good times


Spent $41.00 on a bottle of whisky,

Walked home with a light breeze,

And a step which reminded me of rippling waves

The sun was just setting

It’s very rays reduced,

To nothing more than a soft pink glow

The night in front of me,

Still holds promise

So much to look forward to,

So much anticipation and hope

There will be nothing worth while,

clogging up the television,

And knowing that ahead of time,

Will save me from the countless,

Circling of channels, which will offer nothing back

Instead, my speakers will spew musical notes,

Written in the language of jazz

Filling my ears, head and room,

With a glorious and fulfilling sway,

A quick change of tempo,

And a true heartfelt smile

Which no one but me,

Will be granted access to

No one but me,

Will be allowed to share

There will be writings of all different kinds

Some good, some bad,

Some even unreadable

But I will none the less carve my way through,

Conjuring up those mortal tales,

All the while, engulfed in smoke and laughter,

Distant thoughts and fond memories

All brought on by this easy and effortless walk home,

And a well aged, $41.00 bottle of whisky

Well worth every single penny spent

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


Quiet nights fill this old house

Nothing stirs,

Except for fleeting thoughts

The day’s sun,

Put quite a burn on me,

And now I’m left with,

That familiar pinch

The one the sun leaves with you,

To let you know,

That while the sun loves you,

The sun can hurt you, too

But within the quiet of this house,

And the pain of the sting,

And the tired eyes,

Is a feeling of comfort

A feeling which says,

It was a pretty good day

Salty waves,

Blistering sunshine,

Nighttime breezes,

And far off thoughts

Thoughts of you,

And how I plan,

To do all of this,

All over again, tomorrow

© D 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 Gaggle Of Poets

Scott couldn’t keep his hands off the pretty ladies

So now he pays $1,500.00 a month in alimony

The rest he blows on his rent and booze

Pete killed a man in Kansas, back in ’68

Now he wakes to nightmares, almost every night

Sleep doesn’t come easy to him

Harry made millions in the stock market

Lost all of it there, too

Now he buys his meals on a government card

As for me, you should know my story by now

No further explanation needed

The four of us make up “The Gang”

Four useless and mainly talentless writers,

But so full of big ideas,

Of which so little makes it down on paper,

So little actually gets written

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

All In The Matter

Every doctor I’ve seen,

Tells me life is what’s killing me

What a hoot



Walk on

The devil hasn’t got to me yet,

But he’s got my number,

(He’s got all of our numbers)

I find I do best when I just don’t answer

Ring once,

Ring twice,

Eventually he hangs up

Don’t worry, though

He’ll call again

And besides,

Now isn’t a good time

Right now I’m comfortable,



I’m playing some really good jazz,

On my world short band radio,

I’m piping in illegal horns,

All the way from Havana

And I’m sipping on a nightcap of Campari

Yeah, I know,

They call it an aperitif,

But I drink it late,

Just always been a bit backwards, I guess

And I’m rolling my cigarettes,

Full of illegally imported French-Canadian tobacco,

Mixed with something J.J. sent me,

Through the U.S. mail

Ha, gotta love it

And I have something really important to tell you

Remember how I said…

Wait a minute

That’s him ringing, again

I think I’d better call this short,

Wrap it up,

And act like I’m not home

I’m in a good mood,

And have no intentions,

Of taking his call tonight

And anyways, I’m in need of a refill

Priorities, you know

I hope you can understand

Well, babe,

Sometime that’s how it goes

It’s all in the matter,

But it’s pretty damn good,

And I’ll take it while I can

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


You got it, kid,

And that’s a good thing

Not like the time you were throwing glasses at my walls,

But more like the times in the bars

You’ve got spunk,

Got the good line on life,

Got the moxie

And 90 out of 100 times,

Well that’s 90%

And that’s pretty good in my book

Keep it up, buddy

We all like your 90%

The world needs more of it,

And usually they’ll be willing to pay for it

God knows I will

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Lifting Them

All is good in this world

And as long as no one is dying,

Let’s lift a few

Put them up to our lips,

And hope we make it back alive

Here’s to the future good days,

And to all the bad ones gone

I guess I prefer the here and now,

Over the what could or should have been

Call me an optimist,

It seems everyone else likes to call me a cynic

Well, fuck ’em

Let them rot and roll in their graves

And to all of those retched souls,

I lift one

Just because I’m still here,

And they’re not

© Dicky J Loweman 2015