Bio
H.L. Dowless is a prolific American author and educator whose literary voice resonates across borders and genres. With over thirty-five years of writing experience, Dowless has carved a reflective, and often unrhymed resume which captures the grit and grace of everyday life, while his fiction explores the edges of society and the depths of character.
Beyond the page, Dowless is an adventurer at heart. He thrives in the great outdoors, engaging in big game hunting, camping, fishing, and archaeological fieldwork in exotic locales. Whether cruising the high seas or trekking through remote landscapes, he finds inspiration in the people he meets and the stories they share.
His distinctive niche is in both fiction and nonfiction, publishing with respected houses such as Algora Publishing and Atmosphere Press. His work spans poetry, short stories, and novels, appearing in outlets like Leaves of Ink, CC&D Magazine, Short Story Lovers, The Fear of Monkeys, and Frontier Tales.
Trigger Warning
We’re all suddenly thrust onto a narrow dirt road
We never chose.
From day one
We have no choice but to move forward;
Straight forth,
Direct,
Into a solid wall of total darkness.
The signs guiding us at best only tell a partial truth,
If they bear any truth at all.
No matter the gathering dark clouds,
The rains,
The thunder
And dangerous slashing lightning,
Ahead we are compelled to move.
There is no hiding,
No taking cover,
No immune slicker,
No protecting shelter,
No turning back.
We bear no alternative choice
But to move another step
Into the hammering rain,
The howling cold wind,
The blinding snow,
Ever forward we are compelled to go.
Too often many fantasize
They walk on a road bricked in gold.
These people visualize
Themselves dwelling inside some great OZ of success,
Sitting high up on a dazzling emerald throne,
With their arm around the wonderful wizard himself!
The real truth is
They still trudge forward along on this same narrow
Two rut dirt road.
Forward we all move,
Up and down,
Sunshine and rain,
No stumble or trip,
Ahead we are still compelled to move
Just the same.
Finally
We all tire from our walk,
If this journey doesn’t end way to soon;
We eventually wear out,
We slowly,
Sometimes painfully,
Waste away until we drop.
No matter if we take the high mountain road,
Or plod along through the valleys,
There is no true luxury train,
No elevating salvation plane,
This mysterious unsettling end
Is still the same.
Who sits out there for us to blame?