Words With Her

We’re all fucked up

Every one of us

It’s only to what degree

And it always depends

On who’s doing the judging

Some people can accept less

Live with more

Live with the fucked up qualities of others

I have a hard time with this

Maybe I’m not the answer

Maybe I’m the problem

Maybe I just don’t really like most people

So, yeah

We’re all fucked up

And lately

I’ve kept busy, by reading your mind

It’s a dirty, but wonderful world you got there

Don’t change

For your’s is one of the few

One that I can live with

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


Marla’s Studio Apartment

Marla was a lovely L.A. girl

She was a bit crazy

But lovely, nonetheless

She lived behind a mansion

Off Doheny, in Beverly Hills

In a garage, converted into a shit studio apartment

She tried to make it nice

But a garage, is always going to be a garage

Marla liked to tell people she ran a jewelry business

What she was really saying

Is that she sold necklaces, that she made

Off a blanket, on the boardwalk, in Venice

I guess she must have done alright

She kept up the rent on her garage, studio

But she never turned down free drinks I offered

And late nights in the garage

Were often filled

With questions

About how she was going to pay the rent

It was the perfect match

Marla, the little bit crazy girl

And her crazy living arrangement

In her Beverly Hills garage studio apartment

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Letter From The CCWF

It’s been a bit of a rough morning

I didn’t sleep well

I was blessed by god, with a broken back

Not truly broke, but not in good working order

These damaged nerves, sciatica is to blame

So I spent the morning hobbling around

Aided by an often needed cane

Finally, I succumb to the pain

And down some Advil

These little helpers who will tear at my gut all day long

Last night I made plans for today

I was going to ride my bike

To a recently discovered marsh

I had planned on spending the whole day exploring, writing

And drinking some wine

I get so excited about these new finds

That I pace my house all night

But, as it often goes

My back doesn’t feel like cooperating

I’m left bent and only a shade from crippled

So while the meds kick in, I wonder around, looking for something

Anything, to waste my time

I finally decide on reading yesterdays mail

I skim past the bills and useless realtor sales pitches

Until I come across a hand written envelope

Addressed from a friend, and sent from the CCWF

A friend, who I haven’t seen or heard from

In a painfully long time

They caught her in ’09

trafficking, they said

She loved the pills

So much so, that I have trouble believing

She would ever give them up

Yet alone sell them

But they got her

And she’s been parked in Chowchilla, California

Pretty much ever since

I had trouble reading it

She was the last person I expected

I would be catching up with, this morning

She wrote of how she had been

And how she was sorry she hadn’t written sooner

She writes of our times camping and hiking

And how she hopes I’m still at it

Finally, she closes with a line

About how she would like to hear from me

She still has a long time, ahead of her

And I wish I could speed that up

After I finish the letter

I make my way to the typewriter

I sit down, and put in a piece of paper

But nothing comes to mind

Too many things to say

And all this causes more discomfort

So I get up, without thinking

Grab the backpack I packed last night

And head out to the marsh

I need to clear my head

And cloud it, all at the same time

She would enjoy this spot

I just know it

And I’ll finish my letter to her

By telling her, how we’ll see it together

When she gets out

Sometime after 2029

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


You Know Who You Are

To me, this life grows thinner

All the auto mechanics, page-boys and school girls

Can’t and won’t fill it up

Stop with all the love poems

Stop by with a shot

I’ll take it

Like a bullet

Hope to see you soon

That same spot on the shore

It’s calling us, again

And all the doctors in the world

Can’t put me back together


© Dicky J Loweman 2015

What She Left

She came by around four

She was an old friend from high school

We had drinks and canapés

We laughed a lot

Things began to get cloudy

Maybe too many cocktails

Maybe I was just enjoying it too much

We wrapped it up about seven

She was going to meet her mother for dinner

She used the restroom, we exchanged good-byes

We made plans to do it again next week

She kissed me goodnight on my cheek and then she left

I was feeling very satisfied by the entire afternoon

And started to think of our next date

That’s when I noticed

A most strange and perplexing observation

As I walked into the bathroom she had used

I took note

She left the seat up?

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


I’ve got this friend

He’s not a great friend

But someone I know pretty well

I’ve known him a long time

He’s a real sarcastic, iconoclastic, son-of-a-bitch

He goes by the name of Timmy

He says he’s gone by that name his whole life

Like me, he considers himself an artist

Also like me, I’m not too sure he’s any good

Unlike me, writing’s not his thing

Timmy is a musician

A composer, to be more exact

I don’t care too much for his compositions

But with many years, and many works under his belt

I guess I’d have to say he’s doing alright

Timmy And I have a love/hate relationship

Yes, just like the saying goes

We love to hate each other

I critique him, as I make fun of his music

And he, in turn, belittles every writing I pen

But only, of course, after I make it public

We have one mutual friend

Her name is Betsy

She has repeatedly asked us both

Why we would ever be friends?

I think it’s the challenge

The fight, I tell her

The many drinks and battles, he says

Every one we’ve ever had

And to this day, there has never been a winner

Never once

And like I said, I’ve known him a long time

We are always taking opposite sides

Not on purpose, it’s just how we feel

It’s like a perfectly matched tug-of-war

If he likes something, I don’t

If he hates it, I love it

Tit for tat

Strikes and gutters

Right or wrong

Good or bad

It’s just like arguing into a mirror

Shout all you’d like

But you’ll never have the last word

That’s not the way it works

With us, it all ends in a tie

Just like the kids of today

Nobody loses, everyone wins

Everybody gets the same size trophies

No matter how good, how talented

Or how god awful and shit streaked

Better I wrap this up now

I have to get ready to meet Betsy and Timmy

I haven’t seen her in a while

I’ve missed her

And him too, I guess

Of course, I have a few things I can’t wait to tell him

But I’m also sure

He’s got a few for me, too

© Dicky J Loweman 2014


For David (Still Stuck In Kansas)

Walking with one shoulder clinging to the wall

As if you are the only reason it stands

Swaying gently, back and forth, back and forth

Don’t go down, for now there is no up

Spin like a top and let it all hang out

You’ve got the hang of this pretty well

You do just fine

Just remember to practice

And if the gods start to laugh at you

Or cast thunder upon you, and knock you down

Just think back

Back to how well you mastered this feat

The obstacles you overcame, the races you won

These are the times champions like you shine

Shine like an atomic blast

Here in the alley, the one with no lights to guide you

And the wall you so heroically hold up

All by yourself

© Dicky J Loweman 2014


I try to explain it to him

But he’s not getting it

Not one single bit of it

That’s just par for the course, though

Smarts were never in his favor

The speed he is perpetually stuck on is ‘slow’

I know this, however

I’ll have to do my best

Work through it, I tell myself

So we start again

From the beginning

For all the glorious fuck-up’s

Which god is known to produce

Here sits the finest

Right in front of my own two eyes

I love him, though

He always has, and always will be

Like a brother to my

He might not be the sharpest mind

But he’s definitely the muscle

Nobody fucks with us


Even the craziest of the crazies know better

So I guess we make a set

Yin and Yang

Both a mixture of the two

All that good shit

But anyway, sorry

I get sidetracked, too

He tells me it’s alright

But he wants me to go slower, this time

So here it goes

From the beginning…

© Dicky J Loweman 2014