Who, me?

I think you got it wrong

Who says I hate everybody?

Most, maybe

But forget about them

What about the rest?

I think they’re ok

Some even not so bad

True, True enough

So I like the trees,

The clouds, The rains

The animals, the storms,

And even the bugs,

More than I like some people,

But does that really make me misanthropic?

I hardly see how

Rose-colored glasses?

Sure, I wear them

How else does one look at all these people?

All those who I really can’t stand to be around?


I think it’s probably a made up word

A word made up, just to piss me off

Well, it worked

And just for the record,

I bet if I met him,

I’d hate the person,

Who made that ridiculous word up

So, are we finished here?


Because this conversation has pissed me off, a bit

I’m going to the park,

So I can cool off, alone

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

On Love, Writing, And Cats

As I sit here, at my office desk,

I type line after line,

But it all fades fast,

And it will end up like so many other writes,

A waste of time,

Which will not be shared

I think of the things I feel I should write about

The stuff people seem to like, and,

I cheat and write ideas on scrap paper,

Which litters this large, old desk

But none of those ideas speak to me now

Just words and ideas I’ll save for another time

Right now I feel compelled to write about love,

Write about writing

Fuck that,

What I really feel,

Is to tell some story about my cat, who boards with a friend,

And guards the Gates of Hell

Ah, yes

That’s the one

This makes me smile, because the writing of love,

Or of writing,

Would more aptly suit the people who might end up reading this,

But it’s the craziness of the cat,

Which breaks the monotony of this evening

So I pour a drink,

And toggle back and forth,

Between typed words and pen and paper

And I spin useless tales of the port and moldy cheese,

The sword, and a corkscrew, which was stole by which one of us, again?

The one used to ward off The Great Ones, off in “The Dreamlands”?

And I laugh and sip away

In a perfect evening,

With jazz calmly whispering in the background and smoke swirling,

Which most would never understand

But I hope she’ll read it,

And I hope it makes her smile

For she has made me smile,

Because of her perfect sense of humor,

And for taking care of that old ‘bastard of a cat’

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Illusive Right

The simple instructions from the GPS

Told me to take a Right, up ahead

But I was altogether too busy,

I wasn’t watching what I was doing,

I just wasn’t paying attention

For I was much too preoccupied,

With cranking up the radio,

And rolling a cigarette

I never heard the demonic voice of the GPS,

And that was an hour ago

Damn you big city streets

And you radio and you cigarette

Because of this perfect storm I conjured up,

I still have yet to find

That illusive Right turn up ahead

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

A Confrontation In The Library

There’s a small child running in the library

His mother is yelling for him to stop

In her hand is a book by Summers

She’s waving it at the little heathen

But he just keeps running

She takes a swat at him with the book

A miss

He circles her like a rabid dog

She takes a second swing

A crack

Direct on that little bastard’s ass

He comes to an immediate halt

I can see the redness in his face growing

And then the scream

At the top of his lungs

She yells back at him, but in a whisper

His cries only grow louder

I take a moment to think of how much

I hate them both

I turn and leave

I’ll never go back to that library, again

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


The Beer Stand

I hate waiting in line for a beer

These may be the slowest lines

Of all time

And after all the minutes spent,

In this line which was born in hell,

The girl in front of me

Finally gets to the counter

This appears to have happened too fast for her

Like she was caught off guard

She looks confused, disoriented and out-of-place

She orders some flavor of light beer

Then stumbles through a small purse

Which is jammed with a phone, keys, tampons

Until she finally pulls out her bills

She pays with a twenty

And walks away

It’s finally my turn

I step up impatiently, and tell the girl what I want

She apologizes, and mutters in a most unfriendly tone

That they only have light beer

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


I let myself in, on the passenger side

Her car is like an airplane wreck

Shit scattered everywhere

The floor on my side

Has discarded, empty cigarette packs,

Shoes, a sports bra, worn socks and

About a thousand hours worth of CD’s

I lightly kick clear room for my feet

Careful as I go,

For I’d hate to trigger a possible bear trap

Or disturb this plane’s missing black box

“I won’t get bit by anything, will I?”

She laughs this off

Then goes into a rant about how embarrassing

This car is

How she’s been meaning to get to it

I guess she has more important things to do

“If I do, you’ll have to pay for the rabies shots”

Again I’m met with carefree laughter

We’re on the way to my house

She’s asked repeatedly to barrow a CD from me

And now was as good a time as any

Thankfully the ride to the house is a short one

I step gingerly from the wreck

I’d hate to have to make her pay for a tetanus shot

On top of the rabies shot

We go in

And I give her a beer, while I find the disk

I reappear and hand it to her

And as she leaves she fills me

With a promise to copy it

And give it right back

“Keep it.  My gift to you.”

For we both know

It’ll never be returned

Because, once it makes its way to the crash site

There will be very little chance of survival

© D J Loweman 2015



Sometime I think

If 90% of all the people in the world

Were to suddenly disappear,

There would still be about 9%

Too many

I know, I know

I’m a glass half-full kind of guy

Look at me,

Mr. Positive

Wishing most of you away

I’m going to get hate mail for this one

I can’t wait

To hear from you soon,

But that goes

Only for the 1%

© Dicky J Loweman 2015