“Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh baby!”
Those are the only audible words,
Heard on the video tape
The rest is just filled,
With random shouts of garble,
And ‘what-to-do’s’
It was my voice, though
And you could hear the intense and sudden rise to panic
She said she had done it,
At least a hundred times
But, just like death,
The blue flame will get everyone,
Eventually
Blowing fireballs,
From moonshine,
I’m sure will be,
An event,
She would rather forget
© Dicky J Loweman 2015
I drink vodka in this bar
That’s what I drink in here
Sometimes it’s gin,
Sometimes rum
But never in here
This place calls for vodka,
And this bar rarely calls
But when she does,
It’s good to start with a vodka tonic
From there the world is my oyster
Vodka martinis finish me off too fast,
So they’re better left for the bad days
Those days when things need to get done,
And I don’t belong in here,
On days like that…
Excuse me,
“Barkeep,
Make me a vodka martini”
“One of those days, huh?”
Something like that…
Something like that.
© Dicky J Loweman 2015
Spent $41.00 on a bottle of whisky,
Walked home with a light breeze,
And a step which reminded me of rippling waves
The sun was just setting
It’s very rays reduced,
To nothing more than a soft pink glow
The night in front of me,
Still holds promise
So much to look forward to,
So much anticipation and hope
There will be nothing worth while,
clogging up the television,
And knowing that ahead of time,
Will save me from the countless,
Circling of channels, which will offer nothing back
Instead, my speakers will spew musical notes,
Written in the language of jazz
Filling my ears, head and room,
With a glorious and fulfilling sway,
A quick change of tempo,
And a true heartfelt smile
Which no one but me,
Will be granted access to
No one but me,
Will be allowed to share
There will be writings of all different kinds
Some good, some bad,
Some even unreadable
But I will none the less carve my way through,
Conjuring up those mortal tales,
All the while, engulfed in smoke and laughter,
Distant thoughts and fond memories
All brought on by this easy and effortless walk home,
And a well aged, $41.00 bottle of whisky
Well worth every single penny spent
© Dicky J Loweman 2015
I have nothing better to do,
Than sit here all day
Just waste this day,
Like so many before,
And the so very many,
Which will follow
I have nothing better to do
My glass is empty,
And now I wait on the girl,
Behind the bar
I’m held captive,
And need to find a filler
I pilfer glances,
At the two girls sitting,
Next to me
They’re deep in conversation,
And have no way,
Of knowing any better
I compare the two girls’ thighs
I wrestle with which one,
Would be better in bed,
Which one would look better naked
But then,
In an instant,
My drink has been refilled,
And I’m back to doing,
What I came here to do
This is a pretty good life,
Good if you can keep up with it,
And don’t weaken
I’m ok with that
I can work within these rules,
Laws and parameters
And besides,
I have the time
I have lots of it,
And as I finish my drink,
I smile at the boredom,
And at the two girls’ thighs
It’s all good,
I have nothing better to do
© Dicky J Loweman 2015
There is a fly in here with me,
Just me and the fly
He seems to want,
More to do with me,
Than I want with him
He seems interested in the typewriter,
Interested in what I’m drinking,
Interested in the ashtray,
And my burning cigarette
His buzz is also a little too loud
That very buzz has interrupted,
Coltrane’s live version of “Giant Step”
And as the fly lands on the rim of my glass,
Takes a sip of my drink,
And interferes with a sacred live performance,
I realize he is not a friend
He has become nothing more than a mere nuisance
Just another pain in the ass,
In this near empty writer’s room
Like the patron at the bar,
That nobody wants to sit near
Well, now something must be done
In the last five minutes,
This tiny pest has managed to take me,
From writer/drinker/music lover,
And changed me into a hunter
He has also changed, in that small amount of time
Going from useless and benign,
To a “Dead Man (Fly) Walking”
So I roll a new smoke,
