Welcome To My Blog

 

To help you select the stories and poetry you might want to read, below is the list of all posts made to my blog since its inception. Posts are listed in chronological order from the first post made on April 18, 2019, until the most recent post (The most recent post appears first on the blog). Please browse the list of posts to find the titles that most intrigue you. Then do one of the following:

 

1.         Place the title of the post in the space beneath the header, “Search This Blog.” With regard to poetry, a post may contain more than one poem. You may have to insert the first two poems listed to find what you want. Then click on search. The posting should appear at the top of the screen for you to read. Or . . .

 

2.         Using the date a particular posting was made, go to the “Blog Archive” to the right of the posts and click on the particular month in which the poem or short story was posted and scroll down until you find what you would like to read. Please note that if you scroll through all the posts on the screen and don’t find what you are looking for, below the last post on the screen, on the right, are the words, “Older Posts.” Click on this and you will find the additional posts made during the particular month you have selected. Scroll through these until you find the story or poem you wish to read.

 

Enjoy the journey, as you read the creations of my heart and my mind.

 

Thank you.

 

Alan

Alan Lowe
Poet and Writer

slolowe@icloud.com

https://slolowe44.blogspot.com/

 

 

 

 

 

Family arguments are common. Differences of opinion can breathe life into relationships between family members or, if overwhelming, cause havoc.

 

Sometimes confrontations are heated, but then they cool down and family members embrace one another. But one thing remains . . .

 

 

Sibling Rivalry Never Dies

 

     Life in Merrill Heights, a small suburban community, just outside San Diego, was usually calm and collected. Nothing much of consequence occurred. In this upper middle class town, people kept to the themselves, working hard to maintain an upscale lifestyle.

     It was a sunny, Tuesday afternoon in early May. Shadows fell on a small house on Urbana Way, shared by two brothers, Blake, age twenty-two, a college senior, and Tony, age twenty-one, a junior. Quiet permeated the home, and then . . .

     “How many times do I have to repeat myself to get you to listen?” Tony asked.

     “Huh?”

     I said, “How many times do I have to repeat myself to get you to listen?”

     “You talking to me?” Blake questioned.

     “Who else would I be talking to? You and I are the only ones in the room.”

     “That’s not true,” Blake replied.

     “What’s not true?”

     “That you and I are the only ones in the room.”

     “Are you out of your mind, Blake? Who else is here?”

     “Maggie and Debbie.”

     “You’re kidding? Aren’t you?”

     “No, I’m not,” Blake said.

     “But they were killed in a car accident four months ago. How could they be here?” Tony questioned.

     “Because they want to be.”

     “Why would they want to be?”

     “To punish you for your mistake, Tony.”

     “My mistake? What mistake?”

     “You were supposed to have the car serviced in January. But you didn’t,” Blake stated.

     “But the car was fine,” Tony declared.

     “Then why did they die?” Blake asked, in an eerie tone.

     “How the hell should I know? I wasn’t there.”       

     “You should have been.”

     “I what?” Tony shouted.

     “Should have been there,” Blake said.

     “But then I’d be dead, too.”

     “That’s right.”

     “What’s right?”

     “That you should be dead, as well,” Blake expressed in a way that made the room shake.

     “You’re not serious? Are you?” Tony asked.

     “I’m very serious. They were my sisters.”

     “They were my sisters, too. Maybe you’re the one at fault.”

     “I would have made sure the car was in good condition,” Blake stated.

     “But they were drunk when the car went over the side of the mountain. It wasn’t the car that killed them.”

     “Why were they drunk, Tony?”

     “I don’t have a clue.”

     “It was your booze they were drinking.”

     “My booze? You bought it, Blake.”

     “And you opened it.”

     “What are you saying?”

     “They shouldn’t have been drinking and driving. You killed our seventeen-year-old twin sisters.”

     “No, we killed our seventeen-year-old sisters,” Tony replied.

     “So you’re admitting guilt, Tony.”

     Silence fell upon the room, as the two brothers stood staring at one another. And then the quiet was rudely interrupted.

     “Hey, guys, just shut up,” Maggie shouted.

     “How are we hearing you?” Tony inquired.

     “If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you,” Maggie said, emphatically.

     “I told you they were here, little bro. You should have listened to me,” Blake quipped.

     “I’ve got to be dreaming. This can’t be happening!” Tony screeched.

     “Oh, yes it can,” Maggie said, with a lilt in her voice.

     “Well, what do you want?” Tony asked, somewhat irritated.

     “What do we want?” Debbie echoed.

