Last Step

The way the storms come

It turns the sea

Like a piece of paper in high winds

I wait patiently, for you

In the top of the old lighthouse

I watch you on the bluff below

your white gown flowing

Your hair whipped into a frenzy

One more time, you glance up to me

Then one last step

And over the edge

Forgotten Girl

You’re buried in an old forgotten place

I like to think I’m your only visitor

I tidy you up a bit

clear away all that’s unwanted

Then go around and pick up all the dead flowers scattered around

And lay them by your feet

A bed of roses for you, my dear

Just so you know

While you may be buried in an old forgotten place

You are not forgotten

© Dicky j Loweman 2014

Arms And Legs

I think you’re starting to get the hang of this

Gets a little easier every time

You’ve come a long way since your first time

Gets a little easier with every passing day

You even speak while we do our work

Now down to a finely tuned science

A quick glance, a subtle smile

Gets a little easier with every new friend

Enough talk for now

We have work to finish

Exactly like we always do

You grab the Arms, I got the legs

© Dicky J Loweman 2014


Letting Go

There’s a fine line between helping and letting go

I climb the ladder

So many rungs

So high off the ground

I can hear you instructing me

“Please come down”

“The ladder’s too old to climb”

Climbing higher

Higher still

“Get down and I’ll fix you another drink”

“Please get down”

Then another sound

But this sound comes not from you

Higher still

Still climbing

Then the other sound, again

A tiny whisper

A crack, a splinter

Then a total breaking away

As the ladder breaks, I let go

“My god, no”

I close my eyes in the weightlessness

And wait out the time

Before I hit the

The Echo Of Her Front Door

I love our sleepovers

Alone and lying next to you

Waking up with you next to me

Stepping out into the morning’s first light

Into the warm sunshine

But I don’t think I should sleep here tonight

You have that other guy

The one who checks in on you, every night

He makes me nervous

He talks to you

like I’m not even there

Maybe it’s just too dark to see

I’m not sure


I think I should go

I’ll bring you some fresh picked flowers in the morning

Until then, just one more kiss

Dear, your lips are as cold as stone

They look grey and weathered

Maybe it’s only flickering of the candlelight

But now I have to go

Please, don’t worry

I’ll remember to put the doormat back askew

And throw some dead leaves by the door

Of course, I promise

To shut the door softly

So as not to echo off the other mosaliums

© Dicky J Loweman 2014