A clear picture is one we dream about. But clarity may not be easy to find.
We try to make sense of the world outside, as the . . .
Clouds Drift By
Clouds drift by.
Morning draws nigh,
Blinking an eye.
Clouds drift by.
Birds do fly.
Children wonder why.
Clouds drift by.
Streets remain dry.
Mountains soar high.
Clouds drift by.
Many do sigh,
Saying, “Oh my!”
Clouds drift by.
Some do cry.
Others waive bye.
Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
Shapes, lines, and angles sometimes fit together and sometimes don’t. How can we best understand this?
An explanation may be found in . . .
Geometry Class
The bell rang. Class was about to begin. I moved around in my seat trying to get comfortable. Nothing seemed to work. It just didn’t add up.
My name is Freddie Semi-Circle. My mother was just half there. My father, however, was very well-rounded. And, me? I always felt somewhat incomplete.
I was anxious for class to start. But as usual, my mind wouldn’t be much more than half focused. I knew I wasn’t alone. All kids have problems.
For instance, Gloria Circle is the most all-around person I’ve ever met. However, she has no beginning or end. You can’t start a conversation with her. And even worse, you can’t end one.
The kid in the third row, Franklin Square, told me he always feels boxed in. His problems are never one-sided or two-sided. Their always four-sided. He never draws a conclusion.
Now if you want get to the point, ask Tricia Triangle. But don’t look the other way or she’ll stick it to you. I wouldn’t want to be her.
One student I tried to befriend was a head taller than me, and he hated his parents because of the name they gave him. Can you believe being called Orval Oval? He can’t go around in circles. He just tips over.
And then there’s Jeffery Kite. He’s a fly away kind of guy. If you get too close to him, he just takes off.
There’s also two cousins in class. They live on my street. Ricky Rectangle is short and broad. He blocks the aisle. You can’t get by. Maybe he’ll be a football guard someday.
His cousin Pamela Parallelogram always has to be in front of the line. She runs track. She ran a couple of races in gym class against Franklin Square. He never beat her. She just leaned in ahead of him.
Before I forget, I need to mention the Gon brothers—Hexa and Penta. They’re in a constant battle with one another. Hexa believes he always has more sides to the stories he tells. Penta can never win.
Well, I’ve taken enough of your time. My teacher has just called me up to the front of the room. I better go, for you don’t want to get on the wrong side of Mr. Rhombus, a case in point 🔷.
Copyright © 2025 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
I lay on my bed and wondered about meeting the girl of my dreams. But how could this happen?
I hoped, someday, I would find my . . .
First Love
The sun was shining. It was a gorgeous August day.
I strutted with pride down Fiesta Way.
I looked at the others, as they looked at me.
Was walking alone going to be my destiny?
Then out of nowhere came a gorgeous girl.
My heart began to beat out of control, my head began to whirl.
There appeared to be a smile on her face,
As she moved toward me with a princess’s grace.
Bashful, I bowed my head, not knowing how to act,
But realized this was not the way to make a significant impact.
So I gasped and uttered, Hello, my name is Fred.
Then my mind went blank and that’s all I said.
To my amazement, she chanted, Good day, Freddy boy.
How would you like to play with a little girl toy?
Totally bewildered by her remark,
I headed toward our town’s beautiful park.
She followed me, staying close behind.
I knew in my heart, she was one of a kind.
As we neared a park bench, I turned and stared.
She looked at me with love in her eyes, which showed she cared.
I felt like Price Charming and not just a common mutt.
And then, the “first love” of my life bent her head down and smelled my butt.
Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
We search for the right mate, hoping for a long life together. However, this might not be the easiest task.
Then, one day that special person enters our life. At first, our world seems wonderful, but, as time goes on, things change and we ask, . . .
“Did I Marry My Mother?”
She looked at me with daggers in her eyes. I didn’t know why. I cringed, not knowing what to do. We’d been married for almost six years and I thought she was the one.
But now I was unsure. I gasped for breath. “If I did something wrong, how can I make it right?” I uttered.
