Growing up can be challenging. The road ahead may be bumpy.

 

Sometimes you want to bury your head under your pillow and hide. But 

then you discover . . .

 

 

The Power Of Understanding

 

You are lost and confused—
drowning in a sea

of uncertainty.

You reach out

for a helping hand

to assist you

in seeing the future,

now blurred

by the fear

welling up within.

A soft voice

permeates

your dark world

urging you

to remain calm,

for there is hope

of a better existence—

one where clouds part

and the sun peeks through.

 

The desolate landscape
between the regions

of understanding

in your mind

are more

than you

can handle alone.

You have just entered

adulthood,

and wish to climb

the ladder of success.

But the distance

between rungs

gets wider

as you ascend,

and you begin

to fear

what will happen

if you fall.

 

Life is a constant struggle.

At times, it seems

as if you are riding

a bus to nowhere.

You think

the bewilderment

will never stop.
The other passengers

make you feel

you owe them something—

that you must be there

for them.

You stare

out the window,

knowing this

is not possible,

for you are unable

to be there for yourself.

 

 “Grasp my hand,”

the voice instructs.
“Talk to me.

Share your insecurities.

Let me assist you

in mapping out

a road to understanding—

one that makes sense.
Release your demons.

Let me help you

better understand, ‘You,’

and open your eyes

to a brighter future ahead.

 

 

Copyright © 2021 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Strange things happen in life we can’t explain. Sometimes they trigger a passion within us.

 

Others can become entangled in this web of desire, as you will see in . . .

 

 

I Met You Before I Was Born

 

I met you before I was born.
I know that sounds strange.

 

You say that couldn’t be.
But how do you know?

 

No, I’m not lying to you.

I embraced the thought of you,

     as I prepared to leave my mother’s womb.

 

No, I’m not crazy.

Now you appear in my dreams,

     night after night.

 

Yes, I’ve known you forever.

You belong to me.

 

You are mine and I am yours.

We are destined to travel life’s road together.

 

It’s not your choice to turn your back on me.

We are meant to be partners—two souls blended as one.

 

I've been longing for you from the time we met.
And now, forever more, we shall share a life of devotion

     to one another.

 

You say this cannot be.

But I gave you my heart and expect yours in return.

 

I met you before I was born.
Please believe we were meant to be.

 

 

Copyright © 2021 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

The burdens of building a life together are many. Sometimes trying to confront them can be overwhelming.

 

The distance between you and your loved one can widen. So much so, you dread what might have to be done as you pass from day . . .

 

 

Into The Blackness Of Night

 

Until tonight,

I had no idea

what was happening.

Nothing

made any sense.

I followed

a path

that confused me.

Memories

of our time together

flooded my mind.

Pictures

of our world,

now in disarray,

haunted me.

 

This was our life,

yours and mine—

first blessed,

now cursed.

Why did I think

I didn’t matter

anymore?

Did I ask

too much of you?

 

You agreed

to meet me

at the gorgeous

Brockhurst Inn

on the coast,

for what I hoped

would be

a romantic evening.

The ocean’s waters,

crashing against the rocks,

could be heard

through the open window

of our eighth floor

hotel room.

 

But why

was it open?

Frost

covered the glass.

Shivering,

I embraced you,

but you

pushed me away.

 

Anger

welled up within me,

for the disrespect

you showed.

I thought,

This must be

what people mean

when they say,

“I could die now.”

 

We’re so much closer

to death

than you

might think.

But whose?

Not mine.

 

I stood

facing

the open window,

quivering

from the damp air?

I had to do it.

It wasn’t my choice.

The pain

in my gut

caused me

to flinch,

and the ache

in my heart

told me

it was my right

to set this straight.

 

You deceived me,

led me astray.  

I tried

to stay afloat

In the bitter waters

of our relationship.

I still wanted you

and wanted us,

but knew

it couldn’t happen.

 

The scent

of your hair

triggered the passion

in my heart.

However, knowing

I would never again

feel your kisses

on my lips,

I wrapped

my fingers

around your throat,

and pushed you

through the open window

into the blackness

of night

and the sea below.

 

Well, that’s what

I intended to do,

but I didn’t.

Without saying a word,

you left the room.

I crawled into bed,

pulled the pillow

over my head,

and begged God

for forgiveness

for the sin

I almost committed.

 

 

Copyright © 2021 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Pressure is put upon us to become the finest person we are capable of being. We are urged to work hard in school, sports, social endeavors, and other activities in which we engage, as we grow up.

