Coffee Shop

Deep aromas of disdain flood at me

As soon as I’m in the door

I love coffee shops, just not this particular coffee-house

Too many people in line

Most of whom, don’t know what they want

Never minding the five minutes they spent in the line

Chatting on the phone, never looking at the menu

Or those who can’t stop looking at the time

Pouting, tapping, arms folded, while exhaling in disgust

Not a single thought, as to how long this morning stop always takes

The barista looks slightly confused and less than thrilled to be here

I ordered a large black coffee

She asks if I want milk in it

I’m past this, however

I’ve paid and now I’m scanning for a seat

I would love to plant my ass in one of the overstuffed chairs

But they were claimed hours ago

And those who rise early enough to get them, won’t give them up

These are the $4.00 spending couch sitters

They always come in pairs, so there is someone to save their seat

While they get their free refill

Then there is the gentleman reading the Sunday Times

On a Thursday

The same gentleman who, when relinquishing his seat

Strolls to the shitter, with his entire paper tucked under his arm

Never for a minute considering there is but one unisex bathroom

Or that any of us coffee-swilling folk may also need it

I assume his private commode lacks the decor

Or the phone numbers of whom to call for a good time

I return to the line

I don’t need any more coffee, but want to slow the line

I have just a little more time to kill

I wait for the man to come out of the restroom

I strike up a quick conversation

I find a meaningless point to his unharmonious rasp

I tell him I have something which may interest him

We exchange phone numbers

I thoughtfully give him the number of my vicious neighbor

Who hates his time wasted by wrong numbers

Last thing before I leave

I go into the foul-smelling, unisex bathroom

I write his number on the wall

With instructions to call for a good time

© Dicky J Loweman 2014

Don’t Try

Don’t try

Don’t work at it

In the end, it turns out fruitless

Good for nothing

Don’t try

To be the perfect poet

The next great American author

The person with the next impressive line

Trying at this is pointless

All done for others

To feed an ego

Inflate the head

Instead, take your time

Write about what matters to you

What moves you

What you wish would be

Don’t be put off by what others might think

Your critics usually only hold you back

Don’t write for those who you don’t know

What have they done for you?

Don’t try


Create lines about the impossible

The ridiculous, insane

If your imagination wants, write about the abstract

Those things which only make sense to you

Write what you want

Fuck everyone else

This is your escape

And in the end

You are the only one

Who needs to be impressed

© Dicky J Loweman 2014

Sincere, Obsessive, Inspiring And Sometimes Crazed

I love you

And I listen to what you have to say

Things you mention resonate within me

They often stay for way too long

But I guess that’s just how I’m wired

Sincere, obsessive, inspiring and sometimes crazed

Some of your more memorable descriptions

Don’t always like the sound

But there is truth to what you say

And I keep your words

Close to my heart

So if you never remember

Anything else I say to you


I love you

© Dicky J Loweman 2014

This Room

This rooms seems a little too big

Too big for all the shit

The shit I have collected

Collected, then forgotten about

There’s too much to dirty

Too much to clean

Memories get too easily lost

Lost like a phone number

Or a set of keys

Maybe it needs more furniture

To occupy the the void

The darkness

Of this room

Which is just too big

© Dicky J Loweman 2014

The Colors Of Your Eyes

The colors of your eyes

Are the softest baby blue

When you open them

In the early morning light

The colors of your eyes

Are the deepest forest green

As we move through the forest

The colors of your eyes

Are like pulsars in space

When you get confused

By my many wrongful doings

The colors of your eyes

Are red as blood

When I fuel your fire inside

With the agitation

I’m so good at supplying

© Dicky J Loweman 2014

When The Collector Met Joe The Spider

The boy thought he saw something

Out of the corner of his eye

He put down his magnifying glass

And got out of his chair

He slowly crept towards the corner

Sliding his socks on the floor

As if lifting his feet might give him away

He peeked around the cabinet

And saw him there

‘Hello’, said the collector to the big hairy spider

‘hello back’, said the spider to the pray

‘You’d make a nice addition to my collection’, the collector whispered

‘Wait’, remarked the spider

‘I know where you sleep

And as you turn away

I’ll hide in plain sight

And wait patiently

until you go to bed

then I’ll dine on you

From the inside to the out’

‘No matter’, said the collector to the spider

‘I’ll take my chances’

And with that, the collector hurried away to grab a jar

All the time in the world

For the spider to move

Just behind the bedpost

© Dicky J Loweman 2014


Big Bay Window

I can stay here all day

Just to watch the happenings

Of the outside world

I never need to leave this spot

I get all the information I need

A man and a woman in jackets

It’s cold today

Teenagers in sunglasses and dark shadows

Another Sunny day

Leaves whip and spin

There’s a good breeze to the air

But who needs all of that?

Looking through this big bay window

Is like watching television

Only life sized

And in real time

© Dick J Loweman 2014

The Ugliness Of This Street

I walk down the street and the ugliness is everywhere

It drips from the trees and belches in exhaust form from the cars

I can hear small chatter from passer-by’s

Their quiet squawks are going to be the death of me

I’d like to kick them square in the face

For what it’s worth, I’d like to leave this place

Find a deserted beach or maybe a desolate mountain top

This, of coarse, is just a crack pipe dream

There really is just no way out

Stuck here

To wither, spin and slowly dissolve

Breaking away from any chance of a sound piece of mind

Like a dock being ripped from the shore during a storm

This place is like a slow cancerous death

A beast that grows and torments from the inside out

Slowly eating at my brain and causing this mind-numbing hatred

I believe this is what drives men to kill

This makes for a very long and lonely walk

I walk down the street and the ugliness is everywhere

© Dicky J Loweman 2014

Night’s Work

Cross room glances

Eyebrow raised with bad intentions

Big cat on a prowl

Sinister thoughts

Morbid outcomes

Thoughts that consume this night

Heavy rains and a smash of thunder

Time to get this show on the road

Pick an interest

Find something of a common ground

Something praiseworthy

Something keen

Move in

Go for the kill

All in a night’s work

© Dicky J Loweman 2014