     “You’re souls,” both girls chanted in unison and laughed out of control.

     “What? Do you work for the devil?” Blake asked.

     “Devil? Hell, no,” Debbie replied.

     “Then why do you want our souls?” Tony queried.

     “To bring the family back together again,” Maggie said with joy in her voice.

     “But that would mean we’d all be dead,” Blake whimpered.

     “Aren’t we already dead? Debbie asked.

     “No way,” Tony yelled. “I’m not ready to die.”

     “The choice isn’t yours, my sweet brother. Mix drinking and driving together and that’s what you get,” Debbie stated.

     Click, click, ummmmmmmmmmm.

     “What’s that weird noise?” Maggie questioned.

     Ummmmmmmmmmm.

     The hospital trauma center light blinded her. And then a robust voice made her quiver. “This one’s coming back, Dr. Sherman.”

     “So is this one,” Sherman said.

     “I think the other two are responding, as well,” Dr. Moran screamed excitedly.

     Blake stared into Dr. Moran’s eyes. “Where am I?” he moaned.

     “Mesa General Hospital,”

     “How did I get here?”

     “ You and your brother and two sisters were having dinner on the patio at Pasta Superba. A drunken driver smashed through the fence and plowed over you. We believed all of you were going die.”

     “Didn’t they?” Tony inquired.

     “They?” Dr. Sherman asked.

     “Our sisters. They were drunk. They crashed the car four months ago and died. My brother and I weren’t there.”

     “You all have head trauma. What you believe is not what happened. And what did happen, occurred earlier this evening.”

     Days passed. The shock wore off and the four siblings were slowly returning to the reality of life—two sisters back at home with their parents and two brothers living on Urbana Way, a mile from the University of Southern San Diego, where they attended college.

     At dinner at the family home a month later, it became evident that some things never change.

     “You know your being a jerk, Tony,” Blake moaned.

     “You’re no prize, either,” Tony responded.  

     The two sisters shook their heads and sung out, “You guys are horrible, as always. We’re glad you don’t live here anymore. Hooray!”

     And so it became obvious---sibling rivalry never dies.

 

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Life can be lonely. We look for support in helping us find our way.

This may not be easy. But then the unexpected occurs, and we share . . .

 

 

A Journey Worthwhile

 

Two people stand alone in the snow,

Not knowing what to do or where to go.

Two people stand alone in the snow,

Motionless, as they feel the wind blow.

 

Two people scared of what the future might hold,

Shiver in the evening breeze’s cold.

Two people scared of what the future might hold,

Realize if they are to make it in the world, they must be bold.

 

Two people travel down life’s road,

Dragging with them the burdens of existence—a heavy load.

Two people travel down life’s road,

Praying for a sign upon which the direction to follow is showed.

 

Two people turn toward one another and smile,

Joining hands and hearts, together they travel the next mile.

Two people turn toward one another and smile,

Lighting up an otherwise dark path, now a journey worthwhile.

 

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

What belongs together and what doesn’t? Sometimes things you believe should be kept separate don’t remain that way.

 

You struggle when this happens, and believe, in your heart, . . .

 

 

This Was Never Meant To Be

 

It was a cold, rainy, December morning. I sat in my den, with tears in my eyes. This was never meant to be. It can’t happen this way, I thought. It wasn’t right in the past. But I tolerated it.

 

What am I going to do? How do I deal with it? Who can I talk to? Will anybody listen to me?

 

Nineteen years ago, 2005, I was forty-five years old, when it first happened in my life. I wondered why it had to be that way. But it wasn’t my choice.

 

However, now it is happening again. What did I do to deserve this? I knew we had our differences when I married you. But we kept them separated.

 

When it first occurred in 2005, I was bewildered. But you were in charge and the way we faced the challenge was your decision. You said, “This is the way it was meant to be and we must do it accordingly.”

 

I asked why and you stated, “It’s on the calendar. So it must be right. And I follow what it says.”

 

What had I signed up for when our lives came together? The rain beat furiously upon the roof. It felt as if our house might float away, like Noah’s ark. Maybe this would be a good thing. Then I wouldn’t have to face the inevitable.

 

I had two days. Just two days to decide how to face the impending disaster. I didn’t want to accept it, but . . .

 

My God! The house had Christmas decorations flowing all around the inside. And the outside lights, turned on before dark,  lit up not only our home, but the street, as well. Christmas music made the dancing reindeer display on our front lawn come alive.

