Vincent Lowry's Blog - Posts Tagged "2015"
Stardust
We are flesh sculpted to cosmic bones,
restless eyes hunting answers in constellations long since vanished.
We are energy immortal,
atom time capsules sailing the winds of gravity,
tossed in waves of space-time.
We are aged white dwarfs,
giant hypernova,
newborn suns upon a dewy morning vine.
We are the destined few,
genes that out-raced, out-thought, out-willed, out-lived.
We are captains of consciousness,
trustees of life evolved,
key holders to a billion year fund.
We are light made physical,
angels long before death,
the triumph of a universe born blind.
Our time is short to see and shine.
restless eyes hunting answers in constellations long since vanished.
We are energy immortal,
atom time capsules sailing the winds of gravity,
tossed in waves of space-time.
We are aged white dwarfs,
giant hypernova,
newborn suns upon a dewy morning vine.
We are the destined few,
genes that out-raced, out-thought, out-willed, out-lived.
We are captains of consciousness,
trustees of life evolved,
key holders to a billion year fund.
We are light made physical,
angels long before death,
the triumph of a universe born blind.
Our time is short to see and shine.
Vessel of Love
The tide of tomorrow rolls hidden,
and the current of seasons past
cannot mirror the wind
feeding our sail.
Our charted waters flow in the moment,
and so too must the vessel of our love,
holding unwavering faith in the Northern Star
upon every test of a fickle sea.
Let each rippled sunrise breathe appreciation
for our days made anew,
and let our hearts remain forever tethered together,
navigating as one in the embrace of a moon's glow.
(c) 2015 by Vincent Lowry
and the current of seasons past
cannot mirror the wind
feeding our sail.
Our charted waters flow in the moment,
and so too must the vessel of our love,
holding unwavering faith in the Northern Star
upon every test of a fickle sea.
Let each rippled sunrise breathe appreciation
for our days made anew,
and let our hearts remain forever tethered together,
navigating as one in the embrace of a moon's glow.
(c) 2015 by Vincent Lowry
For Bob
Wife and two kids.
A quote that he knew
the difference between
a life of importance
and a life of significance.
Some old photos of college days.
New Orleans before Katrina.
Drinks with friends
who remained in touch
or drifted away on life's tide.
Fill me up with love.
I hear the music
and I cannot help but wonder
about the meaning of the loss.
Am I supposed to learn a lesson,
or is the lesson for others?
Sometimes I think I'm reading a book
that's written in a different language,
and I really don't know the story at all.
Wife and two kids.
That's what brings it into focus.
That's what makes me consider the reason
of a life denied its rightful length.
And it forces my mind to corners of the Earth
where pain is ever-present,
where struggle for survival
is far beyond what I can imagine,
and sadly beyond my daily recognition of it.
We lost you this month, friend.
We lost others, too.
Godspeed to those who remain
on this blue miracle in space,
seeking lives of significance.
(c) 2015 by Vincent Lowry
A quote that he knew
the difference between
a life of importance
and a life of significance.
Some old photos of college days.
New Orleans before Katrina.
Drinks with friends
who remained in touch
or drifted away on life's tide.
Fill me up with love.
I hear the music
and I cannot help but wonder
about the meaning of the loss.
Am I supposed to learn a lesson,
or is the lesson for others?
Sometimes I think I'm reading a book
that's written in a different language,
and I really don't know the story at all.
Wife and two kids.
That's what brings it into focus.
That's what makes me consider the reason
of a life denied its rightful length.
And it forces my mind to corners of the Earth
where pain is ever-present,
where struggle for survival
is far beyond what I can imagine,
and sadly beyond my daily recognition of it.
We lost you this month, friend.
We lost others, too.
Godspeed to those who remain
on this blue miracle in space,
seeking lives of significance.
(c) 2015 by Vincent Lowry
Golden State Cafe
We shared a mutual amazement
at the line that clogged the entrance
to our café,
the bodies pressed together like
a vibrant snake.
