Vincent Lowry's Blog, page 6
January 10, 2014
New Book - Surfing the Seconds
I'm happy to report that my newest book, Surfing the Seconds, is now out! I hope you'll add it to your reading shelf; I'm sure you'll enjoy it!
Surfing the Seconds
=)
-Vince
Surfing the Seconds
=)
-Vince
December 4, 2013
Finding a Way
You can compare it
to a lone Soaptree Yucca,
dune perched,
roots stretching into the earth
for rare drops of nourishment,
liquid treasure from a pregnant cloud.
You can turn to water itself,
seeping through cracks thought sealed,
boring through rock mountain high,
carving canyon cathedrals in its wake.
Even the air will suffice.
Drown it with a bag and watch its grand escape,
first slipping through holes unseen,
then rising to the surface
to rejoin its rightful place,
free between ocean and stars.
Such is the temple of the universe, a timeless, unbending order.
And this is true of love.
That a heart, once lost, shall discover its path again,
choosing the same holes,
slipping between the same unseen cracks.
You will not know its route, nor its hour of arrival.
But love will find a way back to you.
(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
to a lone Soaptree Yucca,
dune perched,
roots stretching into the earth
for rare drops of nourishment,
liquid treasure from a pregnant cloud.
You can turn to water itself,
seeping through cracks thought sealed,
boring through rock mountain high,
carving canyon cathedrals in its wake.
Even the air will suffice.
Drown it with a bag and watch its grand escape,
first slipping through holes unseen,
then rising to the surface
to rejoin its rightful place,
free between ocean and stars.
Such is the temple of the universe, a timeless, unbending order.
And this is true of love.
That a heart, once lost, shall discover its path again,
choosing the same holes,
slipping between the same unseen cracks.
You will not know its route, nor its hour of arrival.
But love will find a way back to you.
(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
October 29, 2013
Photography Slide Show
I took a little time to create this slide show of some of the fine art pictures I've taken over the past few years. I hope viewers will enjoy it.
:)
Link:
http://youtu.be/QKOPP4kIGLc
:)
Link:
http://youtu.be/QKOPP4kIGLc
October 8, 2013
Letting Go
I know not why our spirits were pierced
and hurriedly tied together
when there were countless other prospects,
a field of blooming combinations,
each petal bending toward the guarded light.
And my ignorance is king
when I stop to ponder how
our rope unraveled
and dropped us back into a world
where the spring of man
had sprouted between the cracks
and taken hold on these shifting walls.
Doesn't that kiss belong to us?
The one lovers stamp on each other
when gazing at the Pacific from our
shadow on the pier?
Isn't that laughter echoing from the heights
of the Ferris wheel a product of theft,
wrongfully lifted from our lungs
and jubilantly exhaled from a couple
too young to recognize their cruel display
of blindness and indifference?
To get to the marrow of it,
we need only to witness the dancers to our song.
Oh how their feet drift on the wings
of united hearts...all while
our unfaithful tune plays on without end
or remorse for any ex-lovers who cross her path.
The broken ones feel our ache.
They too remember the beats and chords
that swept them from life's struggles,
and into the arms of an infinite domain.
There were no boundaries in that heaven.
No gates. No doors. No eyes save the
pair that had fixed onto their vulnerable core.
I miss those eyes.
I wonder where they went, why they fled,
and what they see now?
Are they in my same industry,
the business of washing memories?
Of letting go?
(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
and hurriedly tied together
when there were countless other prospects,
a field of blooming combinations,
each petal bending toward the guarded light.
And my ignorance is king
when I stop to ponder how
our rope unraveled
and dropped us back into a world
where the spring of man
had sprouted between the cracks
and taken hold on these shifting walls.
Doesn't that kiss belong to us?
The one lovers stamp on each other
when gazing at the Pacific from our
shadow on the pier?
Isn't that laughter echoing from the heights
of the Ferris wheel a product of theft,
wrongfully lifted from our lungs
and jubilantly exhaled from a couple
too young to recognize their cruel display
of blindness and indifference?
To get to the marrow of it,
we need only to witness the dancers to our song.
Oh how their feet drift on the wings
of united hearts...all while
our unfaithful tune plays on without end
or remorse for any ex-lovers who cross her path.
The broken ones feel our ache.
They too remember the beats and chords
that swept them from life's struggles,
and into the arms of an infinite domain.
There were no boundaries in that heaven.
No gates. No doors. No eyes save the
pair that had fixed onto their vulnerable core.
I miss those eyes.
I wonder where they went, why they fled,
and what they see now?
Are they in my same industry,
the business of washing memories?
Of letting go?
(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
October 6, 2013
Lucky as Hell
Maybe it takes a row
through the darkest rivers of your soul
to discover the purest truth
of life's hand.
If water was within reach
and at your command at all times...
If its clarity was like liquid glass,
free of poisons, abundant in flow.
If food stood from toe to head
at a grocery that was just breaths away...
If produce spread before you in a rainbow,
and the hardest decisions were one of choice, not necessity.
If a ceiling shielded your brow from the sun's rays
and diverted the rain to your tended gardens...
