Daily Duet

The warbling chorus of clear-throated winged-things
defends against a melancholy mind’s unease.
Ornithographic melodies, unmeasured and terse,
blend soothingly well with swift currents of air
and carry on in each day-long verse.

What a pair for solitude, these two:
the field-rolling wind, shuffling past on cue,
and the lilting conversation of birds,
tittering with a bree-chirrup-dreedle;
full of meaning though void of words.

Mother Mary 

Mary wondered at the words;

wondering what favor would be hers.
The bright man clothed in gleaming white
came to her in the darkness of night
when the glory of the shining light
made her heart fearful – a terrifying sight.
He told her the one true God had decreed
that His son would come, His throne would leave,
and that to her as His mother He would cleave.

Of course, taken aback, Mary with astonishment sees
the impossibility of this because of her virginity.
But immediately the angel assured her
and told her the Spirit would create the pure Son
within her womb – He who is Immanuel, Holy One.
“I’m the Lord’s servant.” said the soon to be mother,
and she submitted herself to the Lord above all others.
“My spirit rejoices in God my Savior!”
she cried out in joy, knowing that her Son would pay for
the sins and great debts of God’s righteous people
who were crippled by sin and whose hearts were feeble.
She glorified the Lord for His mighty salvation deeds
and would forever be the mother who birthed the Son – Jesus.

Born to a mother was the way that God chose
to send His perfect Son in among the world’s foes
among all other options. This undeniably shows
that in the great blessing upon Mary His daughter
the Lord showed great love for the womanly calling.
From the first generation of His people he decreed
that mothers must be honored, that He would be pleased
to give to those who did so long life and blessing.
The mothering task is a great, holy gift.
God bless all mothers, and the children who love them!

He Does Not Withhold Good

Serpentine whisperings birth malcontent;
Introduce notions of Deistic selfishness.
“He forbids good fruit? Down with him,
The cosmically greedy egotist!
He knows that if you eat said fruit
You’ll enjoy god-like pleasures.
Thus he hoards them, and to boot
Threatens death for good measure.”
Thus believing God un-generous
They took upon themselves the task
Of providing good sans hindrance,
But realized dark truth at last:
Their Father had not withheld good,
And they had been deceived.
All good now tainted through their food –
They hid and wept, bereaved.

Thus, my friend, when the Lord
Seems to withhold some good from you;
When the fruit of love is stored
Out of your reach, here’s the truth:
God is not selfishly keeping
From you that which would delight.
He is all good, though for a season
Your requests for love He may deny.
Do not heed the Liar’s hate.
Believe instead, and place your trust
In the Word: “Oh, how great
Is the love God lavished on us!”

The absence of an earthly love
Must not make you covet fruit.
It is simply God’s way to prove
His all-satisfying goodness to you.

There are days when winter deceives.
She paints her eyes with bright yellow sunbeams
And sweetly smiles as dark clouds recede from skies.
“What a delightful day!” one thinks,
As her docile breath stirs and flows
Through deep green fieldgrass glinting beneath sunny eyes.
But alas, the spells are broken when the window opens.
The docile wind is keen-edged knives
Coughed out from a blue, ice-iron sky.
The sunbeams are gaudy mascara
Caked thick and sticky over winter’s hard lines.
All is thus revealed a chimera,
And winterwife’s embrace reveals a cold shoulder.
You realize the truth when you reach out to hold her:
That the beauteous get-up is a masquerade
Hiding the hard cold which has supplanted warm days.

 

 

©2012  Daniel Lowry.   All rights Reserved.

Let There Be Light

“Let there be light” broke the deeps
of pre-creation dark,
and shone down on the glorious deeds
of the eternal Father.
The air itself and all creation
was washed in golden breath,
and pulsing waves of joy unabated
soaked every hill and leaf.

What woe, then, was that awful day
when life was diminished in beauty!
Our parents rebelled against God and traded
light for the wisdom of fruit.

