Vincent Lowry's Blog - Posts Tagged "2012"
The Orchid Lei
She carries Hawaii with her
In a secret purse
Decorated with flowers
And filled with magic.
That bag is within reach at all times
For her to open
And capture some island wonder
To add to her day.
It could be a rolling wave
Locked in her memory
From when she was a kid
Building castles on the beach.
Or perhaps it's a sunny ray
That comes to her mind
While she sits in a long meeting
And dreams of her family and home.
How unique it must be
To have that gift
And be able to transform any situation
Into instant paradise.
On my first date with her
I hope she shows me a glimpse of that magic
So I can see the lei she creates
When looking at the orchid in her hands.
(c) 2012 Vincent Lowry
In a secret purse
Decorated with flowers
And filled with magic.
That bag is within reach at all times
For her to open
And capture some island wonder
To add to her day.
It could be a rolling wave
Locked in her memory
From when she was a kid
Building castles on the beach.
Or perhaps it's a sunny ray
That comes to her mind
While she sits in a long meeting
And dreams of her family and home.
How unique it must be
To have that gift
And be able to transform any situation
Into instant paradise.
On my first date with her
I hope she shows me a glimpse of that magic
So I can see the lei she creates
When looking at the orchid in her hands.
(c) 2012 Vincent Lowry
Dreams
Only one thing supersedes the importance of thinking about a better tomorrow. It's taking action today.
-VL
-VL
By Your Side
I will be here
Even if you ask me to go
To run
To find another
And live anew in the Sun's embrace.
This is my place
In this leg of our journey together,
Where our beats create a unified rhythm
For our soaring spirits.
I desire none other.
I have a thousand blessings
Upon the foundation we forged
With countless memories.
Know that you are mine.
That I am eternally yours.
And that love did indeed conquer all.
What comes next for us, my dear?
Can you see it?
(c) 2012 by Vincent Lowry
Even if you ask me to go
To run
To find another
And live anew in the Sun's embrace.
This is my place
In this leg of our journey together,
Where our beats create a unified rhythm
For our soaring spirits.
I desire none other.
I have a thousand blessings
Upon the foundation we forged
With countless memories.
Know that you are mine.
That I am eternally yours.
And that love did indeed conquer all.
What comes next for us, my dear?
Can you see it?
(c) 2012 by Vincent Lowry
Family of Six
The first room is closest to mine
And it usually has one parent,
But it used to have two.
The next room is down the hallway,
Past cabinets holding
Supplies, photo albums, holiday decorations.
It too is empty
With weights sinking into the carpet
And karate trophies kicking on shelves.
The next door down was often closed
When I wanted to enter it most.
But now it's open and walking in doesn't hold
The same excitement it once did.
Light pours through glass
And spills onto an untouched bed.
The final room holds silence inside the closet,
Stillness beside the dresser,
And the last member of a family of six.
I hear the air conditioning turn on.
(c) 2012 by Vincent Lowry
And it usually has one parent,
But it used to have two.
The next room is down the hallway,
Past cabinets holding
Supplies, photo albums, holiday decorations.
It too is empty
With weights sinking into the carpet
And karate trophies kicking on shelves.
The next door down was often closed
When I wanted to enter it most.
But now it's open and walking in doesn't hold
The same excitement it once did.
Light pours through glass
And spills onto an untouched bed.
The final room holds silence inside the closet,
Stillness beside the dresser,
And the last member of a family of six.
I hear the air conditioning turn on.
(c) 2012 by Vincent Lowry
Gift Your Love
Do not concern yourself with
What you will get back.
Reach inside and find
The love you were meant to
Wrap in a perfect bow and take joy
In seeing others open it.
Know that it lights their soul
On the pit of all nights.
It shades their heart
On the fury of all days.
Witness the smiles you receive,
The laughter that floods your ears,
And take pride that hate, jealousy, sorrow, and pain are buried
Under all that torn decorative paper.
(C) 2012 by Vincent Lowry
What you will get back.
Reach inside and find
The love you were meant to
Wrap in a perfect bow and take joy
In seeing others open it.
Know that it lights their soul
On the pit of all nights.
It shades their heart
On the fury of all days.
Witness the smiles you receive,
The laughter that floods your ears,
And take pride that hate, jealousy, sorrow, and pain are buried
Under all that torn decorative paper.
