floating on the winds

to drift high and fly away

glide with the storm cloud

© Dicky J Loweman 2014


I stare at the computer screen

The cursor blinking, blindly back at me

Words won’t write themselves

Thoughts just cloud and scurry

Like the dust on the window sill


I need fewer distractions

A clear head, like a blank sheet of paper

Maybe that’s the answer

I need to try the trusty typewriter

Computer won’t throw me a bone

Think a bit more about the typewriter

My jet black and scratched old friend

It’s been a while

Maybe it’s time to give her a pounding again

Stand, stretch, and follow it up with a groan

Voice a deep, inarticulate sound

Like a pain, grief, or displeasure shooting

Through my very soul

Take a quick lap around this dusty old study

Notice all the works which so freely came as waves

In the past

But that was then, this is now

A walk to the trusty ‘thinking box’

Grab a glass

A mental note to get some ice

Then top it off with some semi-expensive scotch

I’m hardly often fond of scotch

But it’s good for thinking

Clears the head, lets ideas back in

Usually a tad bit crazier than before

Who cares now

Just about anything will do

Then I notice all the clutter of papers, again

All these works were conceived

On that old whore of a typewriter

My old friend, old girl

I clear clothes off the chair, sit down

And undress her of her cover

Roll in a crisp,stark-white, brand new piece of paper

Hello old girl

We really shouldn’t spend so much time apart

Without hesitation my fingers snap the keys with speed

As if I have no control

As if I had been here all along

© Dicky J Loweman 2014


Lock-down is for thinking

A constant reminder
That we really aren’t good
Not good at all, really
And the reasons?
oh, too many to tell
Some like me, for concoctions
Some like Big Al, for meth
Or was it coke?
Some just like to steal
Lie, punish, hurt, burn
Or even abuse
The reasons are countless
I’m thinking
But, alas, I can’t say
For it’s lock-down, I think
© Dicky J Loweman 2014