But extravagance must spill over,
infinite love must flood.
And the Lord of all creation showed
His extravagant love thus:
He sent His only begotten Son
as light and life for us!

The shadows of a broken world,
the wrath-inducing depths
were in a moment crushed and hurled
away, as the newborn wept.
Stature and wisdom both increased,
and then he spoke the words:
“I am the way and truth! Believe
and gain life eternal.
I am the light of the world.
Those who are at my side
walk not in darkness anymore
but have the light of life.”

The shining rays of glory grew
as He walked toward the cross;
by each whip stroke, with thorny crown
proving love’s great cost.
And as He hung, pierced and slain
for our iniquitous plight,
salvation’s light poured from His veins
and overthrew the night!
Thus echoed the beginning as God proclaimed:
“Through Jesus let there be light.”

Immanuel! God has come!
The Light of Life is shining!
Oh trust in Him! Believe the dawn,
and leave your sinful pining.

©2011   Daniel Lowry.   All rights Reserved.

Silver Wings

I sat on silver wings today
between dusk and a cloudy day.
Silver wings fly, fly me away
to where soft warmth awaits.

The lofty fires sink beneath,
bleaching the evening azure
and smelting gold into a transient wreath
for clouds. Ah, what man is poor!

Give me heaven’s ingots,
be they ephemeral; impalpable,
rather than any earthly sod,
which, in truth, is far less valuable.

Here I sit, high on silver wings
over lakes of nimbus gold.
____________________________

The Train

The train rumbles; whistles by
off in the distance of memory,
nostalgically singing a soothing lullaby
to ferry my mind toward yesteryear’s nights.
_____________________________

watercolor

The lolling surface of velvet-soft pools
latticed with silver, silken webs of sky
are not disturbed by phantoms imbued
into their myopic mimicking of reality.
A formless wind; the smallest stone
would birth new surface cataclysms,
unceremoniously breaking water’s bones
in predictably geometric rhythms.
Yet I cannot, with mind’s deep weight,
effect the slightest disimprovement
or break the undulating focus.
Thus I remain a passing wight
in this isolated movement
of the water’s color-opus.

 

©2011  Daniel Lowry.   All rights Reserved.

Momma Dearest

My Momma is the woman that’s dearest to me,
and a simple thank you would never suffice.
Were it not my joy and duty to live for Christ
I might just as well live to honor her thoroughly.

The days of loneliness were painfully long
when Momma worked harder than 3 farmers:
up to get us off to school, for starters,
then to the office sans triumphant song;

work all day until the chime to leave,
to come home to cranky, rowdy kids
who were often oblivious to the pain she hid
and only asked, “Mom, when’s it time to eat.”

With mealtime done now to the work
of prodding lazy children to learn; to chores.
She runs the house alone, heartsore,
for just a friend to share the aching hurt.

The children sent to bed, professing love
which takes their mother’s presence for granted.
She to her room to rest, to the quiet land
where lonely tears cried for strength from above.

Oh mother! How we tried your patient love!
How stubborn were our young, thin hearts
as we, quite oblivious, knew only in part
just how much you gave to us.

Looking back now through those times
my heart breaks fully from swelling love,
amazed at just how much you did to prove
that you cared for us with sacrifice sublime.

Though it could never be enough, by far,
to say a word or two in response to a life;
a life lived which was not easy, but filled with strife,
and which gave so tirelessly and loved so hard:

Thank you! Thank you for everything you did;
for all the things which went unsung;
for all the times you poured out love;
for every tearful prayer you spent

to commend us to the Holy One.
It’s my joy to honor you,
and I hope thus often to do
by living for the Risen Son!

I can think of no greater gift
than to lay my own life down
before the one who wears eternity’s crown
so that more might sing His praises.

Oh mother, your faith rests solely
upon the golden shores of eternity,
where blessedly faithful maternity
produces glorious praise for Him only.