If you had a small castle to call your own,
a bed that welcomed a theater of dreams...
If your special evenings were filled with family,
your ordinary days with friends...
If you had at least one person to pour your spirit into,
and had them do the same in return...
If war was an unwelcomed visitor in your neighborhood,
and so too were intolerance and violence...
If trees laid shadows on your streets,
and grass carpeted your yards.
If the laughter of children graced your ears,
and also the occasional whimpering of bruised elbows...
If music's grand jukebox was just a click away,
and the words of authors and poets the world over.
What would you call your life?
(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
through the darkest rivers of your soul
to discover the purest truth
of life's hand.
If water was within reach
and at your command at all times...
If its clarity was like liquid glass,
free of poisons, abundant in flow.
If food stood from toe to head
at a grocery that was just breaths away...
If produce spread before you in a rainbow,
and the hardest decisions were one of choice, not necessity.
If a ceiling shielded your brow from the sun's rays
and diverted the rain to your tended gardens...
If you had a small castle to call your own,
a bed that welcomed a theater of dreams...
If your special evenings were filled with family,
your ordinary days with friends...
If you had at least one person to pour your spirit into,
and had them do the same in return...
If war was an unwelcomed visitor in your neighborhood,
and so too were intolerance and violence...
If trees laid shadows on your streets,
and grass carpeted your yards.
If the laughter of children graced your ears,
and also the occasional whimpering of bruised elbows...
If music's grand jukebox was just a click away,
and the words of authors and poets the world over.
What would you call your life?
(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
September 4, 2013
Rowena River House
The wind represented time.
I didn't understand the connection
when my bones were still stretching,
when the road ahead
far exceeded the path already taken.
The gusts never slept,
not with my shadow,
not under the watchful gleaming eyes
of a spying universe.
Gales funneled through the gorge,
swiftly west to east,
as if fleeing the ocean's parental
scolding and inevitable punishment.
Was each breath beside the river house
one day caught in the sails of
the gorge surfers?
Or ten years compressed into the memory of a day?
How is it so many sunrises
were blown like clouds from the
horizon, and countless sunsets were
absorbed by these waters?
I know this breeze,
welcoming my overdue return,
holds the answer.
It finds me on the deck,
sitting with friends who
echo the same questions.
We stare at a new generation
on the river, their voices and laughter
muffled by distance.
Soon it will be dinner,
then dreams.
And the wind of tomorrow and yesterday.
(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
I didn't understand the connection
when my bones were still stretching,
when the road ahead
far exceeded the path already taken.
The gusts never slept,
not with my shadow,
not under the watchful gleaming eyes
of a spying universe.
Gales funneled through the gorge,
swiftly west to east,
as if fleeing the ocean's parental
scolding and inevitable punishment.
Was each breath beside the river house
one day caught in the sails of
the gorge surfers?
Or ten years compressed into the memory of a day?
How is it so many sunrises
were blown like clouds from the
horizon, and countless sunsets were
absorbed by these waters?
I know this breeze,
welcoming my overdue return,
holds the answer.
It finds me on the deck,
sitting with friends who
echo the same questions.
We stare at a new generation
on the river, their voices and laughter
muffled by distance.
Soon it will be dinner,
then dreams.
And the wind of tomorrow and yesterday.
(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
August 7, 2013
Night
Make us kids once again.
Smooth these wrinkles
with your starry wonder,
the magic of the unseen.
Erase the scars of days
piled too high to summit,
of memories best
left in the penetrating light.
Return the love of possibility,
the hidden forest that beckons our heart,
the black sea that holds a hundred treasures,
a thousand journeys.
Let one star die on the horizon
so that the birth of countless
suns may be born in our eyes,
flickering dreams yet to be.
Conceal what is known.
Blur what is clear.
And when day catches us again,
let our eyes be closed in a moonlight bliss.
Smooth these wrinkles
with your starry wonder,
the magic of the unseen.
Erase the scars of days
piled too high to summit,
of memories best
left in the penetrating light.
Return the love of possibility,
the hidden forest that beckons our heart,
the black sea that holds a hundred treasures,
a thousand journeys.
Let one star die on the horizon
so that the birth of countless
suns may be born in our eyes,
flickering dreams yet to be.
Conceal what is known.
Blur what is clear.
And when day catches us again,
let our eyes be closed in a moonlight bliss.
June 24, 2013
Memory Lane
Was there ever a street
named Memory Lane?
If so, was it filled
with classic cars
humming lyrics for lovers
as it twisted and bobbed
past golden Aspens
and blooming Orchards?
Did the road commence
at the foot of a black and white
drive-thru, where teenage passions
spilled forth in rivers as wild
as newborn dreams?
And where exactly did the lane end?
Was it when the dreamy
neighborhood became real estate?
When the summer patios and grassy yards
became deserted and unfamiliar?
When kissing stops became
just another intersection to wait out a light?
But perhaps there was no getting on or off at all.
Every boulevard, avenue, ramp…
all memory lanes through the city of
a mind in constant construction.
We should park this poem right here,
in the shade of this beautiful Orchard.