 

This was a total catastrophe. For the Hanukkah menorah sat on the kitchen counter, with two unlit candles standing and ready to be lit, but not until sundown on Christmas Day. It was almost completely hidden by its rival, Christmas. I shook my head in dismay. Why should Christmas and Hanukkah be meshed together on the same day? This was never meant to be. They weren’t partners.

 

But they were, in a way, for they were both holidays filled with joy, love, and happiness. And both breathed life into our world and gave us the energy to repaint gray skies blue. I needed to believe in what we had and enjoy the bright lights of Christmas and Hanukkah—after sundown.

 

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Life can be complicated and confusing. You question who is in charge.

You wonder where you are and how you got there. And then you are told that you are forever . . .

 

 

Under My Influence

 

     I sat on the couch, with my feet propped up on the ottoman, in my living room in my home in Diablo Valley. I’d fallen asleep, I think. Everything was blurry. Then I thought I heard a voice. But how could that be? I was alone.

     “What the hell do you want?” I asked, in a not so kind tone.

     “You.” The voice stated.

     “You want me? What for?”

     “For all you’ve done.”

     “For all I’ve done? What does that mean?”

     “You really don’t know, do you?”

     “No. I have absolutely no idea.”

     “Sit back then, and I’ll tell you your story.”

     “You’re going to tell me what?”

     “Your story. In its entirety.”

     My eyes scanned the room. It was empty. Everything was still. Am I going crazy?

     “No, you’re not. Just relax and follow my lead.”

     “Follow your lead? To where?”

     “Back, then forward. Inside, then out.”

     “This isn’t making any sense.”

     “Be quiet. It’ll all come together.”

     I shook my head, thinking I could make this ridiculousness disappear. And I heard nothing more. Good. I’m back to normal, I thought.

     “Normal? That’s a stretch. I don’t believe anybody would characterize you as normal.”

     “This has got to stop. Come out and show yourself to me.”

     ”Why? You know who I am.”

     “No, I don’t.”

     “Think back twenty-six years.”

     “Huh? Why?”

     “Your beginning.”

     “Are you saying that’s when I was born?”

     “Yes, that’s right. And I was there.”

     “You were?”

     “I was in the hospital room. You were a cute little thing. And I wanted you.”

     “But you didn’t get me. My parents took me home and raised me. At least my mother did. She told me my father wasn’t around much. He was too busy.”

     “Took you home, yes, Raised you, not really.”

     “You’re confusing me. I lived with them until I was eighteen. They loved me and cared for me. Didn’t they?”

     “For your body, maybe. For your mind, up to a point. For your soul—not at all.”

     “My, God! What are you saying?”

     “Please don’t bring him into this.”

     “Hell, it’s getting awfully warm in here.”

     “So you do know where you are.”

     “I’m in my home.”

     “No, you’re in my home.”

     “Then please turn down the heat. I can’t handle it. The sweat is running down my face.”

     “You’ll get used to it.”

     “Why would I want to?”

     “To be comfortable in your new home.”

     “My what!” I screamed.

     “Calm down. You’ll wake the dead.”

     “This isn’t real. You’re just messing with my head.”

     “If you mean getting your head straight, then yes.”

     “If what you’re saying is that I have to believe this is real, then you’re crazy.”

     All of a sudden the lights in the room began to blink. I had no idea what was happening or what to do next. And then, I heard a shrill voice.

     “Julian, are you up yet? You’re going to be late for school.”

     “Late for what?”

     “School!”

     “Who are you?” 

     “Are you kidding me? I’m your mother and you’re my sixteen-year-old son.”

     “Sixteen years old. No way. I’m twenty-six and this is my house.”

     “No, you’re not twenty-six. And this is our family home. Have you been taking drugs again? Have you lost your mind?”

     “Drugs? I’ve never taken drugs.”

     “Don’t listen to her, Julian. You belong to me now,” the voice stated.

     “Why are you back? You’re not real. I don’t need you. And I’m only sixteen.”

     “You do need me. I am your forever,” the voice chanted.

     “Not anymore.”

     “Good boy! Stand up to him. He doesn’t control you. I’m your mother, You’ll do as I say, you little twerp.”

     “If you’re my mother, why are you calling me names?”

     “Don’t question me, wimp.”

     “What did I do to deserve this?

     “You made her disappear,” the voice said.

     “Your saying, I left home.”

     “No, I’m saying you did away with her, when you were sixteen. Now she is rotting in a world of eternal damnation. And you made it happen.”

     “I killed her?”

     “Hm. Not exactly.”   

     “What in hell does that mean?”

     “You’ll see. The voice stated, in a very different manner—a way that made me feel safe.”