Your loving, constant care for me
showed me deeper waters of faith
that keep me still in trying times yet today.
Your faith was my nurturing.

A godly mother, who can find –
one who leads her family well,
who guards them against all schemes of hell?
Let me introduce you to mine!

Momma, dearest, what more can I say?
I love you deeply, and thankfully know
that our great God will one day show
the expansive reaches of your love’s sway.
I love you Momma. Happy Mother’s day!

 

©2011  Daniel Lowry.   All rights Reserved.

City Lights

Unnatural light brightens the horizon
dimming the beauty of the black of the sky
and stealing my eye’s sight of Orion.
It smudges the star-perforated canvas of night
like a careless child’s hands reaching high
to grope his Father’s fair painting
while sticky with city light.

Oh that we could simply refrain
from smearing our sticky signature
across the works which all proclaim
the great glory of the Creator.
———————————————

Margie’s Forest

The oppressively powerful pillars of life
stand in silently raging stillness.
Crushing weight and deep-delving roots
fortify the forest against its toil:
a hundred years of war with soil and weather.
There is the occasional casualty, of course;
the stoically accepted loss of life or limb.
But we below, with dull, veiled eyes
are not amazed by their heavy hints;
the triumphant understatement of rustling leaves.
With grizzled visage, they stand and watch
as we wander amongst their ranks
like children amid a score of mail-clad titans of war.
Our loudest fury quietly echoes; effervesces into air,
and falls short of the hinted strength
of a single,
slowly
falling
leaf.

———————————————–
Shadow Rafters

Vaulted shadow rafters hold the weight of open sky
and hide the deepest starry rims far beyond my sight.
Am I Gideon, who swordlessly prevailed beneath the stars,
or am I Paul of Tarsus climbing up the hill of Mars?
Woe is me! I do not have a strength of uncut hair,
or feel the courage of assurance in the lion’s lair.
Oh God, my God I know that you have not forsaken me!
Lord, forgive me! I believe! Please help my unbelief!
In You, and in Your Word is all the fire of my delight,
but my soul still feels the weight of shadow-rafter covered nights.

©2011  Daniel Lowry.   All rights Reserved.

Dawn

New given every morning is the gold
of treasures, blessings, grace foretold,
when burning light shows so bright
that it destroys the depths of night.
Planks of Midas’ walk are laid wide; high
above the world to show there in the sky
that He who claims all things as His own
does not neglect a single morning to show
that no dark or troubled times forever last.
He will come and break our heaven-fast!
Just as each night brings golden hours
and even thorned bushes produce sweet flowers,
so shall there come a final chord ringing
from silver trumpets triumphantly singing:
“All ye redeemed – come up to me!
Out from those graves! Out from the sea!
Meet me now on this gold-winged dawn
where I have for countless eons
proclaimed this day would certainly come.
Did you not know the truth of my sun?
Each night’s dark strength, which seemed so deep
and marred many a heart too sweet
or robbed your loved one fast away,
each one unavoidably yielded to day.
With every rising, bright-yellow sun
my unwavering declaration
was that my triumph was complete!
No nightly terror could defeat
the King who called light into being,
and from it banished dark by drinking
the cup of all night’s foulest filth.
Now sin is dead, and I bring wealth!
So come, all children; precious flock,
and meet me quickly here atop
the world, where daily promises billed
might on this day be ripe: fulfilled!”

The Mighty reigns! Oh glorious King!
He will return on dawn-laden wings!

——————–
Salt Flats

Rippling waves distort the world;
are as constant as the sun.
The calm brutality is like pre-meditated murder;
like a lion who does not leave his den
but waits for those who wander by;
like an endless fire which does not rage,
but calmly, effortlessly destroys just the same.
To drown in these waves would be altogether unlike the kindness of water.
In fact, the mind would beg for such a thing.
Do not believe the calm, nor the quiet.
It is only the unconcern of far-superior strength.
Waves of death blast haze and silent grey
out over the endless salt flat deserts.