“Make it right? You shouldn’t have made it wrong in the first place, Daniel.”
“What did I do?”
“Are you saying you don’t know? What are you—a little child who needs to be taken by the hand to ensure you stay on the right path?”
“No, I’m not a child. But I’m confused, Jessica.”
“About what?”
“What you think I did. I thought we had a good marriage.”
“A good marriage? How did you come to that conclusion?”
“Because my mother taught me to do the right thing. It was the only way—her way.”
“I’m not your mother. In my mind, you erred big time. So why should I forgive you?”
“You may not be my mother, but you sure do sound like her—bossy and controlling.”
“Well, maybe that’s what you need.”
“No, I need you—the beautiful, enchanting woman I met six years ago.”
“You’re making me sound like I’m a princess from a fairy tale. Live in the real world, little man. Life is not fantasy.”
“God, I can’t handle this anymore.”
“You’re free to go. Just disappear from my life.”
And so I did. I drifted into a sea of loneliness. Yet this is not what I wanted. My world had been turned upside down. Apparently, I’d dug a hole from which I had to climb out. Just thinking of how to do this scared the hell out of me.
Well, it is said, “Time heals all wounds.” Ten months later, with Jessica buried in the depths of my mind, I emerged from the pit I was in, scrubbed the dirt from my body, and began life again.
“Daniel. Daniel,” a soft alluring voice chanted.
I removed the pillow covering my eyes, as I lay in bed, and looked around the room, but saw nobody.
“Daniel, grow up and become the man I raised you to be.”
“Mom? Is that you?”
“If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.”
“But you’re dead. This is a dream, right?”
“If it’s a dream, why are you talking to me?”
“Did you break up my marriage?”
“What are you implying? You think I don’t want my only son to be happy?”
“Well, no, but . . .”
“But what?”
“You and Dad broke up.”
“So. He never listened to me.”
“But I did what you did. . . . I broke up.”
“You never listened to me, either. Just do what I say, not what I do. Marriages should last forever.”
“But . . .”
“There you go with the ‘buts’ again. You never pay attention.”
This conversation was getting ridiculous. I have to make her go away, I thought. But how? Clear my head. It’s all in my mind. Yes, that’s it. “Goodbye, sweet Mama.”
To my amazement, I began to feel better. I listened, but didn’t hear anything. It’s over, I believed, and my new life is about to begin.
I dressed, ate a small breakfast, and got ready for work. A new day was mine to behold.
The wind blew through my hair, as I walked down Adams Avenue toward the office building where I worked. I was blessed to have a good job. Unlike marriage, at thirty, I was a successful Junior Marketing Executive, respected by both my bosses and colleagues. If only I could market myself in the same way I did our company’s products, I knew I’d find the love of my life.
I opened the building’s large double doors and walked toward the elevator. As I reached for the “Up Button,” I saw an attractive woman’s image reflecting back at me from the mirror surrounding the buttons. She looked familiar, but why she did, I had no idea. I turned to see who she was, but she was gone. How she disappeared so quickly bewildered me.
When I got off the elevator on the sixth floor, I heard someone call my name. The voice sounded female. And I believed I’d heard it before. However, when I turned, all I saw were three men I didn’t know.
I decided I wasn’t going to let these events bother me. My future was ahead of me and I was going to jump each hurdle placed before me with grace.
Entering the offices of Lockman, Warner, and Pride, I was greeted with a smile and a warm, “Hello,” from each employee I encountered. My future was bright.
As I sat at my desk, my secretary, Melinda, poked her head into my cubicle. “Daniel, there’s a young woman asking to see you. I have no idea who she is and she wouldn’t give me her name.”
“Tell her I’m busy and have her make an appointment.”
“I already tried that, but she wouldn’t do it and insists on seeing you now.”
“Well, then send her in.”
“All right. But you’re sure it’s okay?”
“Is she attractive?”
“That’s not my call to make. And she’s wearing large sunglasses, so it’s hard to see her face.”
