Poetry by Rob Lowe
I like clocks, and books, and music,
Things which structure the way forward,
Are signposts and dwelling places.
Map-reading living is my hobby;
But exploring the nature of being
Requires a compass of faith.
I am waterproofed with hope,
My thoughts are warm but breathable;
I am well-equipped for the journey.
And when at last the sun goes down
After a walk through mountain terrain,
I pitch a tent of morality.
I have no home, nor family,
My friends are birds and beasts and trees;
They talk to me nightly.
I saw a harvest once, of people,
Crowded on a plain below;
And in the midst there was a steeple
And what tolled from its Sunday bell?
There is no lasting peace until
Religion consists of poetry.
Rob Lowe has written privately for many years, but only lately started submitting pieces for publication. Typical work can be found in recent issues of Lucent Dreaming, Libretto, Seventh Quarry, Aromatica Poetica, and some anthologies. He lives in Milton Keynes in the U.K.
