She Demands I Write For Her

So I am to write

So to your fare

So to your good looks, beauty

So shut me out

Do it, again

Sloppy writing

So as I am writing

You will be happy

Yeah, this is me

So let’s move on

Forge ahead

So you can read into this

Take out what you will

Believe it to be about your beauty

When, in reality

This was written about nothing

Nothing, nothing at all

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


Machine Of No Thoughts

Some days I sit in front of this machine

I wait for a miracle

I wait for the writing to start

Sometimes nothing comes

And I’m left sitting here

With what I imagine to be a dumb look on my face

These aren’t the good times

In fact, these can be some of the worst

Board, dumb-looking, without a thought to write

I think I’ll fix a drink

I hope these times are short

© Dicky J Loweman 2014

Impossible Nothing

There was nothing left

Nothing left for us

By the time we got there

The rats had already left

And what they left us, wasn’t much

We scoured, pillaged, scrapped and swore

Swore we would leave this kind of life

But life has a funny way of repeating itself

So we burned it down

And drank the last of the whiskey

Up on the hill

Far enough away

To watch it all burn

But not catch fire, ourselves

Then we packed up

Grabbed our measly belongings

Got ready for the haul

Time to travel

Time to head out

On to the next impossible nothing

The great big letdown

Letting us know

We’ve arrived too late

That the rats had all left

And what they left us, didn’t amount too much

Boy, time has funny ways

Ways of repeating itself

© Dicky J Loweman 2014