As Melinda left, I sat staring out into the open area in front of my cubicle and awaited the mystery woman’s arrival. I had no clue what she might want or what to expect.
Minutes turned into hours. Hours into days. Days into months. Months into years. And the mystery woman became my wife.
But Angelica was not my angel. She controlled my every move. She hung a report card on the refrigerator, with grades for how I treated her—what I did right and what I did wrong. It was clear I was never going to graduate from her marriage academy.
I was devastated. I moaned, “What did I do to deserve this?”
“You really don’t know, do you?” Angelica said.
“I keep trying. I thought you were the one—my forever angel. But . . .”
“There you go again. Every statement you make ends with a ‘but.’ You never make a final decision—draw a conclusion we can agree on.”
“But I am your husband and we are . . .”
“Nothing, unless you become the man I want you to be. Unless you listen to my every word, do as I say, and make the world a better place for me, you are still a little boy.”
“But . . .”
“Enough with the ‘buts.’ You never pay attention. I’ve had it with you.”
I bowed my head. Not knowing what to do or say, my body quivered out of control. I didn’t know what I had done to deserve this.
And then Angelica bellowed, “Just leave me alone. Come back when you’ve grown up and maybe we can work this out.”
“Okay, mommy,” I whimpered.
“I’m your mommy, not her,” a voice echoed in my head.
“Is that you, Mom?”
“Who else would it be? I thought I taught you to be smart.”
“But . . .”
“There you go again with those ‘buts.’”
“Grow up my little man. Angelica is the younger me. Treat her as your angel and all your dreams will come true. She will groom you to be the man you were meant to be.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“How?”
“In my way—the only way. And no . . .”
“But . . .”
“I told you, no ‘buts.’”
No longer confused, I knew I’d married my mother.
Copyright © 2025 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
Sometimes we cringe when we see a bug on the ground before us. Our first thought, kill it.
But that may not be the humane thing to do, when we discover . . .
A Bug In The Rug
A bug is more than a pest crawling along the floor.
It shows spirit, eagerness, and more.
It’s destination not far, it moseys on across the land,
Ignoring the human predator lurking above, with swatter in hand.
Not aware of the imminent danger that might take its toll.
It focuses on the things it might get into, a scavenger’s role.
One may yell in frustration at the bug.
But it doesn’t respond, as it moves toward the rug.
Lost in its pile, the human’s efforts to catch it will have to wait.
It will live another day, escaping its deadly fate.
Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
Love presents itself. You want to take the opportunity to change your life.
She’s the only one you’ve ever dreamt about. With anxiety high, you put on your best face when you see . . .
Respectable Sue
Let me tell you the story about respectable Sue.
It began one day last week, when she came into view.
She pranced down the street, with her head held high.
I wanted to approach her, but trembled in a way I thought I’d die.
She walked with the grace of a princess from a storybook.
I moved in her direction, but she didn’t give me a look.
She smiled, as she danced like Cinderella at the ball.
I wanted to take her hand, twirl her around, and give her my all.
She was the girl of my dreams from fantasyland.
If I told her how I felt, would she understand?
I needed to muster up the courage to take a chance.
This might be the road I needed to travel to find romance.
I sucked in my gut and put a grin on my face.
In my heart, I knew this interaction must take place.
I walked with the pride of a man on a mission,
Knowing, to my life, she’d be a wonderful addition.
But was I deluding myself into believing my dream would come true?
Desperate to find out, I needed to draw the appropriate words from within and be right on cue.
Questions about being successful in my quest haunted my dreams every night.
And I’d wake each morning knowing I’d have to put up a good fight.
However, I couldn’t have predicted what would happen that day.
At twelve years old I had no idea what to say.
This was the first opportunity I had to succeed at this, but I didn’t know what to do.
Come to think of it now, I didn’t even know if her name was Sue.
