Photographs and Memories

This is a poem written by my dad, Jim Lowery, as a tribute to my mom.

Jim Croce, that song, that album.
I played it over and over when...
I played it every day
For a month
When the woman I married, left.
She left suddenly, without warning.
She left a replacement in her stead.
But it was not the same.
Photographs and memories
All that I have are these
to remember you

Thanks, Dad, for writing a poem that doesn't rhyme.

Don't Keep Me Humble

To say that I am humble
surely shows of my deficiency.
To share it as my status
gathers millions at my feet.
"Let the one who has no sin
be the first to cast the stone."
To throw one, then, is to admit
that pride once more has won.
Creating clever language
without love to guide production
stands atop the rooftops, shouting,
only to gain attention.
If all of this assumes me lowly,
then this I can't accept.
Don't keep me humble, Lord--
for that I'm proved inept.

originally written Winter 2009

Kitty

I have a little friend
Who sits upon a box.
She not the working type
Like a donkey or an ox.
She’s of the lazy sort—
With an air of majesty.
So sweet and soft and kind,
That’s why she is Kitty.

originally written Fall 1996

Cat

I had a friend once—her name Cat.
She sat and she sat and she sat
In her little blue chair with a confidant air
Like the cat in The Cat in the Hat.

a silly little limerick

originally written Fall 1996

Keep Me Running

I’ve tried to jumpstart
my approach toward God
using what’s expected:
posture, music, words.

But something is frayed.
I’ve tried to set my emotions
like the idle of a car,
with duty, service, and daily Bible reading.

But something is jammed.
I thought that careful maintenance—
trying to make myself acceptable to God—
would keep me running smoothly,

and that attending church
could navigate me out of disappointment.
I thought pristine condition meant
making a smile my waxy shine.

But He’s not looking for a demonstration.
And He doesn’t mind my knocking.
Expressions aren’t tools
and coming together is no diagnostic manual.

“So Lord, I come to You
with all that I am,
not asking You to fix me…
just letting You know I’m here.”

originally written Spring 2005

No Farther

Crowds line the counter.
Envelopes fill with new work to be done.
Ribbons of film sway from little teeth—
and the machine beeps again.
I am the only one in the blue vest
with its crisp white letters on the back.
It is a bull's eye.
And I am the target.

Shots fire.

Pick up film? Last name? Dropped off when? What time?
One hour? Send-out? Have your ticket?
Whew. Close one.

Last name? Have your ticket? One hour? Just a sec.
Another zings past my ear.

Passport photo? Just a sec.
They’re getting closer…

Pay here, sir. Your change and receipt. Need a bag?
I have to duck!

Need a camera? Just a sec.
It’s too late!

One hour? Dropping off? Fill this out.
Relief from the rounds.

"Is there someone else working
who can help you with this line?”
The hunt is on.

A man hands me three pictures.
“Can I pay here?”
I cannot sell you these, sir.
They are copyrighted.
"Then who can I speak to that will?
I want your manager!”
His breath leaves his mouth
like the smoke of a gun
and I feel weak.
I should have known
I couldn’t handle it.

As I retreat from the counter,
I remember God’s promise:
“Do not fear.
You are more precious than gold.
I AM your shield.
You will not fail.”
I look up at the front
as another blue vest appears
in the crowd.

originally written Spring 2005

Can a Lifetime be Squeezed into Three Years?

Standing on a hilltop,
I can’t help but wonder:
Can a lifetime be squeezed
into three years?

I feel like a disciple of old today
as he stood looking upward,
wishing he could see into heaven.
I wonder how long he stood there
before it sank in: “You mean,
He’s not coming back?”
Jesus left them with one word:
“Soon,” He said.
“I’ll be back soon.”
Soon has been two thousand years
in the making.

I can understand their fear:
their teacher was leaving them.
For three years He had
taught them,
loved them,
fed them
and now…
Now what?

For three years
you have loved us,
you have taught us,
you have fed us,
and now…
Now what?

Now they must stand on their own,
as I must stand
on my own.

to Mike and Brenda, for your leadership
originally written Summer 2005