 

We do our best to live up to our own expectations and those of others. We may even think about . . .

 

 

Becoming A Pro

 

When I entered high school, Dad told me, “If you want to be a pro  

       in a profession, you have to try hard and you can’t put things off.”

“But Dad, I’m already good at not doing what I should and my friends call    

       me a procrastinator,” I would scoff.

 

“Jason, that attitude is not going to get you anywhere. You have to practice, 

       polish your skills, and become proficient at what you do.”

“I do nothing better than anybody I know, so doesn’t that indicate I’m

       proficient to you.”

 

“You’re not paying attention to what I’m saying. I want you to produce and become 

       a man of great repute.”

“I picked up the produce—zucchini, asparagus, and lettuce—Mom wanted 

       from the market yesterday, an accomplishment you can’t dispute.

 

“And you know I’ll eat the greatest proportion of the food on the table at dinner

       tonight.

“So I profess to you, I leave nothing to chance, and try as I might to do everything 

       right.”

 

“I’m getting frustrated with your inability to process what I’m saying,” Dad said,  

       in a way that worried me.

“You need to pay me the respect I deserve. I’m just trying to help you plan

       for a future of prominence and prosperity.”

 

“I can’t think that far ahead. I’m only a sophomore in high school looking forward

       to being promoted to the next grade.”

“Life progresses all too fast, and if you can’t stay on track,” Dad stated, “You’ll slip 

       off the road to success, I’m afraid.”

 

“Road to success? I just want to get a date for the homecoming dance,” I  

       proclaimed, in a loud voice.

Then Dad surprised me with his pronouncement, “A redhead with long flowing hair 

       would be my choice.”

 

 

Copyright © 2021 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Does Halloween frighten you? Would you rather hide in the shadows than open your door?

 

Have you wronged somebody on Halloween night? Do you live in fear of the repercussions of doing so? People, in a town off Highway 65, cringe at the thought of . . .

 

 

Johnny’s Return

 

Johnny died 30 years ago, Halloween night, 1989.

Murdered on Highway 65, his 1988 Chevy found just north of the clay factory.

His body dismembered, parts strewn around—

One ear missing—clothes, nowhere to be found.

 

Mystery surrounding his death, to this day unresolved.

Eerie, the prospect of what will be discovered.

Johnny angered many, pleased few.

Both horrified and guilt ridden, townspeople cringed in fear.

 

Headlines in the weekly paper heightened tension in the once quiet town.

Many suspects, little concrete evidence.

Days passed, no answers.

Coroner’s exam, results inconclusive.

 

Years have passed; trail remains cold.

Each Halloween since, gruesome memories return.

Each Halloween since, fear runs amuck, hearts tremble.

Each Halloween night, every six years since Johnny’s body was found,

        horrible things occur.

 

Halloween 1995, the Smith’s cat mutilated, found in backyard, no clues                

        to perpetrator’s identity.

Halloween 2001, Robinson family car run off the road by 1988 Chevy,                    

        four injured, car not found.

Halloween 2007, McGuthrie house burns to ground, ninety-year-old                        

        grandmother inside, arson suspected.

Halloween 2013, former prom queen found strangled in park, middle finger        

        on right hand missing, still no leads in case.

 

Thirty years have passed, the year now 2019, Halloween tragedy strikes               

        once more.

Town again in disarray, screams of horror penetrate the silence of the night—         

        “Oh no! Oh, my God!” 

Body found just south of the clay factory off Highway 65, dismembered,                  

        parts strewn around—

One ear missing—clothes, nowhere to be found.

 

Another gruesome crime, town in disbelief.

Headlines read, killer returns, similarities to Johnny’s death uncanny.

Could it be, town quivers at the thought, Is the killer among us?

Police have no clues, townspeople retreat to their homes.

 

Doors bolted, trust amongst neighbors gone.

Shades drawn, knocks on doors unanswered.

Phones ring. When answered, just eerie silence on the other end of the line.

People horrified, all around are suspect.

 

In the blackness of night, treachery abounds.

Dogs bark, uneasiness all around.

Cries in the shadows, heard aloud.

Pleas for safe harbor, silenced, unfulfilled.

 

Authorities scrutinize crime scene, evidence found.

Autopsy completed, identification conclusive.

Body parts, all Johnny’s remains.

How can this be? Has Johnny returned? But why?

 

Johnny’s soul, still not at rest.

No love for a town, which treated him with scorn.

Killers all, blood to spill.