(C) 2012 by Vincent Lowry
Absorbed
Once upon a time
Strangers on the street
Would tip their hats
To ladies and say
Good day or just ma'am
Or simply form crescents with their
Lips to show their respect.
And not long ago
A lunch or dinner
Meant conversation,
A meeting of the eyes,
A genuine interest in another's day.
But technology brought
Too many people
To the table,
And who would want to greet a stranger
When a friend was just a "send" away,
The text soaring at the speed of light
To find its eventual home
In someone's pocket or purse,
Or when the next advance comes out,
Right in that person's head,
Beamed there like magic.
And yet here I am, absorbed like the rest,
Writing this poem on my iPad
While my son gets a haircut
From a woman
I failed to acknowledge properly.
(c) 2012 by Vincent Lowry
Strangers on the street
Would tip their hats
To ladies and say
Good day or just ma'am
Or simply form crescents with their
Lips to show their respect.
And not long ago
A lunch or dinner
Meant conversation,
A meeting of the eyes,
A genuine interest in another's day.
But technology brought
Too many people
To the table,
And who would want to greet a stranger
When a friend was just a "send" away,
The text soaring at the speed of light
To find its eventual home
In someone's pocket or purse,
Or when the next advance comes out,
Right in that person's head,
Beamed there like magic.
And yet here I am, absorbed like the rest,
Writing this poem on my iPad
While my son gets a haircut
From a woman
I failed to acknowledge properly.
(c) 2012 by Vincent Lowry
Comparing Your Beauty
It's like a late afternoon
Amble alongside the coast,
The clouds billowing orange and purple
In the Sun's fading rays,
The ocean spreading out over
An endless horizon like a rippled mirror,
Marking the passage of time with
Each touch upon the shore.
Or I could turn to Taos Mountain,
Where a storm of stars press down
Upon one's gaze like a jealous lover
Demanding the attention of her mate,
Her dress flowing with a thousand galaxies
As she swirls across the ballroom of the universe.
Perhaps it's here in this very garden,
Smaller but no less striking:
The golden grape beaded with rain
So pure it seems wrong to touch it
And destroy nature's masterpiece;
The white Callie Lilly that greets each
Day with an open embrace,
Silently whispering to savor each second
Upon this mortal land
As if it were the only heaven we'd see.
Link your hand with mine
And let my words dissolve in the presence
Of your beauty.
As a poet,
I bow in homage when bested:
There really is no comparison.
(c) 2012 by Vincent Lowry
Amble alongside the coast,
The clouds billowing orange and purple
In the Sun's fading rays,
The ocean spreading out over
An endless horizon like a rippled mirror,
Marking the passage of time with
Each touch upon the shore.
Or I could turn to Taos Mountain,
Where a storm of stars press down
Upon one's gaze like a jealous lover
Demanding the attention of her mate,
Her dress flowing with a thousand galaxies
As she swirls across the ballroom of the universe.
Perhaps it's here in this very garden,
Smaller but no less striking:
The golden grape beaded with rain
So pure it seems wrong to touch it
And destroy nature's masterpiece;
The white Callie Lilly that greets each
Day with an open embrace,
Silently whispering to savor each second
Upon this mortal land
As if it were the only heaven we'd see.
Link your hand with mine
And let my words dissolve in the presence
Of your beauty.
As a poet,
I bow in homage when bested:
There really is no comparison.
(c) 2012 by Vincent Lowry
Dreaming of The Big Easy
I suppose it’s a strange thing
to say I miss the smell of the streetcar
brakes during those late afternoon strolls
down St. Charles, the Victorian mansions
pressing against trees laced with
beads of Mardi Gras past.
The odor wasn’t particularly pleasant,
but neither was the heavy heat
during those sluggish August months,
a memory that now summons
pleasurable images of strawberry daiquiris
dripping icy condensation between my fingers
while barges inch down Mark Twain’s muse.
And if I follow my nose,
I will surely find a mountain of crawfish, corn,
and red potatoes atop a checkered table,
frosted mugs of Abita and Dixie standing guard
at either side of the feast.
I choose to finish this poem as that aroma
wafts through my mind,
firmly transporting my heart back
to The Big Easy,
the city where the purest love
bested a woman named Katrina.
to say I miss the smell of the streetcar
brakes during those late afternoon strolls
down St. Charles, the Victorian mansions
pressing against trees laced with
beads of Mardi Gras past.