Fill a fresh glass,
And calmly fold today’s sports page
The jury is out,
“Death by splatter”, is the verdict
And I wait and listen,
Listen to “Chasin’ The Trane”,
And that ever-present buzz
And then, like the fly knew time was up,
He landed on the center of the desk,
And politely sat motionless
We both took a moment,
Listened to the final notes of the song,
Then I used the roaring applause of the crowd for cover,
And lowered the boom
© Dicky J Loweman 2015
All is good in this world
And as long as no one is dying,
Let’s lift a few
Put them up to our lips,
And hope we make it back alive
Here’s to the future good days,
And to all the bad ones gone
I guess I prefer the here and now,
Over the what could or should have been
Call me an optimist,
It seems everyone else likes to call me a cynic
Well, fuck ’em
Let them rot and roll in their graves
And to all of those retched souls,
I lift one
Just because I’m still here,
And they’re not
© Dicky J Loweman 2015
This day is drawing to a close
This hike has been long
The scorched earth continues to beat on me
I’ve finished all my wine,
And almost all the water, too
But as hot as it may be,
That’s part of the draw
A force acting mutually between particles of matter
Which, matter of fact
Also acts to draw them together
Pay up, then head through the door,
With that same vodka tonic in hand
I walk back towards my house,
Knowing exactly where I can find that soul
Who is much more deserving and in need,
Of this last drink of the night
And I find her right where I thought she would be,
With the same sign, asking for money or food
I offer her the drink,
Which she takes with uncertainty and hesitation
I get the feeling,
from the look in her eye,
That this doesn’t happen all the time
I tell her my name,
And she tells me hers
Alice, she says, through cracked and sunburned lips
Pleased to meet you
We chatted for a short bit,
Then I went on home
I felt pretty good with the end to the evening
Sometimes people just need a break,
A bit of luck,
A ray of sunshine
And sometime that luck of light,
Can shine in the darkest hours,
Of a usually unforgiving night
© Dicky J Loweman 2015
All the people in this bar have faces like barnyard animals
The sheep gather by the pool table,
Baa-baaing through all the games
The horses gather at the jukebox,
Standing still, talking quietly —
Mine as well be eating grass
The bar itself is over-run by the cows
Too lethargic from the drinks and sun
And the bartender is the farmer,
Making sure all the barnyard animals
Get fed and watered,
Stay fat, full and happy
As far as me?
I’m not quite sure which animal I am
Sometimes I feel like a fox,
In the henhouse,
When the farmer left the door open
Sometimes I feel like a goat,
Half dumb and staring at the knots in the bar
Sometimes I feel like the barnyard dog,
Moving around,
Here and there,
Making sure everyone is accounted for,
And the wolves are kept at bay
© Dicky J Loweman 2015
There are different shades of greys
Ranging from charcoal to dust
There are cracks along the way
Climbing up the walls,
Running through the sidewalks
There is a constant heavy sigh,
A slight moan and groan
The bustle of this city
Seems monotonic and mundane
People focus on cell phones and their shoes
And no one glances up,
To read anyone’s eyes,
Or to match a smile with their own
Stale airs and old trash
Tucked away and fill the corners
The same corners they walk past
Everyday
Without a conscience, without pause
The world rotates at 1000 mph
But it’s much slower, here
Much more impersonal,
Selectively savage, heartless and cold
It’s always good times, somewhere in this world
And that includes 5:00, somewhere
Time to brighten the greys,
Fill in the cracks
And forget all these plagued souls
A quick stroll to the beach cafe,
A stroll by the bar
Grab and go,
Head to the water’s edge
Where the waves sing in harmonies,
Which would make the Gregorian Chants
Seem out of tune
I listen to the winds and the gulls,
As I watch the sun die another perfect death
And at that very moment all is forgiven, forgotten,
All troubles slip and disappear,
Like the smoke from my cigarette
© Dicky J Loweman 2015
dicky j loweman 