No place to hide, darkness draped like a shroud.

 

Disbelief, alarm, townspeople cringe.

Town under siege, broken in parts.

Johnny has returned, revenge his to take.

A town unrelenting, Johnny unforgiving.

 

Night draws to a close, a new dawn breaking.

No sign of Johnny, but with each passing Halloween comes the promise           

        of his return.

No rest for the “wicked,” damned be they.

Turn not your back, trust no soul.

 

Life is hell, anticipation the devil’s design.

A town lost, all in panic.

Sleepless nights cloud peoples’ minds.

Johnny’s case still open, frigid, cold.

 

All still suspects, nobody cleared.

Townsfolk shy away from one another, eyes never meet.

Secrets abound, truth elusive.

Shame on faces shows, anxiety increases.

 

People pray with all their heart Halloween does not come again.

But it will and with it another night of living dread.

Atone for your wrongdoing, your indifference; pray for Johnny’s forgiveness.

Pray for the rescue of Johnny’s soul. 

 

Step forward, those of you complicit in Johnny’s demise.

Release yourself from the devil, repent, and pay for your crime.

Not doing so, may keep you free from earthly authorities, but not from the hell       

        that Johnny will rain upon you.

For Halloween comes once each year, and on that fateful night, on the shoulder     

        of Highway 65, you may find yourself among the dearly departed.

 

The legacy of Johnny’s death lives on in the town off Highway 65.

So search within to forgive Johnny’s transgressions, so he may forgive you.

Pray for Johnny’s salvation. Pray for Johnny‘s forgiveness—

Or Johnny will prey upon you.

 

 

Copyright © 2021 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

It has been said the history of Halloween is pure evil. As the story goes, “Ye cannot drink the cup of the Lord, and the cup of devils. Ye cannot be partakers of the Lord's table, and of the table of devils."

 

But can we use the devil as an excuse for our questionable behavior as we celebrate the holiday, or at other times?  Some say, “Yes.” As such, as an explanation for their actions, they employ the statement . . .

 

 

The Devil Made Me Do It

 

     Have you ever been to a Halloween party with the motif, “The Devil Made Me Do It”? Well, neither have I. But that’s the theme of the party I’ve been invited to this coming Saturday evening. And I have to come in costume. I have two days to come up with something intriguing, but I don’t have a clue what to wear.

     Later in the evening, as I lay in bed, my eyes became heavy and I began to dream about the costume that would change my life and maybe win the heart of a beautiful woman at the party.

     Then I heard words I wanted to hear. “Dance with me. Dance with me,” a sexy voice murmured.

     I managed to stammer, "Yes," stunned by a beautiful woman dressed in black velour. The music played “Dancing With the Devil,” and we became the center of attention on the dance floor.  

     The rain beat down on the roof of my house. The dogs barked in the backyard. My dream interrupted, I muttered to myself, “No way.”

     Sometimes things don’t go right. So I pulled the covers back over my head, hunkered down, closed my eyes, and tried to go back to sleep. Smash, crash, the tumbling garbage cans and squealing truck tires shook me from my trance. I cursed under my breath, “Why now? The damn 6:00 a.m. trash pick-up.”

     I rolled out of bed, threw on the soiled clothes I’d laid on top of the hamper last night, and ambled down the hallway toward the kitchen, with Little Grace. Where Grace had come from, I didn’t know. Swift and silent, she appeared under foot when least expected. Awkward in my movements, I stumbled over her. I staggered to my left and then my right, careening off one wall and then the other. I bounced through the hallway like a ball out of control. I struggled, trying not to fall—each dance move no better than the preceding one. It amazed me how I was able to remain upright.

     Entering the kitchen, I spun around and then planted my feet without tipping over. It was quite a sight to behold. The day had just begun and already my life had become chaotic.

     Regaining my composure, I stared, with a blank expression on my face, at a woman standing before me, with Little Grace, tail wagging, at her side. I looked in amazement at this beautiful creature. Where the “hell” did she come from? I thought.

     I started to ask her, when she grinned and quipped, “Well, that was some entrance you made—one ‘hell’ of a funky ride.”

     Not knowing how to reply, I thought my best strategy would be to keep a straight face and my mouth shut. Her beauty was beyond any I’d ever seen. Her gorgeous smile caught me off guard and made me blush. She fluttered her eyelashes, draping over her deep green eyes, and whispered, “Your place or mine?”

     “Wow! What an offer,” I shouted. I wanted to tell her how I felt about her, but I didn’t have the guts.

