this house is my home

where memories are kept safe

from all prying eyes

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


I’m having one of those days

I’m in a lazy mood

And the overcast sky does nothing to help this

I shuffle around my house

In only my boxers

The same pair I wore to bed

I haven’t showered

And just brushing my teeth

Turned out to be a chore

It’s not a particularly bad day

I just can’t get motivated

My morning coffee did nothing for me

And the morning paper is just plain trash

I could clean something

Or make something to eat

But nothing sounds interesting enough

Maybe I’ll just have toast

Then I play the game I always do when I’m bored

I sit down and hand-write lists

Lists of people I need call

Bills that need to get paid

The shopping list, which will never make it to the store

I write lists and lists

I only do this out of boredom

I could manage perfectly well without any of them

But it’s oddly satisfying

And I manage a smile

When I think of how stupid this whole process is

But, hell

Some people do drugs

Others go and get their hair done

I write lists

Lots and lots of lists

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


The House Which Was No Home

I pass a simple house, every time I leave my own

On my left, grey in color, with beautiful, yet extremely weathered french doors

There is the bed which circles her, which no longer holds flowers

Just the wild sprouts of weeds and dispersed patches of crab grass

All the bushes have died, and have since been pulled from the ground

There are two shingles missing, off the left side of the roof

A perfect spot for the rain to hide in puddle-form

As it slowly works its magic on the aging structure

There is a thin line of rust running down, from where a flag once hung

The house lights no longer shine bright

And the brilliant etched glass which housed them, shimmering at night, has long seen its day

And wild wisps of weeds spring from the long crack in the driveway

Like one long giant kiss, from the sun and so many seasons

The woman who lived here left long ago

Her children inherited this beautiful state, but sadly did nothing

Now, every time I pass, I give a secret look

I think about the inside and the joy which once occupied those walls

I think about small gatherings during holidays

The children’s birthday parties and the warmth provided, on cold winter nights

I picture paintings and photographs lining the walls

A grand piano parked on lacquered wood floors

A home filled with comfort and security, a home filled with love

I feel a certain sadness for her

This grand old structure

Who gave so much, but surely asked for little in return

Just to be kept standing; in good condition

And treated with love and respect

Alas, this was her final payout

The way she will sadly spend the last of her days

Days which will not end, for many seasons

For she was built strong, and still does her best

But I imagine the winds now blow increasingly harder

The sheets of rain, which belt at her, storm much stronger

And it can be only a matter of time

Before this great world stakes its claim

And calls this modest, simple house

Back to the earth, from where she came

© Dicky J Loweman 2015