Month: June 2015

Black And White

The world is rarely,

Black and White

The answers,

Are hardly every clearly written out,

For any and all to see

And I try to do things right,

Most of the time,

But it seems we were all given,

Different levels of acceptance,

Different amounts of tolerance

My right is hardly your right

And the world is as unclear,

As an early morning for,

The rules weren’t written,

In black and white,

Right and wrong

They weren’t written that way,

And neither were we

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Thirty Paces From The Bar Door

‘There aren’t any potluck lunches down here’

That’s all the sign read

The sad old sign,

With the yellowed and weathered scotch tape,

taped to the humming lamppost

A bit odd, huh?, is all that came to mind

Some people have more time on their hands,

Than I do

Then I smiled,

And kept on walking

Never once turning around,

Never giving a care, again

And why would I?

I had a place to be,

Because that old lamppost was only,

Thirty paces from the bar door

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Fresh Air

To breathe

Fresh air

To sit and take it in

Letting it fill, all up inside

Calmness prevails

Serenity achieved

Love found

*

To breathe

Fresh air

Reworks all the old, past thoughts

Relives the memories I stored away

Brings smiles

Encourages laughter

Lightens loss

*

To breathe

Fresh air

Secrets spoken out loud and free

Painful times trail off, slip away

Returns me

To you

Happy, again

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

An Understanding

Rarities inscribed with scribbles

Nothing new here,

Nothing to see

Early dusk was the worst time,

To view his work

The same work I could never,

Fully understand

I was accompanied by a lady,

Who wore her blond hair,

Long and straight

She wore sunglasses,

Which were too big,

For such a stunning face

She look at all the works

She gazed in such awe

I saw none of what she did

I was too bored,

In need of a cocktail,

And just overly unamused

She claims to see,

Every bit of the beauty,

Hidden within these pieces

I only see the lines

Line which were not perfectly straight,

Not equally thick,

And with no meaning to me at all

But, it’s all good

Different strokes for different folks

Some like to write,

Useless lines,

Which often only make sense,

To the author

And others like to construct lines,

Lines drawn with shaky hands,

Originally seen through,

Faded eyes

The same eyes I don’t look through,

Somethings are better left unexplained,

Underappreciated,

Or completely ignored

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Sorry, We’re Closed

Another day, another end

Flip the “open” sign over,

So it reads,

“Sorry, we’re closed”

But the phone continues to ring

There is nothing on tv,

And I’m too lazy to cook tonight

Sometime an extremely easy,

And non-exciting day,

Can wear me out,

And leaving me looking,

Like 100 yr old floorboards

But I have so much left to do

So much I want to get done

But sometimes the laziness prevails

And I sulk to the couch,

With a cocktail and a notebook,

And I write line after line,

Filling the pages with garbage,

Which don’t make the slightest bit of sense,

Come early in the morning

© Dicky J Loweman 2015