poetry

Cabin

I have a cabin

Tucked deep in the woods of Florida

Scarce are the amenities here

Furnished with hand-me-downs

Nothing matches

But it all serves the purpose well

There are three windows and a door

A small stove and a sink

No bathroom, but plenty of trees

My bed is an old cot

But I rarely sleep here

Except for the occasional nap

This is just used for sunny afternoon getaways

For the much-needed time to myself

I sit at my old table

Filled with papers

Overflowing ashtrays

A few old photographs of those long gone

There is my favorite glass

And always a new bottle of rum

I arrive every time

With my trusty vintage 1940’s Smith – Corona Clipper typewriter

Complete with her hard case

And a leather handle

Broken years ago, from the weight of travel

I sit myself on an old and worn down antique chair

The same one my mother used when she was young

I take comfort in its creaks and groans

The songs emitted, every time I adjust

I tell myself that I come here to write

But I rarely do for more than an hour or so

I really venture out here, in the middle of nowhere

To just fade away

Away in the memories of days past

Of friends who are no longer here

Or the ones I need to be reconnected with

In all the years I’ve had this dilapidated cabin

I’ve never once brought anyone here

A secret place

For only me

A safe-haven

Tucked deep in the woods

Where I feel like a king

Tucked away

All alone

In all my glory

© Dicky J Loweman 2014

 

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Nights Like This

Every now and then

I have one of these nights

My mind doesn’t stir in worry

All awash in calm

Drinks aren’t too stiff

Smoke doesn’t linger too long

There is a warmth from a small fire

And a book to be lost in

Sleep come with relative ease

Heavy eyes give way

To simple thoughts of nothingness

A subtle tease which always leaves room for more

All dreams are at a slower pace

All are lucid and worth remembering

No panic, no chasing, no reason to run or hide

Guards can be let down

All awash in calm

For every once in a while

There are nights like this

Even demons need a night off

So I’ll take advantage

Giving way to a restful night

© Dicky J Loweman 2014

 

Secret Spot

It’s cold and dark down here

I forget how long I’ve been gone

This secret spot

Always lush with courageous and mettlesome thoughts

Thoughts which help with bad days, just like today

The seemingly endless days where nothing goes right

And nothing good takes shape

But all that is forgotten

Left behind to sink into a rooted mind’s mire

Leaving behind only the goodness

All the coldness and darkness

Of this seldom viewed world

© Dicky J Loweman 2014

Stalker

I leave the pub around eight

The crowd doesn’t fit my mood

Being a cool night, I choose to walk

Passing on the crowded streets

I catch a glimpse of you

A small chill runs up my neck

Caused by your piercing eyes

I’ve seen you before

But I can’t place where or when

Quickly thoughts are redirected

Thoughts of my lonely hovel

And my long walk ahead

I never noticed your change in direction

The wind quickened and howled all the way home

You were never more than twenty paces behind

As I quickened, so did you

As I stopped to roll a smoke, you took to the shadows

As I arrived at my abode, you watched as I turned the key

As I fixed a nightcap, you let yourself in

As I write this, you come closer

And as I turn, you deliver the blow

© Dicky J Loweman 2014