Somedays Vodka Sounds Better Than You

I drink vodka in this bar

That’s what I drink in here

Sometimes it’s gin,

Sometimes rum

But never in here

This place calls for vodka,

And this bar rarely calls

But when she does,

It’s good to start with a vodka tonic

From there the world is my oyster

Vodka martinis finish me off too fast,

So they’re better left for the bad days

Those days when things need to get done,

And I don’t belong in here,

On days like that…

Excuse me,


Make me a vodka martini”

“One of those days, huh?”

Something like that…

Something like that.

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Do Over

I get the feeling you’re uncomfortable,

With the current state of our agreement

But it was you who ok’d this arrangement,

And I intend to hold you to your word

There is nothing quite like being taken

That second, that moment you know you have been had

You asked for it this way, though

You just failed to realize what you were giving up

Such is the way it goes, my friend

I can’t waste time on feeling bad for you

There was the same choices for you,

That there were for me

I bet you’d give just about everything up,

For a restart, a do over,

Right about now, huh?

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Without Asking

Thrown here, without asking,

It all appears easy,

When you stare through it all

Thrown here without asking,

I sit with my eyes closed

I didn’t want it then,

And I still don’t, now

Closed eyes,

And then comes the smile,

The one that stretches,

From ear to ear

Just killing the time

Working my way,

And thinking about,

How I never wanted this,

In the first place

Well, then,

Without asking,

I rise up,

Walk away

I can feel the open eyes,

Burning holes in the back of my head

I couldn’t care less,

All this came about,

Without asking for it,

Without a want, a need,

Or even any interest,

From me

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


Truth To It

Sometimes it gets bad

I mean, real bad

But other days it never even shows

What’s with that, I have to ask,

But never spend enough time on it,

To carry on and think it through

Some days just go like that

There have been many,

And Christ knows,

There’s more on the way

But I’ll be ok

I’ll make it through, all the same

Always have in the past,

And like the gritty sands,

That blow up in an unsuspecting wind,

It will stop,

And I’ll keep going

Hardly caring,

And never putting in the time,

To figure it all out

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


I stood over it

Looking down, in wonder

A fragment

One tiny piece, without a home

What is it?

Where did it come from?

How did it get here,

In the middle of this large room?

part broken off

An isolated, unfinished, and incomplete part

There’s a story behind this

How it got here, where it belongs

But this tiny fragment isn’t saying

It speaks no words about

How it was torn from the rest

And why it now sits,

Out of working order

And not functioning properly

In the middle of this large room

With no other pieces like it

© Dicky J Loweman 2015



Damn The Hunters

God Damn the hunters

All those braver, better than


To hell with all the extras

The ones for which,

I don’t have the time

Lash back, deep breaths

Take it in,

Remember the feelings

So long,

To the dark nights

So long to this melting shore

There are places to get to,

New lives in infect,

People to read

Like old, discarded magazines

Roll me one more

Up for the swells

Time is short And the mission is foggy

Damn the hunters

And all their eager ways

This is the reason

For all of the stillness,

All of the confusion

And maybe a little bit more

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

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

Where No Good Angel Would Go or What I Write When Nothing Comes To Mind

Somehow it all fell out-of-place
There was no instruction book as to how it should be put back
The greens now ran quietly next to the reds,
Then the reds with the blues and finally to the greens again
Put away for safe keeping
It can’t be said that it will be needed again
But, of course, for most it will
Try to put it out of the mind
For the reaction to this mess will have consequences
Possibly dire or all together bliss
Pleasing to anyone who might stumble upon it
But packed with as much danger and mistakes as one could ask for
Yet this seldom lasts
And with care and precision and time, it gets easier
Nothing here last that long
Just like the girl next to you with flaming hair
And the girl with the fire hair looked lost
So she threw up her arms and screamed out words never heard before
Ranging as far and wide as birds could fly
Sparking trembles and fear to all those within its reach
An exciting yet not entirely new idea
For such release is often a need as much as a want,
Which is justified on the presence of your time alone,
But which is not justified in those lost soul cries
To do what you will
But be warned that you will forever live with your choice
Think deep and hard
Peer through the layers and peel away the coverings which seem to make sense
Let it all rise to the surface, then let it boil over in pain
And an understanding will come quickly, followed by soothing peace of mind
Bringing you a smile which has traveled hundreds of miles
Along with answers to this mystery, which has finally been solved

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Disgruntled Dispositions

Twenty minutes after ordering

And I still don’t have my burger

The coffee, left in my cup

Has grown cold

And I’m pretty sure it’s decaf

The crowd is thin

And most of my attention

Is focused on the table in the corner

A man and a women

Who seem to be neck-deep in a heated conversation

I can’t hear their words,

But their body language and gestures tell me so

I can’t seem to figure out

What the arguing is about

Or who’s at fault

Or who’s winning

What I do know, however

Is I’m thankful

For their disgruntled dispositions

Because I’m hungry and impatient

And in need of real caffeine

And thanks to their unfortunate set of circumstances

My waitress with escape

Without a verbal lashing

And with a tip,

If that burger ever gets here

© Dicky J Loweman 2015