     “I’m all you’ll ever need—the woman of your wildest fantasy. Follow me and I will fulfill your every desire,” she chanted, in a most seductive manner.

     Dressed in black velour, this charming creature, the woman from my dream, took my mind on a wild trip. She fascinated and tantalized me. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

     Then, without warning, Big Burt came rumbling through the doggy door. He jumped on me with amazing force. I lost my balance and began to fall, first grabbing for the chair and then the kitchen wall.

     The luscious damsel, who had captured my heart, giggled, as she watched me in the midst of another ungraceful event. I managed to recover, but it wasn’t pretty. I thought hard about putting my tail between my legs and hightailing it out of the kitchen, but I didn’t.

     Then, if I hadn’t been embarrassed enough already, what came next almost destroyed whatever self-respect I still had. Big Burt decided I needed his help and, standing erect, he placed his front paws on my shoulders and, like the leader in a dance duo, pushed me across the dance floor. Uproarious laughter from my audience drove my embarrassment to new heights.

     Now, I was sure I should flee this kitchen inferno. However, leaving would not extinguish the burning fires of my personal hell. So shoving Big Burt aside, I decided to stand my ground. This was one battle I was going to win.

     Gathering up all the courage I could muster, I expressed my feelings, “I must admit I’m falling hard for you.”

     “That you are, my little man. I almost had to pick you up off the floor,” she chuckled.

     This remark almost made me give up the fight. Whatever pride I had left was gone. But I didn’t. My voice echoed through the kitchen. “I need you. I want you.” 

     I’d fallen under her spell. She beckoned me to follow her. Her wish was my command. I danced to the tune she played, twirling in circles, which spun me into the dark web she wove.

     Her voice sung out, “Come close. Hold me. Let me embrace both your heart and soul. Dance with me.” 

     I managed to stammer, "Yes,” stunned by this beautiful woman dressed in black velour. The music played “Dancing With the Devil” and we became the center of attention on the dance floor.

     Just as I believed I’d gotten everything I’d ever wanted, my alarm clock blared. At first, I ignored it. But then, I forced myself to open my eyes. “Oh my, I’m going to be late for work,” I groaned. I rolled out of bed. My mind raced, as I got ready. What an amazing dream. I hoped, someday in some way, my fantasy would become reality.

     Later that day, at work, I walked toward Bridgette Cumming’s office on the tenth floor of the Western Washington Insurance Company building, where I was employed as an insurance claims adjuster. I stared at her through the office’s large plate glass window. She was the boss’s daughter, the company accountant. Dressed in a form-fitting, black, low-cut dress, she looked exquisite—the woman I wanted to fulfill my deepest desires.

     I sucked in my stomach, puffed out my chest, and knocked on the door. Through the glass window, she motioned to me to come in. I opened the door, threw my shoulders back, held my head high, and tripped over Little Grace, her Persian cat, who had scampered between my legs. I lost my balance and began to fall, first grabbing for the chair in front of her desk and then the office wall. For stability, I was at a loss. Bridgette giggled, as she watched me in the midst of this awkward incident.

     Picking myself up off the floor, I placed the claims folder, I’d been holding, on her desk. Then without saying a word or making eye contact, I hurried out of her office, vowing never again to put myself in such an embarrassing, hellish position. I muttered to myself, “The devil made me do it.”

     The next morning, sunlight peering through the shutters awakened me. Stunned, I screamed, “Nothing ever works out the way I want it to.”

     She was gorgeous, oh, so gorgeous, in a devilish way. In my dream, she wanted me, even though I made a fool of myself. I gave her my heart and soul. But when it came to the real test at the office, life played a cruel trick on me. I felt like I’d sunk into the depths of purgatory. I work with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, but would I ever have the courage to let her get to know me?

 

 

Copyright © 2021 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

An opportunity presents itself. Should you take it?

 

The door opens and beckons you . . .

 

 

To Take A Chance

 

Destiny

opens a door,

but it is the heart

that chooses to enter.

 

To take a chance

on what life

puts before us

is the ultimate journey.

 

To take a risk

is to chance

the pain

of failure.

 

To not take a risk

is to chance

the loss

of success.

 

So take

a deep breath

and boldly walk

through life.

 

Embrace

the opportunity

to do

what is right.

 

Cherish

the opportunity

to engage

in life’s dance.

 

Attain the dream.

Walk with pride,

as the light

shines bright.

 

 

Copyright © 2021 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.