Heart-Shaped Bed

Bogart is dead

Has been for a long time

Died in a heart-shaped bed,

With two women,

Who’s names he could no longer


Dead in the heart-shaped bed,

With a cigarette still burning

And ice still in his glass

Long after he left us

His movies play as re-runs

Shown so many time,

I know all the lines

By heart

It was a good life,

You might say

But a marked curiosity

And an aging, weakening heart

Will eventually grab,

For us all in the end

Poor old Bogart

Never got to leave

The heart-shaped bed,

Never finished that last smoke

Or the final sip of his drink

But, in the long years to come

He can remember

The two women he left,

In that heart-shaped bed

And we’re stuck all alone,

With the re-runs

And the lines known

By heart

© DickyJ Loweman 2015


Gone are the simple times

The easy days, the easy life

In with the new

The bigger, stronger, quicker

With more luster and shine

Gone with the small, inconvenient

The thoughts and self-satisfaction

Lost are the times

Of the search, the work

The rewards and accolades

Replaced with instant gratification

Right here, right now

Now is the time of complexity

Moving faster, blinding

Gone are the simple days

The days I think most of

The days I miss the most

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Names In The Dirt

Damaged and used up

Spit out, thrown to the wolves

Bent and cramped

With eyes that falter

The long shadows are screeching

With the names of those now long past

There will be no consolation prizes

No raffles with promises of big wins

There will, however, be long nights

Cold nights

And thoughts which bring brave men

Crashing down to their knees

There will be soft whispers

Of all you don’t know

Of all the wasted time

Spent dreaming of the better ways

The impossible, impassable, linger on

Long past their prime

But with little else to do

Except scratch names in the dirt

The names of the hidden, of the few

Who sought out this world

However, had no choice

But to view it through fogged eyes

Damaged and used

Thrown down with careless abandonment

Only to hesitate, waiver

Slowed by the process

Which was never forgiving

And never sympathetic

© Dicky J Loweman 2015



I’ve grown deft with anticipation

I can’t hear the crowd

Their roars are so load

And they want you to


And I

Want you to lose

For you see, I have money on the table

I’ve lost more now

Than your fair ass can count

But, by your pure injection

Those clean senses

And all those wits

Can bring me on top

Back to where I was

Back to those

Saving days

© D J Loweman 1995/2015