Vincent Lowry's Blog, page 7

We know not where you came,
or where you’ll arrive when
the stars reveal their timeless secrets,
but we are certain your
spirit is bound for greatness
in the eyes of this world.

Bury the thoughts
and ignore the flaws
that tell you otherwise.
Accept what you have
as fate’s special gift
to shine in your passions.

Tether your carriage to your heart,
lock your mind to present,
and find the road that whispers your name.
The time is now,
beautiful traveler.
Seize the dream.


(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry

Rare are the moments
when we recognize
the doors that silently
seal off one stage of our life
and usher us into another.

They creep up on us,
these “last” experiences:
the push of a growing toddler
on a swing; the hug of an
aged loved one at a party.

If we are lucky enough
to wedge our foot in the door’s path
and savor the final moment
before it has perished,
aren’t we only intensifying the ache

that always trails time’s journey?
“Say goodbye to the house, honey,”
or, to really feel it,
“You better talk to your mother now.
She won’t make it through the night.”

What words can we offer at that hour?
What time capsule is available
to trap all the golden nuggets
of goodness, of dignity, of love
for us to share later on?

For isn’t that what we really want?
To show an understanding soul
the beauty of what was experienced,
the memory of what was once loved?
But perhaps a part of it is selfishness.

The joy is simply to surf the seconds
that pass, dipping our hands in the cool water,
and close our mind
to the thoughts that often
distract us at all hours.

We scream: this is life; live the moment before it is lost.


(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry

Within a peace blossoms
In colors beyond compare,
And in beams of love radiating through
every crack of our core.

It demands the swiftest of action.

Stay near.
Let our hearts be on the same journey.
May the world’s wonders
cascade before our eyes in a shared moment,
lifting our spirits upon a common wing.

Find me.
If ever I am lost,
and the line of our bond appears severed,
gaze up and discover a billion guiding stars
pointing the path of a love that cannot fracture.

Reach out.
Light may blind,
darkness often conceals,
but stretch your hand in any hour of need
and find my touch.

Hold tight.
Time’s gales bend all.
Lock our souls arm in arm,
and cast away any thoughts
that what lies beyond shall find us apart.


(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry

I want you to know
I see it everywhere,
in the steam rising from the sautéed potatoes
you place upon our family table,

in the early morning hair combings
you give the children well before
your work hour.
And let these lines spill

the secret that I feel it even greater,
as more dawns are stacked ever higher,
and the seasons fill our union
with beauty and grace unrivaled.

Colors fade in your absense,
so stay in my sight always,
and let me continue to marvel
the luck that defined my journey.

I imagine the first limbo
party was pretty rough.
First there was the party itself,
dull enough for someone to say,
"Hey, grab that stick over there
and let's put it to action."

Then there was the act of
going under the stick itself.
It likely started off with people
simply ducking under it,
saying how the game was too
easy and stupid.

But person who grabbed that stick
got mad and said, "Yeah? Well
try going under it face up, buddy."

No longer was it easy.

But the stupidness was never really fixed.

Morro Rock still stood
proudly to the heavens in its blue bath,
and the feathered hunters,
though now several generations removed,
continued to circle nature’s landmark
in a display of the bay’s timelessness.

Yet much had changed since I last cast
my shadow on this harbor.
A birth had transformed lives,
a darkness had stolen a fragile love,
and a dream had unfolded into something
vast and unfathomable.

It is the unvisited past that hits the hardest,
the returned trips to sites we seldom frequent.
Time is measured not by days or weeks,
but by vows, promotions, heartbreaks, and deaths.
One does not have the benefit of
too many sunsets smoothing the sharp edges of memory.

Here nothing is blurred.
The past spreads open before you
with all its blemishes and imperfections,
showing a vibrant picture of where you once stood,
a youth bound for greatness, for bliss,
and where you now sit,

humbled by years,
the ice cream bleeding down your cone.
But wisdom, the slowest of waters,
flows in abundance in these rare moments.
It cascades from above, off the mountain
you’ve been ascending since days unremembered.


(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry

Remember that love never dies.
It is only born.
That is the key difference between it and hate.

The ad was on Craigslist,
possibly the shadiest of sites,
where posts about furniture sales
can lead to one filing a police report
about robbery or assault.

But I had to build my portfolio
and a southern girl needed a headshot picture,
so we met at Starbucks,
for her safety and mine,
and we gave a piece about ourselves

to show our peaceful intentions.
Then we traveled to the photo location
and began the poses and smiles
necessary to move our careers forward
and continue our artistic journey.

She was older and extremely self-conscious
about the lines time had carved on
her face, thin tracks under weary eyes
that had seen more than their share
of Hollywood disappointments and regrets.

And money had not befriended her.
Not that it mattered.
Ours was a simple exchange,
a model on my end to show my work,
a set of pictures on her end to submit for auditions.

And then it was over.
A warm embrace.
A trade of thank you's.
And later a simple text from a Louisiana beauty:
"God bless."


(C) 2013 by Vincent Lowry

The birthday party was for
a six-year-old,
a best friend of my son.

Awkward were the blades
on our feet:
thin knives supporting

the whole of our weight.
And the ice would be as
forgiving as concrete

said a man in front of me
before I stepped into the rink.
My son hugged the wall

while I ventured into
a crowd much more accustomed
to the sport I was attempting.

But I soon got a better
feel for my skates,
and so too did my boy,

leaving the wall's embrace
to join the circling children.
It made me a kid again,

watching him smile
and laugh and fall.
It was his first time.

And I was most proud that
he was giving it his all,
that he was braving the unknown

and opening his mind to learning.
He taught me life's purest lesson:
Always try. Always.


(C) 2013 by Vincent Lowry