There is a very painful moment in life

Where you wake up and discover

That most of it is gone

That time, now moves faster than ever

And no matter how rich, successful, or happy

None of this will matter

In the end

For when the end comes

It will look the same to all of us

We will all end up alike

For dead is dead…

The end

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Letter From The CCWF

It’s been a bit of a rough morning

I didn’t sleep well

I was blessed by god, with a broken back

Not truly broke, but not in good working order

These damaged nerves, sciatica is to blame

So I spent the morning hobbling around

Aided by an often needed cane

Finally, I succumb to the pain

And down some Advil

These little helpers who will tear at my gut all day long

Last night I made plans for today

I was going to ride my bike

To a recently discovered marsh

I had planned on spending the whole day exploring, writing

And drinking some wine

I get so excited about these new finds

That I pace my house all night

But, as it often goes

My back doesn’t feel like cooperating

I’m left bent and only a shade from crippled

So while the meds kick in, I wonder around, looking for something

Anything, to waste my time

I finally decide on reading yesterdays mail

I skim past the bills and useless realtor sales pitches

Until I come across a hand written envelope

Addressed from a friend, and sent from the CCWF

A friend, who I haven’t seen or heard from

In a painfully long time

They caught her in ’09

trafficking, they said

She loved the pills

So much so, that I have trouble believing

She would ever give them up

Yet alone sell them

But they got her

And she’s been parked in Chowchilla, California

Pretty much ever since

I had trouble reading it

She was the last person I expected

I would be catching up with, this morning

She wrote of how she had been

And how she was sorry she hadn’t written sooner

She writes of our times camping and hiking

And how she hopes I’m still at it

Finally, she closes with a line

About how she would like to hear from me

She still has a long time, ahead of her

And I wish I could speed that up

After I finish the letter

I make my way to the typewriter

I sit down, and put in a piece of paper

But nothing comes to mind

Too many things to say

And all this causes more discomfort

So I get up, without thinking

Grab the backpack I packed last night

And head out to the marsh

I need to clear my head

And cloud it, all at the same time

She would enjoy this spot

I just know it

And I’ll finish my letter to her

By telling her, how we’ll see it together

When she gets out

Sometime after 2029

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


Thoughts Of This Life

The sun will shine

And the rivers will flow

And the banks will build

All holding tight

My thoughts of this life

Time spent in travel

Time wasted in thought

And the wind will blow cold, again

And the day is replaced with dark

Yet every moment

Holds the dearest of secrets

The furthest of back-logged thoughts

Which I choose not to share

Which I keep locked away

And protect with this army

The people will still come

The people will still leave

Some with long overdrawn goodbyes

Some stealing away with the night

Some stay in my thoughts

While others are like this windy day

Causing me to take notice

But leaving as quickly as it came

There will be good days

And there will be unbearable days of dread

But through the thick and the thin

The sun will shine

The rivers will flow

And they will always continue to hold

Thoughts of this life

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

A Visit From Stephanie

Stephanie stopped by, the other day

She drank what was left of my rum

Then she was on to the vodka

The traveler she brought herself

She talked about her latest guy

The one with the muscles and the red sports car

I pretended to be interested

But I didn’t do a very good job

“Are you even listening to me?”, she asked

“No, sorry.  I wasn’t.”

She considers this rude

Never mind that this is my house

Never mind that she polished off my liquor

Never mind that she wasted my time

Well, by this time she had finished her traveler of vodka

She was frantically rummaging through my cupboards

“There’s wine here, somewhere.  Where is it?”

I told her I had a case in the garage

It wasn’t expensive

And she wouldn’t have cared anyhow

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


I try to explain it to him

But he’s not getting it

Not one single bit of it

That’s just par for the course, though

Smarts were never in his favor

The speed he is perpetually stuck on is ‘slow’

I know this, however

I’ll have to do my best

Work through it, I tell myself

So we start again

From the beginning

For all the glorious fuck-up’s

Which god is known to produce

Here sits the finest

Right in front of my own two eyes

I love him, though

He always has, and always will be

Like a brother to my

He might not be the sharpest mind

But he’s definitely the muscle

Nobody fucks with us


Even the craziest of the crazies know better

So I guess we make a set

Yin and Yang

Both a mixture of the two

All that good shit

But anyway, sorry

I get sidetracked, too

He tells me it’s alright

But he wants me to go slower, this time

So here it goes

From the beginning…

© 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