Strange As Strange

Strange days and strange ways

All rolled up and heading faster than light

Life is filled with the strange

Strange occurrences, strange winds

Strange folks with mixed-up strange ideas

It’s strange we don’t notice it more often,

Don’t you think?

Strange is strange just by the mere facts

We are so accustom to this

That it all becomes more and more

Like the norm

Strange is not always a good thing

Strange noises, strange glances, strange places,

Strange little things found in food

But strange is not always bad, either

Strange art, writings, people

And sometimes,

Those strange little things

You might find in your food

But the longer this poem gets,

And the more I think of all the strangeness,

I manage to come to the conclusion

Maybe I have it all wrong

Maybe it’s not such a strange world,

Filled with strange writings and strange people,

Strange weather and strange animals,

But instead a completely normal world

With only me,

Who is truly strange

Now that’s a strange thought

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


Big Ron

Ron was a big man

About 6’4″, 265

Ron had to be one of the ugliest human beings, ever

He lived in a trailer at the north end of town

Away from the people and noise and the pace

I can’t remember how or where I first met him

But once you meet him, you never forget him

Ron grew up in the backwoods of West Virginia

Mined his own coal for winter fires

And now he works the railroads out here

He run the lines,

Keeps them clean

Between Montana and Nebraska

Ron was born with sledgehammers for fists

Driving those spikes home

And punishing anyone who’d get in his way

He lives like a slob

Like a hobo in an alley

But he launders his button down shirts,

Likes his sleeves with a crease

Ron drinks his gin straight

straight from the bottle

He tells people, that life is too fast

For things like glasses and wives

Ron burned through his first wife in five years

His second, only took three

He’s onto his third, now

Knee-deep and two years running

Ron says it won’t last the rest of this year

But he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned

He like his girls heavy and ugly

And says he can always find more

And he always had one around

Yeah, that’s true

This world is full of ugly people

People to take advantage of

People to be preyed upon

Ron likes to have a girl around

Someone to take care of

Ron also likes to lose money

Likes betting on the dogs at the track

He might not be good at it

But, then again

To be good at something

Takes time

So, big Ron loves his life,

He loves drinking gin straight

From the bottle

He likes to fight

And lose money at the track

And aside from this trailer,

And the railroad,

I don’t think big Ron has much in this world

It’s 9 am

And he takes a rip from a bottle, of shit gin

He looks at me, through weathered eyes

And he says “What’s wrong with this world?”

Ron never gives me a second to answer

Quickly tipping the bottle, again

No time for an answer,

And none for a pause

Not long enough to consider

It might have started and ended

With him

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Strange One Indeed

The room we’re in is a strange one, indeed

The off-color walls cast haunting shadows

Through the rough texture and peeling paint

The old furniture doesn’t match

The paintings leaning against the walls are faded

There’s an odor of stale smoke to the room

The thick drapes haven’t been drawn in quite some time

As if to keep something out

Maybe to keep something in

So here I sit

In this room with you

We don’t say too much

Just an occasional few words

Answered with a nod, or maybe a gesture

If I was asked, I would blame it on this room

And all it’s many quirks

All it’s many imperfections and shortcomings

The room we’re in is a strange one, indeed

© Dicky J Loweman 2014