The sun, directly overhead,
made its presence known
as noon rays baked tables, chairs,
and umbrellas in a manner
more befitting of summer than fall.
Like most patrons,
we sought the comfort of cover,
of any shadow that would shield
us from our living star,
a refuge from the heart
of the day.
I had a water with ice.
You passed on tea and coffee.
And there we sat at the back, in shade,
as an ordinary Sunday day in 2015
left another crack in thirsty California.
(c) 2015 by Vincent Lowry
at the line that clogged the entrance
to our café,
the bodies pressed together like
a vibrant snake.
The sun, directly overhead,
made its presence known
as noon rays baked tables, chairs,
and umbrellas in a manner
more befitting of summer than fall.
Like most patrons,
we sought the comfort of cover,
of any shadow that would shield
us from our living star,
a refuge from the heart
of the day.
I had a water with ice.
You passed on tea and coffee.
And there we sat at the back, in shade,
as an ordinary Sunday day in 2015
left another crack in thirsty California.
(c) 2015 by Vincent Lowry
Cafe Orleans
Maybe it was the taste
of a Mint Julep
that washed ashore
on the distant coast of a forgotten memory.
Maybe it was the strumming
of a bass guitar,
fast on the heels of a clarinet
that refreshed faces
not seen in seasons.
Two cities became one.
Somehow St. Charles isn't far
from the Mark Twain,
and the smell of hotdogs,
on this autumn afternoon,
fits Cafe Orleans as much
as does for a street named Bourbon.
Painting today:
a wary mother waits with her son,
teenage girls pose for
a series of selfies and then stop smiling,
a father reads a menu aloud
to an adopted son in his arms,
a restaurant manager passes a hand
through the fading remains of his hair,
an elderly couple study store signs,
and a father writes a poem while waiting
for a child who came into the world
9 years to the date.
No need to paint yesterday.
Not anymore.
The ink on that canvas is baked dry.
This is all that matters.
The Mint Julep,
the bass guitar,
the clarinet of now.
(C) 2015 by Vincent Lowry
of a Mint Julep
that washed ashore
on the distant coast of a forgotten memory.
Maybe it was the strumming
of a bass guitar,
fast on the heels of a clarinet
that refreshed faces
not seen in seasons.
Two cities became one.
Somehow St. Charles isn't far
from the Mark Twain,
and the smell of hotdogs,
on this autumn afternoon,
fits Cafe Orleans as much
as does for a street named Bourbon.
Painting today:
a wary mother waits with her son,
teenage girls pose for
a series of selfies and then stop smiling,
a father reads a menu aloud
to an adopted son in his arms,
a restaurant manager passes a hand
through the fading remains of his hair,
an elderly couple study store signs,
and a father writes a poem while waiting
for a child who came into the world
9 years to the date.
No need to paint yesterday.
Not anymore.
The ink on that canvas is baked dry.
This is all that matters.
The Mint Julep,
the bass guitar,
the clarinet of now.
(C) 2015 by Vincent Lowry
Beautiful Beacon
When I dive deep in the heavens,
swimming in the constellations of our birth,
I see endless rays of love.
Do you not see it?
Feel it?
The order that binds?
The circle that has always been and always will be?
Dive with me, dear.
Ever deeper in this wondrous abyss.
Following the light of our shared star.
One was made just for us.
Did you know that?
That star forever belongs to you and I.
Our beautiful beacon.
(c) 2015 by Vincent Lowry
swimming in the constellations of our birth,
I see endless rays of love.
Do you not see it?
Feel it?
The order that binds?
The circle that has always been and always will be?
Dive with me, dear.
Ever deeper in this wondrous abyss.
Following the light of our shared star.
One was made just for us.
Did you know that?
That star forever belongs to you and I.
Our beautiful beacon.
(c) 2015 by Vincent Lowry
