drinks

Broken

Things have a tendency of breaking around here

Broken glasses, broken hearts,

A broken thought which sounds like a broken record

There are days like this

Always have been and always will be

Makes me think I’d like to douse this whole place,

In rancid gasoline,

Then just set it all ablaze

But you can’t get blood from a stone

I know this because I’ve tried

All you end up with is endless, bloodless,

Failure

Failure to see things differently

A failure to put a new spin on these broken pieces

So I just do what I always keep doing

I pour a nice drink,

I stare down at my old typewriter,

And think and wish for the times back,

When everything seemed easier,

Peaceful and good

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

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She Looks Good From Here

She looks good from here
She has on a nice sundress
Her legs are a calling bronze,
And she has the most beautiful hair
I’m a sucker for the hair
It’s always what seems to do me in
This Thursday afternoon,
Is no different from any other,
Save for this beautiful lady,
And a break from the heat
I want to ask her name
I’d like to spend the rest of the afternoon and my money with her
But after a little consideration,
I surmise my chances lie in that hated grey area,
Of not what I was hoping for
I’m drinking rum
She’s downing wine
I can’t imagine,
We wouldn’t be a good fit,
For each other
But then my conscience grabs me by the balls,
And I know to fight is useless
So the next time she looks my way,
I offer only a slight smile
A smile she returns as well
And that made it all worth while
Mental note to self,
Smile at strangers once in a while
You just never know who’s day you might make
© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Undervalued Art

For the most part,

This world is a beautiful place

A masterpiece, a concoction,

A work of art like no other

It’s all in the detail,

In all the little bits and wonders

But this masterpiece has flaws

There are cracks that need repair,

Chips which need filling,

And a good overall cleaning

The value of this amazing,

And mysterious work of art,

Is, of course, priceless

But with just a minor amount,

Of touch-up and care

Think of how much more appreciated,

And valuable,

She would become

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Hold To Grace

You hold to grace,

Like a bull in a china shop

You teeter from side to side,

Like a rudderless ship

If you told me you were dancing,

I’d have to believe you

There’s a certain art to you,

A style soaked in you

This can’t be duplicated,

Can’t be imitated

But somehow,

You manage to pull it off

And I know the walk home,

Will be interesting,

And filled with hundreds of extra,

And dizzying side steps,

And circles

Got to smile

You have it all worked out,

Down to a science,

And perfected,

And done so without shame,

Or care,

Or regret

Like a small child,

I guess you just don’t know,

Any better,

Any other way

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

 

A Pause To This Life

As I sit here,

I think about everything,

And nothing,

All at once

The heat of the day,

Has zapped my thoughts,

And any words I might have considered using

I keep fixating on the old clock

With its old neon tubes,

And it’s deafening hum

I watch the second-hand tick

Tick, tick, tick, tick

I feel as though,

I have been in this same spot for years

And I feel as though,

I might stay here for several more years

Not moving,

Just watching

Tick, tick, tick, tick

This is how I’m spending life,

Right now

In an old bar,

Which is held empty,

By the early hour,

And the sun’s stifling heat

Tick, tick, tick, tick

The bartender’s slow reach,

To the bottle on the back bar,

Looks to me,

Like a speeding train

Tick, tick, tick, tick

Then suddenly, I’m back

Back just in time

To catch his sudden movement,

And watch the glass being set,

In front of me

Like a plane landing at night

In the swirl of jet fumes,

And heat,

And that old neon clock

Tick, tick, tick, tick

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Thirty Paces From The Bar Door

‘There aren’t any potluck lunches down here’

That’s all the sign read

The sad old sign,

With the yellowed and weathered scotch tape,

taped to the humming lamppost

A bit odd, huh?, is all that came to mind

Some people have more time on their hands,

Than I do

Then I smiled,

And kept on walking

Never once turning around,

Never giving a care, again

And why would I?

I had a place to be,

Because that old lamppost was only,

Thirty paces from the bar door

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

An Understanding

Rarities inscribed with scribbles

Nothing new here,

Nothing to see

Early dusk was the worst time,

To view his work

The same work I could never,

Fully understand

I was accompanied by a lady,

Who wore her blond hair,

Long and straight

She wore sunglasses,

Which were too big,

For such a stunning face

She look at all the works

She gazed in such awe

I saw none of what she did

I was too bored,

In need of a cocktail,

And just overly unamused

She claims to see,

Every bit of the beauty,

Hidden within these pieces

I only see the lines

Line which were not perfectly straight,

Not equally thick,

And with no meaning to me at all

But, it’s all good

Different strokes for different folks

Some like to write,

Useless lines,

Which often only make sense,

To the author

And others like to construct lines,

Lines drawn with shaky hands,

Originally seen through,

Faded eyes

The same eyes I don’t look through,

Somethings are better left unexplained,

Underappreciated,

Or completely ignored

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Sorry, We’re Closed

Another day, another end

Flip the “open” sign over,

So it reads,

“Sorry, we’re closed”

But the phone continues to ring

There is nothing on tv,

And I’m too lazy to cook tonight

Sometime an extremely easy,

And non-exciting day,

Can wear me out,

And leaving me looking,

Like 100 yr old floorboards

But I have so much left to do

So much I want to get done

But sometimes the laziness prevails

And I sulk to the couch,

With a cocktail and a notebook,

And I write line after line,

Filling the pages with garbage,

Which don’t make the slightest bit of sense,

Come early in the morning

© Dicky J Loweman 2015