Vincent Lowry's Blog, page 13

Buster

I remember feeling
your paws tackling my legs
as I walked through the house.

Size, for some reason,
didn't matter in your playful world.
It was as if I were a giant

that deserved to be felled
as I grabbed milk from
the fridge, or sorted through

mail on my way to the living room.
I also recall your gentle nature,
the way you'd stay completely still

when I held you with one hand
while opening the front door,
or the way you'd curl in my lap

as I typed on the computer.
It's these pictures of your
short life I choose to hold.

Not how we found you
on the street...where your
playful childhood came to an end.

This giant will miss your brave tackles.

Buster (c) 2010 by Vincent Lowry

Need an answer?
Dive where
others cannot reach.
Harmony rests within
the core.
Where bones sleep in fluid
sanctuaries.
And spirits swim in promises
of eternal release.

Within (c) 2010 by Vincent Lowry

If you draw,
unleash that pencil and bring life to the page.
More of a painter, perhaps?
Then summon that stubborn blank canvas,
find that indolent brush,
and fill that white world with the eye's music.
But maybe it's song, not color,
that swirls in your imagination.
Become one with your instrument of choice,
flow with the pitches and rhythms,
and exhale the soul's voice.
Even gardeners and cooks,
laboring in the soil or near the flame,
can harvest the mind's wondrous magic:
to transform dirt into paradise,
to convert eggs into a feast.
Delve within and unearth the wings of creation.
Take flight in a remarkable sky,
as this poet has done
while carving his words.

Create (C) 2010 by Vincent Lowry

It's a race no one thinks about now.
Some won it decades ago,
swimming in the bellies of young mothers who
stood in grocery lines, shopped for new shoes,
or pruned rose bushes.
Some claimed victory just last season,
and are now kicking their warm, nurturing walls
with jubilation, signaling their fast approach.
Some are still in the race,
battling an army of genetic competitors,
all fiercely whipping their tails
toward the golden egg of existence.
To win, you must arrive first.
1 in 100 million are the odds,
the equivalent of a lucky powerball ticket.
But the trophy is an opportunity like no other,
a shot at seeing and experiencing the universe
in a way no creature can come close to.
I beat the odds some 34 years ago.
And I now stand among other fortunate champions,
who sometimes need to be reminded of the great race
that gave them life.

Among Champions (c) 2010 by Vincent Lowry

For Conner,
Happy Birthday!
-Dad



October 25th

The wrapped present, a train set, will make
the shape of a figure eight when the tracks
are snapped together.
And if I divide that double looped number by two, that is the age
you’ve stretched into, my son, on this day and year in October.
Let us whisk away on that new locomotive,
pretending together on the rails we’ve assembled,
tracing the sign of infinity,
another binary ring that means time without end.
I like that definition.
I know it isn’t true as I see these birthdays swiftly chug by—
passing stuffed bears, popup books, alphabet blocks—
but I can still use my imagination in the same way.
I just need to gather the tracks in my memory,
climb aboard with yesterday’s pictures,
and ride to that land of 2’s, 3’s, and 4’s.
A time without end...


(C) by Vincent Lowry

Gazing in the flickering pair
of triangle holes carved
out of the pumpkin’s flesh,
I wonder what this king of vegetables must

be thinking right now.
It was once in bliss in its garden kingdom,
attached to the nurturing earth
by a green umbilical cord,

the morning dew spotting its skin,
the occasional ant or beetle
exploring its rippled head.
In those castle days of glory,

the sun would trace its
repeated arc inside a blue dome,
and wake the feathered creatures
who were free from gravity

and bursting with song.
But now…severed, disfigured and exiled,
the king burns hot with rage,
glaring at me, the culprit of the monstrous crime,

the beast who uprooted its royal family
with shears, white gloves,
and a wide, splitting freakish grin.
Through the glowing eyes of this Jack-o’-Lantern,

and indeed the false eyes of
of its defaced relatives scattered about,
I feel a collective boiling wrath against all the executioners,
big and small, who roam in disguise on this Halloween night.