Copyright © 2025 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
2025 VOICES OF LINCOLN POETRY CONTEST
Poets wanted. The 21th Annual Voices of Lincoln Poetry Contest begins in April, National Poetry Month. The contest theme is “Believe In The Power Of Words Brought To Life Through Poetry.” Both adult and young poets are encouraged to enter.
Contest "Rules and Entry Form" can be downloaded here or requested from Alan Lowe, Contest Coordinator, at slolowe@icloud.com.
Conversations can be confusing. Often they go nowhere.
They run down an endless path. You listen to them and wonder . . .
Is This What You Think It Is?
“You can’t be serious? You do realize what you’re saying never happened?”
“I am serious, with every word I utter. And whether or not you want to believe it, it did happen.”
“How can you be so sure? It was fifty-six years ago. We were in our twenties.”
“Some things you never forget. They linger in your mind.”
“But why bring it up now? The past is the past.”
“No, the past is the present. The present wouldn’t exist without it.”
“You think those two will ever have a discussion without arguing?”
“It’s not our problem. So stop thinking about it.”
“But we’re responsible for them. In some ways that is.”
“As long as they don’t kill each other, I don’t care what they do.”
“Guess you’re right. We’ll still get paid.”
“Yeah, man. By the way, what are you doing this weekend?”
“Getting as far away from this asylum as possible.”
“So, what were we talking about?”
“Beats me. Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m me, the guy who knows everything about everything.”
“I don’t think you know anything about anything.”
“I have nothing more to say about the subject.”
“You can’t even finish a sentence—carry on a real conversation.”
“Did you say something?”
“Why do we keep listening to them? They just go around in circles.”
“Yeah, no beginnings or ends—just middles.”
“This nuthouse is driving me crazy. Fifteen years and I’m still here.”
“Twelve years and I’m still here. I can’t believe I’ve put up with this for so long.”
“Hey, look what they’re doing now.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Why are you naked?”
“Who’s naked? I’m just dressed casually.”
“Huh, but this isn’t Friday.”
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“Where?”
“How should I know? Around the corner?”
“All right, but I go first.”
“No, I go first.”
“There they go again. They’re insane—nutty fruitcakes.”
“You can say that again.”
“They’re insane—nutty fruitcakes.”
“I didn’t mean you had to say it again.”
“What just happened? The lights are blinking.”
“Okay guys, back to your rooms. Time for bed.”
“Let's go. Tomorrow’s another day.”
“This loony bin is closed for the night.”
“But . . .?”
“But . . .?”
“But . . .?”
“But . . .?”
Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
You drop a coin in a slot. What do you get for it? Is it worth the cost?
Your whole life you save for the future, for you believe . . .
Money Matters
This is a story about two men who made cents in many ways. They met in the third grade in an elementary school on the Lower East Side of New York. Living in a working class neighborhood, they came from families that toiled from dawn to dusk to provide for them. Wealth was a distant dream, but coins characterized their upbringing.
Each had a piggy bank stowed in his closet. For each good deed performed at home or in school, they were rewarded with change from their parents’ worn pockets. These benefits would quickly find a place in their banks.
Years passed and the bond between the two became stronger. Change characterized their lives and their partnership remained solid. To coin a phrase, “If you find it in the road, pick it up and keep it, for a penny saved is a penny earned.” And both did.
Joined at the hip, they worked hard to achieve their dreams. They were frugal and saved their earnings from working for financial firms, as money managers. With these savings, they went to work for themselves and purchased a building to house their business. The sign on the building read, “Nickels and Dimes Corporation—Helping You To Make Your Dreams Come True.” The proud owners of this impressive structure were Frederick Ford Nickels and Martin Austin Dimes, financiers of note.
One bright sunny day in early April, twelve days away from when their taxes had to be submitted, the road became bumpy. Although the business appeared to be running smoothly, something didn’t seem right.
Nickels looked at Dimes, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “We’ve got to undo what has happened.”
“But how?” Dimes replied.
“Change. We need change.”
“Okay, maybe we do, but what are you suggesting?” Dimes asked.