The odor wasn’t particularly pleasant,
but neither was the heavy heat
during those sluggish August months,
a memory that now summons
pleasurable images of strawberry daiquiris
dripping icy condensation between my fingers
while barges inch down Mark Twain’s muse.
And if I follow my nose,
I will surely find a mountain of crawfish, corn,
and red potatoes atop a checkered table,
frosted mugs of Abita and Dixie standing guard
at either side of the feast.
I choose to finish this poem as that aroma
wafts through my mind,
firmly transporting my heart back
to The Big Easy,
the city where the purest love
bested a woman named Katrina.
Forgiveness
When the pain
lingers in your heart’s core
and every ill memory
channels through the
web of your veins,
spreading the ache
like a drop of poison
into a clear chalice,
know that forgiveness
will knock on your door.
It is an unwanted visitor,
a salesman at the worst hour,
sporting a plaid suit and plastic smile,
and repeating lines you’ve
already heard and ignored.
You may wave him off
or curse at his persistence,
but the knocks will continue
upon every new sun,
the sound echoing
between your ears
until you face
the wrong that weighs
on your spirit.
Absolve your transgressor
and begin anew
with the journey that awaits.
Remember that vengeance is a detour,
callousness a dead-end,
and the street marked love is the path best taken.
(c) 2012 by Vincent Lowry
lingers in your heart’s core
and every ill memory
channels through the
web of your veins,
spreading the ache
like a drop of poison
into a clear chalice,
know that forgiveness
will knock on your door.
It is an unwanted visitor,
a salesman at the worst hour,
sporting a plaid suit and plastic smile,
and repeating lines you’ve
already heard and ignored.
You may wave him off
or curse at his persistence,
but the knocks will continue
upon every new sun,
the sound echoing
between your ears
until you face
the wrong that weighs
on your spirit.
Absolve your transgressor
and begin anew
with the journey that awaits.
Remember that vengeance is a detour,
callousness a dead-end,
and the street marked love is the path best taken.
(c) 2012 by Vincent Lowry
Time
You could say time is nothing more
than just the constant circling of
hands on a clock,
a way for us to measure the day
as it dips in and out of light.
But it’s much more than that, isn’t it?
Its hold on our lives and thoughts
is as strong and relentless as the vacuum of gravity.
You need only to ask yourself how often
you’ve glanced at the hour today,
and whether that result made you anxious
about your late arrival,
or ecstatic about the flight
returning a friend from a distant place
remembered in months or years.
Its force stirs instant emotions,
transforming pictures into images of lost
love and youth,
and vacant houses
into symbols of yesterday’s lives and dreams.
It thrusts us into our world,
first aging the universe 13 billion years,
then ushers us out, bent and withered,
after barely eighty trips
around our own aged star.
And what precisely is our hold on it?
With our creams, our dyes, our surgeries,
our toys, our distractions?
Do we have a firm handle on time’s reins,
pulling it in with our meticulous measurements of the present,
counting the seconds and minutes with haughty confidence,
yet still feeling the reins slip away
as we remain in ignorance about its ancient beginning,
its unforeseeable future,
and our mysterious and brief place riding in its saddle.
By Vincent Lowry - October 18, 2012 - 1:07:21 PM
than just the constant circling of
hands on a clock,
a way for us to measure the day
as it dips in and out of light.
But it’s much more than that, isn’t it?
Its hold on our lives and thoughts
is as strong and relentless as the vacuum of gravity.
You need only to ask yourself how often
you’ve glanced at the hour today,
and whether that result made you anxious
about your late arrival,
or ecstatic about the flight
returning a friend from a distant place
remembered in months or years.
Its force stirs instant emotions,
transforming pictures into images of lost
love and youth,
and vacant houses
into symbols of yesterday’s lives and dreams.
It thrusts us into our world,
first aging the universe 13 billion years,
then ushers us out, bent and withered,
after barely eighty trips
around our own aged star.
And what precisely is our hold on it?
With our creams, our dyes, our surgeries,
our toys, our distractions?
Do we have a firm handle on time’s reins,
pulling it in with our meticulous measurements of the present,
counting the seconds and minutes with haughty confidence,
yet still feeling the reins slip away
as we remain in ignorance about its ancient beginning,
its unforeseeable future,
and our mysterious and brief place riding in its saddle.
By Vincent Lowry - October 18, 2012 - 1:07:21 PM