Through the Jack-o’-Lantern’s Eyes © 2010 by Vincent Lowry

So green you were
during the summer,
when the sun fired down

and you provided the
shade that stole my
shadow and made the

baked days bearable.
But now, months down
time's unending river, your brown

hue marks your retirement, and soon
you shall part your home and drift down,
swaying in angelic arcs,

to the streets and sidewalks,
where a more forgiving sun shall
spill its rays from a sky

as blue as the day you were born.
But even in your passing,
you nobly give again,

carpeting driveways,
encircling pumpkins,
ushering the remarkable beauty of autumn.


Autumn Leaves (C) 2010 by Vincent Lowry

Floating through this ignited
city I see souls in search
of missing halves.

Like mixed puzzle
pieces, the perfect fit
exists within reach,

a breath of a distance,
a face upturned and silenced.
I join one congregation,

gathered in near darkness,
and check my past at time’s closet,
where a stern attendant stands guard

in a spotless suit and a list of names.
Melting anonymously in the crowd,
I look for my fractured whole,

finding comfort among those who have lost
and those who have never found.
Ours is a midnight bond,

strengthened by song,
lifted by drink.
Here, wrinkles are smoothed,

youth is aged,
and the inner scars of both groups
is pressed into laughter.

Memory flows upstream,
and so too does the heart,
pounding away in hope with its half beats.

Lifted (C) 2010 by Vincent Lowry

The following poem is actually a true story that happened to me while visiting New York one month before 9/11. I dedicate it in memory of those who weren't as fortunate as me and my friend on that dark day.

-Vince


Windows on the World

It’s evening on August 11th, 2001,
and I’m on vacation in

New York City.

A friend who works in Manhattan
invites me to the

World Trade Center.

I meet up with him and take
the ear-popping rise

106 floors.

I step into a restaurant
and grab a drink at a place called

The Greatest Bar on Earth.

There’s music,
laughter,

people.

I follow my friend to one side of
the building to experience why they call this

Windows on the World.

I press my hands flat against the
thick glass pane and lower my gaze

to the illuminated city that flows below us.

My heart races from the view,
from the striking thought of my perch

on this remarkable creation of steel and glass.

I turn to my companion and talk about
the past and present,

two Americans reconnecting.

More music,
laughter,

people joining our paradise in the sky.

Soon a second drink is handed to me
and my eyes return to the view,

not looking down now, but across.

I spot a twin building,
soaring above like ours,

The South Tower.

It has an observation deck on the roof,
my friend says,

you can see the entire city from it.

I picture myself atop that symmetrical giant,
staring up as a breeze cools my skin,

seeing only stars for a ceiling.

I turn and face the restaurant,
the bar, the people, and sip my drink

as if this glass heaven

would
always

exist.


(c) 2010 by Vincent Lowry

If I could slip out of this skin
And don the unblemished features of a kid long since vanished
To the carnival I would fly

I’ll paint this fantasy on an autumn day
Where an orange sun sleeps on the western horizon
Golden leaves hide the sidewalks
And the air carries the lingering fragrance of a departed afternoon shower

The entrance stands before me
Magical
A Ferris wheel slicing that rusty sun
A distant barker shouting the hour’s winner
The scent of rain suddenly sweetened and buttered

With a lighter pocket
But a stamp on the back of my hand marking my entrance
A rush of choices flood my mind:
Haunted house? Roller coaster? Ring toss?

I let my feet do the deciding
Worn sneakers pressing against sawdust and dirt
Simply walking in the organized chaos

Do you see it?
The swirl of blue cotton candy
The fortune teller peering through the cloudy window
The man with the top hat striding on stilts

Do you hear it?
“Come one, come all, the greatest show you’ve…”
“Ladies and gentlemen, step right up and…”
“That’s right, people. The heaviest man on the face…”

Do you feel it?
The warmth exhaling out of the aerobatics tent
The vibrating ground
The energy of a thousand racing hearts

As a child we experience
But don’t appreciate these moments
Of beauty and magic

It’s only by peering
Back through time’s tunnel
As an adult
That the lens is cleaned

We understand and cherish
But the experiencing part is long done

(c) 2010 by Vincent Lowry