good days

Long Walk

Each step

Carries me

Closer to where I need to be

The comfort, the rest from the

Jagged path

Many footsteps

Invasive thoughts


Lady bugs

Lavender fields

Whisper quietly about keeping me here

I can’t say that I’d mind

Sun fading

Stars beginning

To appear


Not much

Longer now

Safe and sound, all tucked away

Reflecting back to this perfect day

Good memories

Cleared head

Long sleep

© D J Loweman 2015

Wednesday Afternoon, Wasting Time

Wednesday afternoon

Sitting here, wasting the time

There is no polo being played, today

But I went to the field anyhow

I watch as the trainers run the ponies

I survey and walk the grandstand

I’m not suppose to be here

But they know me, I’m not a threat

They leave me be

I search for the perfect seat

I plan for the best view when they ride, again

I like the sun on my face

I take my time

Reread some of the sports page

I sip on rum and coke

from a bota bag I brought along

These days are slow

The slowest of the slow

These are the days I would pay good money

Just to have more of

And as I think more of days, like these

I think

I like these the best of all

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


Good Old Days

I can remember all the way back

To the good old days

The times when we were young, stupid and invincible

Moments spent with the underbellies of society

The hookers down in hollywood, who would gamble with dice

And with disease and with the pimps — And even with us

The junkies who could barely lift a finger, but could run with fifty pound tv’s

I can remember the all-night diners

The ones where the parking lots’ lights had been shot out

But was still well-lit, thanks to the spotlight from the cop’s helicopters

I can picture the speakeasies

I don’t mean these nouveau riche puke dives

I remember the real illegal spots, the ones in the abandoned building

The ones who had rats, instead of a doorman

Yeah, just like Archie and Edith Bunker sang about

Those were the days

Those were the good fucking days

© Dicky J Loweman 2015