“Quarters,” Nickels replied.
“Quarters? What are you saying?” Dimes queried.
“The brothers.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, very much so.”
“Are you talking about all four?” Dimes questioned.
“They are the ‘one,’” Nickels said, convinced this was the way to go.
“But will they be open to joining our team? They’re our competitors, after all.”
“They’ve wanted to be a part of our world for a while. But it hasn’t been to our advantage to invite them in. Now it is.”
“You know they’ll turn us down, unless they’re in control.”
“No, they’re not going to ‘buck’ our offer,” Nickels stated.
“All right. Do it,” Dimes said.
Nickels reached for the phone and dialed the number of “The Quarters Financial Group.” It rang and rang. It appeared nobody was going to answer. Just as he was about to hang up, a pleasant, melodious voice sung out, “The Quarters Financial Group. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to speak to Robin Quarters, if he’s available. If he isn’t, connect me with one of the other brothers, please.”
“I believe Robin can take your call,” the voice chimed.
Nickels waited patiently. And then, a strong, prosperous sounding man stated, “This is Robin Quarters, how might I make your life better for you.”
“Robin, this is Frederick Nichols. I was wondering if my partner, Martin Dimes, and I might meet with you and your brothers, some time this week or early next week.”
The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening. Then laughter rose to a level that was overwhelming.
“Robin, did you hear me?” I asked.
“Hear you? Yes. Do I want to talk to you. Not on your life.”
“But Robin, I have a proposal I’d like to share with you.”
“Unless you’re asking for my daughters hand in marriage, I’m not interested. I’ve been waiting for this call, so I could treat you with the disrespect you’ve given my brothers and me for years. And now that miserable treatment is going to cost you.”
“But . . .”
“You’re a day late and a ‘dollar’ short. And, the ‘buck’ stops here. May you do well in your economic hell. Good-bye, my friend.”
The line went dead. Stunned by Quarters’ response, I stared at Dimes, with a blank expression on my face, and whimpered, “This doesn’t make any cents.”
Copyright © 2025 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
Getting old is hard to do, especially when it involves the changes taking place in technology. Sometimes these make my head spin.
On my 80th birthday, I received a gift I had not expected. Was I ready for this . . .
Change In My Life
As a poet, writer, and playwright, I’m dependent on my computer
to make my words come alive.
However, my computer is aging faster than I am and this is compromising
my hard drive.
My son, a computer expert, has been after me to buy a new Mac mini,
paired with a 27” screen.
Being comfortable with what I have and somewhat resistant to change,
about his idea, I have not been too keen.
Two days before my 80th birthday on the July 13, 2024, I told him I would
think about his proposal and let him know when and if I was ready
to proceed.
Not overly happy with my answer, he said, “That is your choice, but with
the changes coming in software, a new computer is what you need.”
That weekend, my son and his wife and my daughter and two of my
grandsons, one with a friend, came to spend the weekend with my
wife and me.
We brought in dinner on Friday evening, met Saturday at 2 pm at an
axe throwing shop, and then came back to my house before dinner
to party.
When we were all settled in on the living room couches, I was presented
with birthday cards to read and a small box was placed on the coffee
table in front of me.
I looked at my family staring in my direction, with smiles on their faces,
waiting for me to open the wrapped box—my present to see.
My hesitation perplexed them and, in unison, they spoke, “Are you
going to open it? We have to go to dinner soon—a twenty-minute ride.
I pulled the box toward me. It was heavier than expected and began
to unwrap it to discover what was inside.
To my surprise, a Mac mini danced in front of me causing me to smile
and shake at the same time, as I envisioned the changes in my
computer life I’d have to make.
Then a large box followed, with a 27” screen inside, and my heart beat
out of control, hoping this wasn’t a mistake.
I thanked my family for the wonderful gift and told my son to put his life
on hold, as he probably would be speaking to me every day to help
me adjust to my new technical change.
Since all of my software also has been updated, it makes my had spin,
in a world I find quite strange.
Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