(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
named Memory Lane?
If so, was it filled
with classic cars
humming lyrics for lovers
as it twisted and bobbed
past golden Aspens
and blooming Orchards?
Did the road commence
at the foot of a black and white
drive-thru, where teenage passions
spilled forth in rivers as wild
as newborn dreams?
And where exactly did the lane end?
Was it when the dreamy
neighborhood became real estate?
When the summer patios and grassy yards
became deserted and unfamiliar?
When kissing stops became
just another intersection to wait out a light?
But perhaps there was no getting on or off at all.
Every boulevard, avenue, ramp…
all memory lanes through the city of
a mind in constant construction.
We should park this poem right here,
in the shade of this beautiful Orchard.
(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
May 30, 2013
Sax on the Summit
Our spirits linked some 7,000 feet,
the edge of the world,
nature’s mountain of harmony.
A safety railing
stood as a reminder
of society’s rules,
of laws that had
carved this land
and sold its beauty.
Without hesitation,
over the rail he went,
saxophone in hand,
heart on lips.
When music poured forth
and filled my core with courage,
I followed his journey
to experience how this summit
once looked untouched.
The wind hit my face anew,
crisp and pure as a winter stream.
I saw the mist on the hills,
a white veil over waves of trees
and wildlife too exotic for
my limited mind to picture.
And the sun.
My goodness, the sun…
An orange ball perched
on the horizon
as if it were a surreal star
from worlds beyond,
somehow looking both unfamiliar
and magnificent in a shared moment.
How could I have not known about
this beauty before?
What railings have I hidden behind?
What rules have I blindly followed?
The man with the sax has no answers,
only music of the soul,
“Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
If you would like to see the picture I captured of this scene, please visit this link: http://vincentlowry.zenfolio.com/p791...
Poem and photo (c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
the edge of the world,
nature’s mountain of harmony.
A safety railing
stood as a reminder
of society’s rules,
of laws that had
carved this land
and sold its beauty.
Without hesitation,
over the rail he went,
saxophone in hand,
heart on lips.
When music poured forth
and filled my core with courage,
I followed his journey
to experience how this summit
once looked untouched.
The wind hit my face anew,
crisp and pure as a winter stream.
I saw the mist on the hills,
a white veil over waves of trees
and wildlife too exotic for
my limited mind to picture.
And the sun.
My goodness, the sun…
An orange ball perched
on the horizon
as if it were a surreal star
from worlds beyond,
somehow looking both unfamiliar
and magnificent in a shared moment.
How could I have not known about
this beauty before?
What railings have I hidden behind?
What rules have I blindly followed?
The man with the sax has no answers,
only music of the soul,
“Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
If you would like to see the picture I captured of this scene, please visit this link: http://vincentlowry.zenfolio.com/p791...
Poem and photo (c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
May 12, 2013
She Loved Us
For Mother's Day :)
She Loved Us
Let a thousand knights raise their swords,
and may the kings of all lands now kneel,
for we are turning poetry's eye on the woman
who poured life into our veins.
She loved us unseen.
A hand rested on her belly
long before light bathed our face,
and that simple touch was one of countless
gestures to show her maternal magic.
She loved us unheard.
Asleep in the cradle,
we never saw her hovering above,
a guardian of our health,
a gatekeeper of our raising.
She loved us standing.
Bruised elbows and knees
led to a whirl of footsteps
in the house she kept,
our timeless childhood castle of wonder.
She loved us tall.
Our bones stretched
in her embrace
as moons chased suns,
and dreams sprouted in youth's garden.
She loved us off.
Other kingdoms beckoned,
and she stood aside to watch
our wings spread
toward the journey on the horizon.
She loved us together.
New lungs were filled
in a new castle of wonder,
and one mother joined another
in a circle as strong as steel.
She loved us eternal.
She stays with us and never parts.
We feel her in the stars that wink at night,
in the breezes that thread our home,
in the gatherings we share as a family.
We love her forevermore.
(C) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
She Loved Us
Let a thousand knights raise their swords,
and may the kings of all lands now kneel,
for we are turning poetry's eye on the woman
who poured life into our veins.
She loved us unseen.
A hand rested on her belly
long before light bathed our face,
and that simple touch was one of countless
gestures to show her maternal magic.
She loved us unheard.
Asleep in the cradle,
we never saw her hovering above,
a guardian of our health,
a gatekeeper of our raising.
She loved us standing.
Bruised elbows and knees
led to a whirl of footsteps
in the house she kept,
our timeless childhood castle of wonder.
She loved us tall.
Our bones stretched
in her embrace
as moons chased suns,
and dreams sprouted in youth's garden.
She loved us off.
Other kingdoms beckoned,
and she stood aside to watch
our wings spread
toward the journey on the horizon.
She loved us together.
New lungs were filled
in a new castle of wonder,
and one mother joined another
in a circle as strong as steel.
She loved us eternal.
She stays with us and never parts.
We feel her in the stars that wink at night,
in the breezes that thread our home,
in the gatherings we share as a family.
We love her forevermore.
(C) 2013 by Vincent Lowry