——————–
Solitude

Thunder is best enjoyed alone
so that the safety (and pretense) of numbers
might leave one to truly see.
When ocean breakers crash in upon the cliffs,
the myriad stones absorb the pow’r at once,
and so they lean; rely upon the others.
But one man, solitary and small,
who stands on earth’s shore
in the face of thunderous waves
which crash down upon his single brow;
who has no strength but that which resides
in his own tiny limbs –
this man sees his soul.
The overbearing weight of rumbling thunder
bursts away the façade of culture.
The gaping precipice yawns below
to send back to your heart the frightful echoes
of him who did not know his soul.
What answer can you give to the storm?
Will your fashion quiet the sky?
Will your wit quell the breakers?
Have you any answer to the fury above?

When pretense is broken and wit holds no charm;
when you find all worldly trappings stripped away;
when you sense the depth of your helplessness,
what will sustain you? Will you endure?
Heed the manifold wisdom revealed:
seek the king whose will the storm obeys.

——————–
Searching

The crickets trill;
yet my eyes are open.
Lamp post light through rainy glass
turns my dark walls into shimmering liquid,
and still my eyes are open.
You are none of these things.
I want to sit in the evenings, haggard but joyful,
and rise in the morning unrested.
There are words not spoken to me.
There is something my eyes do not see,
and yet my eyes are open.

|

©2011  Daniel Lowry.   All rights Reserved.

Rain

First I heard the bold announcement of the thunder strains
and saw the dreamlike flash which washed my room in pearl-blue waves.
Then, like a night-bound lover tossing rocks up at the panes,
I heard the faint, unsteady tapping of the drops of rain.

What is this triumphant ache
that only the storms can find?
The power of the thunder fray
echoes through me; shakes my mind
like ebbing wind in the lonely pines.

Echoes of the ageless storm pry my mind awake.
I fathom forests long forgotten beside tumultuous lakes
whose surface is continually broken by the falling rain;
standing trees near mountains far where no path was ever made.

A silence reigns in distant lands –
there are no birds, no calling wilds,
and certainly there is no man;
no sounds, however mild,
not falling branch or forest-child.

The silence of the sunny beams and stoic mountains grim
surrounds the pines as branches sit in the deafness of no wind.
All’s quiet and always still, the distant calm unbroken…
until the drop; until the fall; until the rain, and then

the crash! The broken water-glass
rends the ears of silent places.
The tapping on my window lasts
till clouds have run their paces,
and the night is filled with dreams of far off, silent faces.
______________________________________________

Sundress

New arches Eden-styled,
boughed ceilings of deepest jade
all standing sturdy in the wild;
by soft winds whisperingly swayed.
The excess of golden rivers
drips off of each soft leaf
to rain down and give her
a backdrop of sun’s breath.
There is the gentle fire seated,
a burning rose, the sunbeam’s guest.
The boughs all down around her leaning -
the lady in the bright sundress!
______________________________________________

Water-maiden

One night I sat beside a stream
and heard an angel singing.
The voice splashed up and over me
like silken waves of dreams.

The water slowly spoke to me
and to my sullen heart.
The lamplights on its surface ring
with the water-maiden’s song.

“Oh lonely heart, all forlorn,
we’ve waited long for you.
Our banks are soft; our waters warm.
The morning isn’t soon.”

I wander from the precipice
down between the trees
onto a rock at water’s edge
to see what I can see.

And there, behold! A maiden’s form!
Slender, lithe and gentle,
and the song she sings to me
whisperingly crescendos.

The ripples down her figure run,
carrying moonlight pearls.
Flowing braids fall at her sides,
pulling straight her curls.

But alas, there is no maiden
in the water here.
I’m the only one around;
mine the only ears.

That night I sat beside a stream
and heard the water rippling.
Its voice splashed up and over me
like silken waves of dreams.

|

©2011  Daniel Lowry.   All rights Reserved.