Month: May 2015

(rainfall secrets)

rainfall like secrets

each one sent only for me

baptized in the drops

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

The Sting

Whiskey stings the lips,

Like a kiss from a past lover,

Who promised so much,

But left so little

I enjoy the memories,

But like the ice melting in the bottom of this glass,

Nothing lasts forever

So I forge a smile,

Sip the last of the poison,

And slip back

Into the comfort of the night,

And all the joy she brings

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

What Gets Done When The Day Is Broken

The day was off to a slow start

I just can’t seem to get today together

I went through a normal morning routine,

But no great plans were set in motion

So I filled the day with mundane tasks

I went to the market,

Stared at the pretty housewives,

And bought a bunch of shit which looked like a good idea,

But when I got home,

None of it sounded appealing

I thought a trip to the park would do the trick

The one with the dog park inside

There’s usually a bunch of women and their puppies,

Good sights and tomfoolery

But not today —

Just an old man who smelled of piss,

And his mangled mutt,

Which, by his looks alone,

Probably didn’t smell much better

So I sat there and tried to write,

But today was not turning out,

The next great American poem

From there, I walked by the club,

Maybe a cocktail and shoot some pool,

Maybe a game of bocci, maybe horseshoes,

But I was told the usual crowd, my friends,

All packed up early, and called it a day

“Maybe you should do the same?”, asked the bargirl

And I can take a hint,

Especially when it’s been staring me down,

All day long

So I came home, made dinner,

And wrote you this

Sorry it wasn’t better,

But this is about as good,

As my day has been

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


On Love, Writing, And Cats

As I sit here, at my office desk,

I type line after line,

But it all fades fast,

And it will end up like so many other writes,

A waste of time,

Which will not be shared

I think of the things I feel I should write about

The stuff people seem to like, and,

I cheat and write ideas on scrap paper,

Which litters this large, old desk

But none of those ideas speak to me now

Just words and ideas I’ll save for another time

Right now I feel compelled to write about love,

Write about writing

Fuck that,

What I really feel,

Is to tell some story about my cat, who boards with a friend,

And guards the Gates of Hell

Ah, yes

That’s the one

This makes me smile, because the writing of love,

Or of writing,

Would more aptly suit the people who might end up reading this,

But it’s the craziness of the cat,

Which breaks the monotony of this evening

So I pour a drink,

And toggle back and forth,

Between typed words and pen and paper

And I spin useless tales of the port and moldy cheese,

The sword, and a corkscrew, which was stole by which one of us, again?

The one used to ward off The Great Ones, off in “The Dreamlands”?

And I laugh and sip away

In a perfect evening,

With jazz calmly whispering in the background and smoke swirling,

Which most would never understand

But I hope she’ll read it,

And I hope it makes her smile

For she has made me smile,

Because of her perfect sense of humor,

And for taking care of that old ‘bastard of a cat’

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


It’s all in the line and the luck of the draw

Some of us will, but most of us won’t

So, the days bring boredom,

And long walks at night

The airs are filled with memories,

Which just seem to want to stay,

Even though I don’t want them to

Say to me that it’s alright

Tell me we’re ok

Lie to me, if you have to,

Just make sure it’s believable,

Make sure it’s what I want to hear

So this night keeps dragging along,

Scraping it’s nails in the most defiant of ways

You should be here,

Here to see it all

But we both know that won’t happen,

So crack open a beer,

Light a smoke,

And get lost in the twisted halls,

The halls which hold those old memories,

Which I need to lose,

If I ever plan to sleep tonight

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

My Response To a Friend Who Said She Wanted To Kill Herself

Sometimes I can’t imagine why I’m still here,

How I’ve made it this long

The gods have shined on me,

That much is certain,

And I’ve used up more lives than a cat

Someday, baby, this shit will wear out

Grow thin, then finally give way

Then they stick you in the ground,

Or, if luck will have it,

Burn everything you have ever been

Either way,

It’s going to be ugly

But, just like the taxes I never pay,

It’s inevitable

Now, go out and do something fun

Go get drunk,

Go roll with the hookers,

Spend every last dime

But come back tomorrow,

And tell me all about it

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


It’s better to keep,

Everything in life,

In perspective

And if you don’t like the way it looks,

Turn around

And look the other way

If that view isn’t any better,

Just take a stroll down any city street,

In the middle of the night

Take a look at where you might be,

Then think again about your problems

Not quite so big?

You can thank me later

© Dicky J Loweman 2015