Poetry

126. LOVE POEM

When I first saw the woman who eventually became my wife, I had two initial reactions. First, I thought she was much younger than me, and second I figured she was way out of my league; I’m glad I ignored my second judgment.

Have you ever felt your chest pound at the sight of someone? For me it’s a vibration of intense magnitude that’s much more spiritual than physical. It’s an actual massive thump, like one’s heart suddenly aligns with and acknowledges divine energy. It was so undeniable in that first moment, and I hoped beyond hope she would react the same way.

She did.

We dated for a while and finally I decided to propose. I figured Valentine’s day would be fitting. My plan had started the previous Christmas. I bought her a Magic 8-Ball and passed it off as a goofy gift, but I had other motives. At the time I was attending night courses for work, and this particular night it began to snow, really hard. When I walked into class I told my instructor I needed to leave to propose to my girlfriend, and he thought that was wonderful. By the time I was walking out the door to my truck he had decided to cancel classes for the night anyway, so the day was lining up to be serendipitous. I called before leaving and asked her to dig out the 8-Ball because I needed it for something. She sighed a little, said she would, and I told I’d be over soon to get it. When I got there she hugged and kissed me and I asked for the toy which she handed me with a weird look.

“Have a seat.” I said. She went to the couch and walked over and I dropped to one knee. She started shaking a little.

“Just a second, I need to consult the ball before I ask YOU something.” I shook it vigorously and it came up “Yes, absolutely!” I showed her the answer with a big smile.

She immediately said “Do it again.”

I shrugged and complied. Again it came up “Yes, absolutely!” and with that I asked her to marry me. She happily agreed and our next anniversary will be our 17th. I married my best friend in 2003 and would wish such happiness as I’ve had since then on anyone.

Some time before we were married I wrote this poem for her.

I Love you baby! This post is for you.

Water Falls

Stranded on an endless dessert,

Lost among the shifting sands,

I wished to quench my dying thirst,

And wash the dust off lonely hands.

The days had trod on tinder skin

And cold nights they cut so deep.

In my eyes I felt the pain,

But had not tears that I could weep.

No strength, no will, no hope was left,

No more torture could I stand,

And so I fell into a dream

About a distant, perfect land.

All the suffering I had known

Was swept into the wind,

And all the fears that kept me bound

Were now coming to an end.

I sensed I was somewhere

I had never been before.

God had granted me salvation

So I could live once more.

I felt my heart come to life

With every waking beat.

I felt the touch of cool, moist air

And grass beneath my feet.

I began to walk upon a path

With strength now regaining,

And where it led I came to rest

In a place forever raining.

Here I washed away sorrows

And my destiny was found

For underneath where water falls

I stood on sacred ground.

It was then I saw the truth

Through the mists surrounding me

That my dream was not a dream

But in fact, reality.

 

Please follow my blog. Comment and share as you wish.

With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

 

124. OPEN EYES

 

Please follow my blog. Comment and share as you wish.

With Love and compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

 

61. POETRY FOR THE SOUL

tumblr_md31cmm6WI1qmozmmo1_1280

 THE RENAISSANCE WIND 

 

I’ve watched now nine moons,

From my window to the bay

As a ship has been built,

And tomorrow she casts away.                                

I remember there once was nothing,

No hammer, saw, or nail.

Now dreams have been replaced

By timber, rope, and sail.

And the crew that is aboard,

Each awaits my new commands

For upon the morning sun

We search for foreign lands.

The silence of my room

Is broken by a voice.

The world beyond now calls me

To the fortunes of my choice.

Our voyage is under way

With the light of early morn’

The anchor lifts and frees the soul,

So now I am reborn.

I step aboard and give the order,

“Let the canvas open wide!

Steer her clear from the shore,

May god be at our side.”

We will seek our precious treasures

From lost and ancient races.

Not gold, silks, or spices,

But people, words, and places.