     “Am I still in . . .”

     “You were in a living hell, but not today. And now, you are forever ‘Under My Influence.’”

     There, standing before me, a statuesque figure, clad in a white suit and bright blue tie, spoke, “Believe in me my child. You’ve been to Hell and back. I am your savior. Please, bow your head in reverence. 

     “Yes, . . . Father,” I murmured.

 

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Growing up can be challenging. Sometimes answers to questions may be hard to find.

 

We pray youngsters avoid the mistakes we made. We watch with love and encouragement, as . . .

 

 

Children Travel Life’s Roads

 

Children play with delight in their eyes.

Parents watch with love and pride.

Beautiful memories, a wonderful prize,

With dreams of a bright future across horizons wide.

 

Adventures ahead, achievements to be made.

Youngsters age, as they sail across life’s sky.

New mountains to climb, dreams unlikely to fade.

Mysteries before them, they question why.

 

Adorable creatures test the waters carefully.

Challenges await them—some cause joy, others fear.

However, the risks are worth accomplishing what is meant to be,

With parents in their corner filling their lives with cheer.

 

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Childhood can be difficult. The world does not always accept who you are or who you want to be.

 

You try to break the mold, but success may be hard to come by, as is the case with . . .

 

 

Zuly Truly

 

     The names we choose for our children can have a great impact on their lives. Such is the case in the life of Zuly Truly.

     Saddled with a weird name, Zuly had no choice but to hide from the world around her. Picked on by her classmates, she buried herself in her studies and was labeled a geek. 

     As a geek, she didn’t always fit in. The in-crowd rejected her. And her homelife wasn’t easy. Adopted at the age of two, her mean stepparents and two cruel stepbrothers made her life quite uncomfortable. In spite of her less than perfect childhood, Zuly grew into a beautiful, smart, and likeable young woman.

     Although likeable, she was very lonely. She wanted to be appreciated and accepted by others, but it was a challenge for her to step out in public and attempt to socialize. However, she did believe in herself and felt she could become a respected person. 

     Still, she needed to address the pressing question, “What can I, a woman with both inner strength and outer beauty, do to escape my hellish upbringing?”

     When all was said and done, the bottom line was that she was a thoughtful, caring individual. And she had high ambitions for a successful life. She dreamed of what she could do to help others. However, she still needed to muster up the courage to gain the support of the likes of people who had rejected her. They controlled her life and made her feel imprisoned in a cage from which she could not escape. And all the time, she felt as if she was being watched.

     But today, she was inspired to begin life anew. As she sat alone in her apartment, her mind wandered in and out. I’ve got to make this happen, she thought. But how was another matter.

     As she pondered what her next move would be, the phone rang. She reached over and picked it up. “Hello,” she said.

     “May I speak to Ms. Truly?”

     “This is Ms. Truly.”

     “Ms. Truly, my name is Simply Simon.”

     Hearing this, she begin to chuckle, but held the laugh back. “What can I do for you, Mr. Simon?”

     “It’s not what you can do for me. It is what I can do for you.”

     “What you can do for me?”

     “That’s right.”

     Confused, she didn’t know how to respond.

     “Are you still there, Ms. Truly?”

     “Yes,” she stuttered. “I’m listening. You said you can do something for me. What would that be?”

     “I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. Could we meet somewhere and talk?”

     “Why not do it on the phone? I don’t know who you are or what you want from me.”

     “Relax, Ms. Truly, I’m not the enemy. I have your best interests in mind.”

     “But you don’t know me.”

     “But I do.”

     Zuly thought for a brief moment before responding. “Okay, I’ll meet you tomorrow at noon, at the Nickel and Dime Café on the corner of Primary Road and Precision Ave.”

     “Obviously you believe in the basics and have a precise picture of how things should go.”

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

     “I think we’ve said enough for now. See you tomorrow at noon.”

     “Please wait. How will I know who you are?”

     “It’s simple. You won’t, but I, Simply Simon, will know you. Good-bye.”

     Totally mystified by this conversation, Zuly stared off into space. Do I dare do this? she thought.

     The next morning, the sun shined through the bedroom window. Zuly rubbed the sleep from her eyes, rolled out of bed, and prepared for the meeting she wasn’t sure she wanted to have. “I guess it’s time,” she muttered. Grabbing a light coat, she exited her apartment and made her way to the café.

     As she entered, a handsome man approached her. Well, she thought, this may go better than I expected.

     “Are you Ms. Truly?” he asked.

     “Yes, I am, Mr. Simon,” she responded with a broad smile on her face.

