free verse poetry

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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Late

I woke up thirty minutes late

There was no time for the usual routine

I brushed my teeth, but skipped the shower

I munched a handful of coffee beans,

But didn’t have the time to enjoy a brewed cup

I dressed in the same clothes from yesterday

I grabbed my small travel pack,

Which housed only the previous day’s contents,

And at this moment, I couldn’t tell you what they were

I flashed one last lap throughout the house,

Grabbing my keys, but no hat or glasses

I had a place to be,

But waking up thirty minutes late,

Severely limited my chances of making it on time

I left my house without locking the door,

Or shutting the garage tight

I peddled as fast as I could

My destination lying two and a half miles away,

But waking up thirty minutes late,

I was mortally behind

So, by the time I arrived,

The Sun I was hoping to greet upon arrival,

Was ahead of this day’s schedule

It wasn’t to be

No magical sunrise for this sod

Ah, alright

It was still a pretty morning

Soft autumn dawn

I woke up thirty minutes late,

And missed the only chance I’d have for this all day long

But it’s all good in the end

It actually works out well

It serves as a good excuse

To try it again,

And get it right tomorrow

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Oh, Baby!

“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

Somedays Vodka Sounds Better Than You

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

Fall

The time now,

Has become what I refer to,

As the easy part of the year

The sun doesn’t shine as bright,

And the winds don’t scorch your neck,

With every breath they blow

For this is the Fall,

Autumn,

The easy part of the year

It is the great race on to winter,

When all grows dormant,

With all the thoughts of total sleep

Thoughts of sleep and darkness

Not that winter down here,

Is too hard or unlivable

Actually, it’s just the opposite

It’s just not as easy as the Fall

Of course,

I like Summer and all her heat the best

But by the time the Fall catches up to me,

I’m ready for her

I look forward to the chilled nights,

And could use the reprieve in this aging life

I’m ready

I’m set for a little relief,

From all that heat,

The stifling simmer

I’ve grown a little tiresome of,

The everyday late-afternoon downpours,

And the constant sweating

Now don’t get me wrong

I’ll soon miss and long for the heat to come back

But Autumn never comes too soon around here

And, as usual, she won’t stick around,

Quite as long,

As I always seem to wish that she would

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

 

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

Purpose

Rolling up in a black limousine

Tallying all the fortunate little ones

With the big minds and tired, drab ideas

Sucking the very soul out of life

Fight on, but only with a purpose

Like floating the waves,

In the calm, after a scathing storm

The pieces will fall,

Laying and crying at your feet,

Begging to be stepped on,

Screaming for the hurt

But in this dismal time,

There is sometimes tucked a flower,

With the beauty of a smile,

Like that from some past lover

A smile you’d go to battle for,

Climb mountains to get to,

And give your last nickel,

Just to see once more

© 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

With Time To Kill

Time isn’t kind

Not to me, not to you,

Not to a single living, breathing soul

As I stand here,

Staring into the bathroom mirror,

I count 20 maybe 30 new grey hairs to my beard

I can’t bring myself to count those,

On top of my aching head

Time has done this

Stress has done this

All the bad things in this world have done this

Somewhere, in this world,

A small toaster just caught fire,

In a room with no one present

Somewhere, in a lonely back alley,

A baby is set in a dumpster

But in the end,

Time will fix all of it

It will right the wrong,

Kill the strongest,

And mercifully smother the weak

Time will play tricks,

Beguiling even the smartest of us all

It slips away

In the end, it all slips away

Then you’re left holding prayer cards,

Of loved one’s gone,

Dreams carried for years,

But won’t ever be realized

Time is a real piece of work

A real ‘fuck ya in the back’,

Kind of guy

Time is a whore,

Charging too much,

Giving too little,

And stealing your wallet,

While you wash your hands

A real piece of work

A seven layered loser

Time is a shitstorm we are all walking through,

At one time or another

So smile wide,

But keep your head low

So, I guess it’s time to wrap this up,

Time to get going,

And I’d best make good time

After Time has a chance to read this,

I seriously doubt,

It will be on my side

© Dicky J Loweman 2015