The Many Seasons Of Her Moments

She cried for so many reasons

They weren’t all cries of hurt, though,

No, most maybe,

But definitely not all

Sometimes she cried,

From all of her laughter

Her laughter causing her to heave,

Rhythmically up and down

She had such a great laugh,

And she was wise enough,

To use it as often as possible

Sometimes fear could cause her tears

She seemed to like to live,

In moments of fear

She feared as much as any woman,

I had ever come to know

But this was out of necessity

She was fond of telling me,

How, without fear,

We would never realize the joys,

We fought so hard to obtain

During the long, cold and lonely,

Months of snowy winters,

She would cry from a lack of companionship,

A lack of the leaves on the trees,

And the warmth of sunshine,

Kissing her,

On her white skinned face

She cried for all the seasons,

The many seasons

All of which created those very movements,

Which I remember fondly

She’s been gone a while, now,

But is never very far away

And when I feel like crying,

I think of her moments,

And before I know it,

It’s back again,

That same laughter,

She taught me to live for

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

The Ones She Didn’t Take

He let a shiver run through him

Staring down at his shoes

This world is what you make of it

And like an unmolded clump of clay

He hadn’t made anything of it, yet

A jittering reminder of all the times

Good and bad

Razor sharp and kitten fur soft

So swollen are the memories

The ones she didn’t take

So, hiding away seemed so much easier

Than walking the streets alone

Alone, and unarmed

The very streets she roamed

So, instead he chose to hide behind the mask

A planted seed which grew only when he wanted

She wouldn’t know

She would have no cares, no control

He buried all the dead memories

In the basement, next to the boxes of her old clothes

And at night, he cringed at the thought of them all

Lying down below, festering, waiting, growing

Time is of the essence

Time was a live wire

And the dogs of hell

Were looking for him

Knocking, going door to door

Searching the homes

Room by room

But in all good time, the memories fade

Drinks of whiskey from the bottle

Tastes the same in a glass

So he no longer has the need for a glass

Now he reads the obituary pages for fun

Seeking out the names of the past

The names of the memories

Those buried deep in the basement

Which hide behind the mask

That he once wore

But the curtain is still drawn over the window

And there is no desire to see the outside

Because the obituaries don’t speak of the moving

Only of those who lie still

In perfect harmony

With all the dust

And the cobwebs, which entombed them

They can’t speak of what’s still out there

What scours the sidewalks at midnight

And peers through moonlight, down through basement windows

In search of boxes

And the fattened memories they hide away

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


Days Away

It rains down on the thoughts

Which hide the mixed emotions

Of the very things we tire of

Days like this, I feel old

And I long for the beach

But the beach is far away

And I won’t see it, for at least a couple more days

I feel bad for all of them

All of us

Gathered in this tiny room

No one speaks above a whisper

And an organ plays songs

That I remember from days gone by

In an hour we’ll be at the bar

Washing away the greys of now

With even darker stouts and recalls

Two days

Three days max

It’s days like this, where I feel old

And long for the beach

Which is only two, maybe three

Days away

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

How The Famous Seem To Go

________ shot the hills

________ burned Paris to the ground

The moon is big, tonight

Nights like this are made for long walks

And thoughts about why

Why ______ hung himself in a closet

Why ______ died so alone

What ever became of you all?

Where did you end up?

What have you made of yourselves, now?

These walks create the questions

Never ending

Never answered

But the moon is big, tonight

And the endless walk is divine

Even though

I never find the answers

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Of All That We Lost

And all the daisies and posies will run wild

Leaving behind nothing

Not a bit more, than this scorched earth

The trees will uproot

Snarl, then move on

To the next big thing

The next big conquer

Obtained by efforts, with thoughts

All for our sad and misinformed personal appeals

And all the misfits will suddenly fit in

And all who sing will do so

In perfect harmony

And what will become of you and I?

We stay in the shadows

Curled up with fear

And the constant thoughts

Of all that we lost

But at least there will be the daisies

And we will still have the posies

We can look forward to that

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Thanksgiving’s Empty Seat

I can hear them now

There’s laughter and the smell of food

People coming and going

An occasional knock on my door

I was invited

But I don’t do well with others

Especially during the holiday season

For me, this is a time to be alone

Time to reflect

Think back to the good times

The days you can’t have back

And the special memories of those who won’t be coming

Those you wish most for

A small frozen dinner will suffice

I set the table for two

And stare blankly at your empty seat

© Dicky J Loweman 2014