     “Uh, I’m not Mr. Simon. I’m Lyle Smiles, the café manager.”

     “So sorry, Mr. Smiles, but . . .”

     “No apology needed. A young man was here earlier. He asked me to give you this note.”

     “But how did you know who I was?”

     “He described you perfectly.”

     That’s scary, she thought. She took the note from Mr. Smiles, said, “Thank you,” and sat down at a table for two in the corner of the shop.

     She stared at the note, fearing what Mr. Simon might have written. She sucked in a breath of air and opened the missive and read . . .

     “Dear Zuly, I have been an ardent admirer of yours for many years. I have monitored your every move, but didn’t have the guts to let you know I wanted you in my life. Today was my golden opportunity to get what I always wanted—you. But once again, I didn’t have the courage. So I must force you back into the cage from which you have been trying to escape. You are mine and nothing you do will change that." The letter was signed, “Yours, ‘Truly,’ now and forever.”

     Zuly dropped the letter on the table. Having no clue what to do next, tears rolled down her face. Then she looked up and stared into the warm, beautiful eyes of Lyle Smiles.

     “May I help you,” he asked.

     She replied, “Yes,” for she now believed she would have a chance for a better future, as she basked in the light of his smile.

 

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

When you are given a name that makes you stand out, it may portend what your future will be.

You may use it in a way to realize your dreams, as you will see in . . .

 

 

Ima Cooley

 

Ima Cooley was unruly.

He tested the patience of his peers.

Ima Cooley was unruly.

He screeched in everyone’s ears.

 

Ima Cooley was unruly,

He caused his teachers to lose control.

Ima Cooley was unruly.

He wanted to be the boss, which was not his role.

 

Ima Cooley was unruly.

He believed he was the man.

Ima Cooley was unruly.

For those around him, he had a mean plan.

 

Ima Cooley was unruly.

When he grew up, he knew what he wanted to be.

Ima Cooley was unruly.

He pushed and shoved in a way all could see.

 

Ima Cooley was unruly.

He became a famous person of note.

Ima Cooley was unruly.

He gave you no choice, but to give him your vote.

 

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Routine tasks may become more complicated than they should. They can turn into something you didn’t expect.

 

You make plans, but then your wife tells you . . .

 

 

He’s My . . .

 

     Summer had just begun. The heat was unbearable. I sat at my desk, on Friday morning, staring at the calendar on my iMac. I’ve got to get the cars serviced, I thought. So I called and made an appointment for the following Friday.

     Friday arrived. I got up early, went into the kitchen for some juice, and called to Jane. “Jane let’s go. We’re going to be late for our 9:30 am appointment at the car dealership.”

     “I’m coming. I’ve got to get the tennis shoes I need to return to the Shoe Emporium at the mall.”

     “Does that take priority over getting the cars serviced?” She didn’t respond, and . . .

     “My cars going in first. Right?”

     “Yeah. Right.”

     “And we’re going to Madeleine’s Café for breakfast while they work on my car?”

     “That’s the plan, as we’ve always done. Then they’ll service my car.”

     “So after my car is finished, Don, I’m going to the mall.”

     “But what about me?”

     “You? What about you? You’ll just wait in the waiting area for your car to be finished.”

     “But what if it takes longer than I want it to?”

     “Then go with me to the mall.”

     “I don’t want to go to the mall. I want to go home and watch the baseball game. It starts at noon. Then the dealership will call me when my car is ready and you can drive me back to get it.”

     “What am I, your chauffeur?”

     “Well, no. But I thought you were my kind, loving wife.”

     “I was, but I’m not your servant.”

     “Was? You’re impossible, Jane.”

     “And you’re unreasonable, Don. Maybe it’s time for a divorce.”

     “Divorce? We’ve been married twenty-nine years. How can you think about a divorce?”

     “If not a divorce, will you give me a raise?”

     “A raise? You don’t work for me.”

     “I don’t? I’ll show you my job description.”

     “Job what?”

     “You heard me—job description—that is, cook, maid, waitress, seamstress, and sex provider . . .”

     “Sex what?”

     “Provider, my dear.”

     “I thought you enjoyed our bed fun.”

     “No comment.”

     “No . . . comment?”

     “That’s right.”

     “This conversation is getting out of hand, Jane.”

     “Then talk to my lawyer.”

     “You’re not serious, are you?”

     “Here’s his card?”

     “How long have you been seeing him?”

     “For over for six months.”

     “You’re kidding. Why so long?”

     “He’s my . . . sex provider!”

     

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.