Middle Island Press

publishing services for the love of all things literary

   Aug 02

–Cold Case Cowboys

Cold Case Cowboys: Savings Options

Cold Case Cowboys (2013)
ISBN 978-1-4675-8450-0
by Jack Phillips Lowe

Suitably irreverent, laugh-’til-you-cry humorous, this cowboy collection insinuates the narrative voice of classic Western movies and novels as the poet tells his tales of an Old Western soul colliding with modern circumstances. 43 pages.

Back Cover Reviews:

“Lowe is a poet in touch with people and the realities of the human condition. His poems are a mirror of the roads and streets. . .and deliver a sharable human experience which is what a capable poet can do.” —Ray Foreman, editor, Clark Street Review

“Jack Phillips Lowe writes narrative poetry with a contemporary consciousness and soul. His introspection is rare, and to have his work in book form is to have a literary surprise package, and treat.” —Gene McCormick, author, An Ice Axe at Dusk

“Lowe displays a remarkable talent to capture a situation with a minimum of words. . .” —Maurice Williams, reviewer, bookideas.com

(A browse upon pages 9 and 16…)


I used to see a psychologist
twice a month.
He’d promised to help me
resolve my “issues.”

I used to pour out
my heart and soul to him.
The psychologist, for the most part,
just sat and listened.
Occasionally, I’d ask him
if I was making any progress.
“Do you think you’re making progress?”
was his standard reply.

After a while, the psychologist
started dozing off during my sessions.
I’d have to nudge him awake with my foot.
This happened four or five times.

After the fifth time, I quit seeing this doctor.
If my issues were dull enough
to lull him to sleep,
I figured I must be cured.


Laura and David Clawson spend the night
in adjoining rooms a world apart.
She’s in the living room, Facebooking on her first iPhone
which she bought after saving six months for it.
He’s in the kitchen reading a biography
of Mabel Normand, the silent film funnygirl.

David isn’t a fast reader,
but he burns like a fuse through this book.
To him, Mabel seems like a lost friend found.
David learns that the comely Ms. Normand
was a sharp feminist battling in a man’s business—
armed with a tongue that was even sharper.
Mabel ate ice cream for breakfast,
made and spent money by the truckload
and used men like sticks of Doublemint gum.
Rock & Roll before rock was invented,
Mabel even managed to check out by age 40,
just a heartbeat before soundies arrived.

For half a minute, David wants to go in
and tell Laura all he’d read.
Learning was a joy they once shared.
Then David recalls the monster mask
Laura made of her face
whenever he interrupted her surfing.
Without lifting her eyes from the screen,
Laura would grunt, “WTF?”
cutting her man off at the knees.
David neither understood nor responded;
Web was a language he never could speak.

Instead, David decides to say nothing.
He goes to the fridge and scoops himself
a dish of chocolate ice cream.
He takes it to the kitchen table
and pretends he’s sharing it with Mabel.
There, they sit and David tells Mabel
everything he read about her that night.
The flickering black & white beauty listens closely,
smiling through a free-and-easy expression.
Mabel doesn’t say “WTF?”
In fact, she says nothing at all.

(This title will soon be available through the Middle Island Press website and Amazon.com.)

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