By day, by night, by sun and starlight

Through storms and peaceful tide

We will bravely face our deepest fears

And never will we hide.

Our mind is clear and our actions true

For each moment is a test.

Pure of thought and clean of body

We have vowed to do our best.

Though my vessel will begin to age

Becoming weak and tired

It will never fail to serve its purpose;

To live each day inspired.

And when we’ve come full circle

To our home, the native shore

We will give our gifts of handsome burden

And wait for life once more.

 

Daniel Andrew Lockwood

 

Please follow my blog. comment and share as you wish.

 

13. A GIFT TO A FRIEND

old potter

This post contains a poem I wrote as a gift to a friend years ago. He’s gone now, but his influence lives on. His physical presence is nothing more than a memory. I don’t even have a photo of him, yet his image is as vivid to me as the first time I ever met the man. It’s almost as if I can see him in my reflection now, not as a copy or imitation, but as a continuation of the best he had to offer.

How does one repay someone for saving their life? Is there any price that can be offered to balance the scales and compensate for this act of selflessness? Yes, there is. The gifts we receive that allow us a better life must be shared; they must be, or they will not fulfill the intention of the universe, and that is perpetuation with abundance.

You may be wondering how this blog entry applies to the subject of self-help. There was a time where I wasn’t sure my existence had any significance at all. This has changed. I now know  we all have a place, a destiny, that fits in perfectly and harmoniously with the world around us. Unfortunately,  the opposite is also just as true. All of us also have a path we can choose that is destructive and painful to those we care for as well as ourselves. The more we nurture our environment, the more we draw sustenance from it. The more we abuse our surroundings, the more it will, in turn, injure us. There is a way to manifest that place that gives life meaning, and it’s not difficult to find.  For the moment, the observation that it functions in others is priority. The more we observe something at work that does not exist in our lives, the more we create faith that it is indeed possible in our own.

Look to those you know or have known in your life that live with purpose. They move effortlessly and gracefully through their days, doing what they do well, sharing their talents without demanding and accepting everything with an abundance of gratitude. Is there not admiration for these people? Is there not a healthy dose of envy that beckons us to reproduce these conditions for ourselves?

This poem is not directly about the man in question I mentioned at the beginning. The imagery is more representative of how I felt he had found his place and in turn mine as well.

THE POTTER

When a lazy sun

Draws its colors

From the evening clouds,

And shadows lengthen

To embrace the night

In silent murky shrouds,

And as the world                                   

Goes to sleep                                             

Under starlit skies,                                   

There comes to life                                 

An old man                                                 

With kindness in his eyes.                     

He slowly rises                                         

And lights a lamp                                     

To start his work again.

A crust of bread,                                       

A bit of drink,                                           

And then he does begin. 

         Just as he who picks

         And presses grapes 

         Off the family vines.

         From the juice that flows

         Will then be made

         Into family wines.                         

         Just as he who cuts                          

         From the weavers cloth               

         Patterns which he sews.               

         And skilled hands

         Will turn his craft

         Into wearers’ clothes.

         Just as he who shapes

         Red-hot iron

         With a mighty hammer.

         As the strokes do fall

         Upon the anvil

         There’s peace among the clamor.

         Just as he who sits

         At the wheel

         Molding clay and water.

         As the stone does whirl

         Another vessel rises

         From the old town potter.

With a tranquil look

And gentle touch

He moves in loving grace.

Shaping his gifts to share with others,

He has found his place.

No longer burdened

By the woes of man,

He works without a sound.

For in himself there lies a calm,

A treasure that’s been found.

And when he is done

Sitting slowly back

To see what’s been turned,

He will always find

That for his efforts

There’s more than what’s been earned.

When the morning sun

Marks another day

And birds begin to sing

The old town potter

Will close his eyes

And dream of what the night will bring.

Thank you for letting me share this with you, and may you too find the bliss that is more valuable than all our “material” world has to offer.

Please follow my blog. Comment and share as you wish.

With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood