A Not So Well Thought Out Plan

I arrived around 2:00pm

I caught two different busses

Making my way,

Counting city blocks,

Until I reached the end

The end of the line

The beautiful Atlantic

That brilliant, blue ocean

I had never been in this town before

And although I was here for the ocean,

I was hardly finished with my travels

I had two friends meeting me

They had sailed up the coast

To pick me up

And carry us all

Out into the blue abyss

I knew them from my travels past,

Meeting one in Florida,

And traveling all over Colorado

With the other

We were a crafty group

Known for trouble

And always looking for more

But reliability

hasn’t always been our greatest strength

And we had failed to work out a plan

Of exactly how

This pick-up would go down

So now I wait on a park bench,

Just staring out at the ocean inlet

I write short poems to pass the time

But time seems to have forgotten me

Maybe it just got lost,

Like my friends

So I’m just sitting here, looking out

Humming an old Bob Dylan tune,

And ‘waiting for my ship to come in’

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Updating The Scars

All the red slashes and markings look to me like scars

Because they are here, forever and ever

Coded into these pages, tucked away and longing for a return

All these pages should be in another place

Not this makeshift database query

Not this database query, because of its size

The vastness, the hugeness of it all

It’s mesmerizing, overflowing, and makes me slightly nervous

I have trouble looking at it, straight in the eyes

I can do it, I do do it

But it takes a lot

Patience, bravery, or maybe just stupidity and some rum

All this for something that so rarely changes

Something which takes on no new shapes

And it never speaks of what it would like to see happen

What it would like to become, hopes to become

Come to think of it, I also have no idea of what this will become

I’m going through all these old manuscripts, at the moment

This one goes with this one

This one belongs over here

No, no that’s not right, so over here it’s moved

I’m finding there are more than a few that are incorrectly marked

Some with no titles, many which make no sense

These are the works, the sweat, the love, the time invested

This is my work, although it’s been more like a job, as of late

And everybody needs a weekend, a stop, a brake

Maybe a vacation

I’ve written of Paris, all because of a dream

It’s just a place, and although beautiful, I’m sure

It would soon look the same

The same as New York, Los Angeles, Miami

Places I’ve been to, lived in, and left

Truly, I think I would rather be shacked up in eastern France

Alone with a typing machine, and my back against the Alps

Or maybe in the south of France

The Mediterranean, maybe Cannes, Marseille

Or, better yet, Saint-Tropez

Or maybe I scrap France altogether

And just hide away in Monaco

Writing, drinking fine wines

And watching all the expensive boats that pass

Just dreams about dreams, tucked away within a dream

Not a dream of color

Rather, just random black and white musings

And so, “tous les bons rêves doivent prendre fin”

If that’s even right, I don’t know

I don’t speak French

Yet, here I still sit

Finding more and more correctly and incorrectly marked manuscripts

Drowning in the sea

I open a bottle of rum, if only to slow this speeding mind

I suppose I’m doing the best I can

We are all doing our best

And I have come to accept

That your best is better than my best

Still, all the red slashes and markings on these pages

Look like scars to me

I have hard-coded scars, in various parts of my brain

And I can’t seem to find an end

And I’m not at all sure

That there was ever meant to be an updating

An ending to the end

© Dicky J Loweman 2015