

 

The Ones She Didn’t Take

He let a shiver run through him

Staring down at his shoes

This world is what you make of it

And like an unmolded clump of clay

He hadn’t made anything of it, yet

A jittering reminder of all the times

Good and bad

Razor sharp and kitten fur soft

So swollen are the memories

The ones she didn’t take

So, hiding away seemed so much easier

Than walking the streets alone

Alone, and unarmed

The very streets she roamed

So, instead he chose to hide behind the mask

A planted seed which grew only when he wanted

She wouldn’t know

She would have no cares, no control

He buried all the dead memories

In the basement, next to the boxes of her old clothes

And at night, he cringed at the thought of them all

Lying down below, festering, waiting, growing

Time is of the essence

Time was a live wire

And the dogs of hell

Were looking for him

Knocking, going door to door

Searching the homes

Room by room

But in all good time, the memories fade

Drinks of whiskey from the bottle

Tastes the same in a glass

So he no longer has the need for a glass

Now he reads the obituary pages for fun

Seeking out the names of the past

The names of the memories

Those buried deep in the basement

Which hide behind the mask

That he once wore

But the curtain is still drawn over the window

And there is no desire to see the outside

Because the obituaries don’t speak of the moving

Only of those who lie still

In perfect harmony

With all the dust

And the cobwebs, which entombed them

They can’t speak of what’s still out there

What scours the sidewalks at midnight

And peers through moonlight, down through basement windows

In search of boxes

And the fattened memories they hide away

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

 

Good For Us

There is still a void

Still obstacles to jump over

But once the barriers are broken

And the ensuing battle ends

We will be left with something

Two deflated armies, both worn thin

Good for us

Now have at it, then

Go and try to piece this shattered mess

Back together,

Just like the last time

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

 

Kafka, Bukowski And Me

Kafka turned to Bukowski and said,

“You var an arsehole”

Bukowski took a swig of his wine,

And answered

“It takes one to know one, baby”

Then we just sat there

In silence

Not one of the three of us spoke

I watched the flame of a candle

The only light to this room

After a while,

Kafka shot a confused glare,

Straight at Henry

Hank responded by pounding the glass of red wine

I just continued to sit there

Motionless

Without words to say

Taking it all in

Basking in their pissing contest,

But too small to interrupt

And let’s face it —

No one was sure

Just how I got here

And although none of us admitted to it

We all knew the answer

I held the slightest chance,

Of getting out alive

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

 

How Would You Do It?

Often, while bored

I think of all the people

In this world,

Who truly despise me

The people who

Would love to hear that

I have died,

Passed on,

Kicked the proverbial bucket

I drift back and think of all the ways

I have bothered these people

These same people

Who, countless times

Have bothered me, too

I often think it would be fun

To sit these people down

And ask each one

The same question

“If you could get away with killing me, how would you do it?”

I know this isn’t ‘normal’ thought pattern,

But what the hell?

It brings me to a full smile

Especially when I think

Of all their creative ways

I imagine some people

Would want to kill me

Some more than once, I bet

I mean, with all the options

Only having one shot at it,

Kind of seems

Like a ripoff

But that’s when the smile leaves

because there is always a follow-up thought

And this one, I don’t much care for

It’s the thought

Of those few people

Who wouldn’t want to tell me

Their ideal way of

polishing me off

When I think of these few people,

I’m no longer smiling

And the reason is simple

These are the few people,

I believe,

Who have a real desire

To get rid of me

And that scares me

More than the dying part

Because one of those faces

Of the people who truly hate me

Might be the last face I see

And that alone

Is a reason to mix a drink

© Dicky J Loweman 2015