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tornadoday

~ …might I be found in words I leave behind

tornadoday

Monthly Archives: July 2018

forgotten now to seek ~

31 Tuesday Jul 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, spirituality

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

dreams, forest, home, lessons, life, love, nature, rediscovery, remember me, spirit, time, truth

blessedbe

last night
I rediscovered
another way to you –
beyond the gate
between the evergreens

on paths
where truth was hiding
pressed as falling leaves –
maple stars
a canopy of dreams

fortune tends
to places
I’d forgotten now to seek
destiny where darkness sleeps
beside a memory

how am I to reconcile
verses lost to living –
broken boards with candlelight
it’s raining
all the time

heaven left a letter
on the table by the bed
loving arms
warm to us
again

. . .

will we remember ~

30 Monday Jul 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, spirituality

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

darkness, forgiveness, home, lessons, light, loss, love, misunderstandings, promise, shadows, time, truth, war

softlynow

might another war
come anyway
despite our fervent prayers
might shadows claim
the corners
where the best of yesterday
is folded into linen
and pressed against a page
guarded as a name
we dare not say
where darkness waits
to fell us
with denial of the dawn –
where sunlight sits
on golden fields
and flows through open doors
will we remember
how we suffered –
when fate returns us home
forgotten
to our memories –
from beginning
every one

. . .

in another place
I held you –
beneath a golden sky
– traced your lips
where once a kiss
was mine
waiting as you waited –
as promise
turned to flight
words became a victory
would see us thru
to light

. . .

but this ~

27 Friday Jul 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, spirituality

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

gathered, knowing, life, love, memory, moments where eternity lives, presence, safe, spirit, time, truth

suddenbloom

might you break
against my willingness
to take of all you need –
while I shudder
beneath your thunder
at my shores

when awakened
by a kiss
shed no tears
for lifetimes missed –
for mornings
just as fair –
moments left behind
somewhere

while the storm
lays waste
our memories –
of everything
but this

. . .

sometimes while still I sleep ~

26 Thursday Jul 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, spirituality

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

faith, I dream, lessons, life, love, prayer, sacred intent, sometimes, soul, time, trust

dreamy

now and then
a song I hear
above the sound of falling
a lesson much the same
as stars deny
eternity and almost
were you there
to promise someday
we’d find our ways
across this great
divide

how often here
I wonder why
and question more than listen –
to answers come
sometimes while still
I sleep
beneath a road
of diamonds –
a path to evermore
glistens bright
with souls
I swore
to keep

. . .

the mist of time ~

19 Thursday Jul 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, spirituality

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

assurance, faith, forgiveness, grief, heart, life, loss, love, soul, spirit, time, trust, understanding

Favim_com-2499942

be still
the ache
that satisfies
to ease these grieving hands
be mine
the soul remembers
what the heart
can’t understand
the coming back
when ages pass
into the mist of time
– tis there
my breath is taken
by love
forever mine

. . .

places not yet lived ~

13 Friday Jul 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, spirituality, Storytelling

≈ 24 Comments

Tags

care, carry me, dreams, faith, home, life, love, memory, shadows, truth, willing soul

homeremembersme2

as the steel regard of morning
pulls my tired soul from dreams –
another life beyond the reach
of lowly expectation
stirs within the mystery
and I close my eyes again
flirting with the patterns
where faded roses bloom –
across some great tomorrow
tis there my longing burns
letters curve unsettled
on the page –
by memories returning
of places not yet lived
light beyond the shadows
of my room

. . .

Author’s Note: Those who know me well are aware of recurrent
dreams – of a house in which I have never lived,
on a road I’ve never traveled. Yet, so familiar is the dream that I know the steps from the porch to the gate,
the slant of the yard into the trees. I know the count

of roses on the faded wallpaper,
and the pause between drips into an old basin.
Once asked, ‘Do you think it is a place nearby?
Wonder who lives there.’
My shocked response was simply, ‘I do’.

❤

. . .

last in line ~

11 Wednesday Jul 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Storytelling

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

acceptance, contentment, family, happiness, home, living, love, still, truth, unplugged, wealth

When I was a kid, I did not (ever) walk five miles in the snow to get to school. I didn’t have to get up at three to milk the cows or muck the stalls. The things I did as a child weren’t seen as ever a hardship, but simply what I did. I neither saw it as hard or easy, but simply a part of my living.

Until I was a teenager, I shared a tiny room with a sister and a brother. Later, I shared a slightly larger room with two sisters. I shared a bathroom with all of them. I shared shampoo, towels and toothpaste. When times were really tight, as the oldest, I was last in line to use the bathwater.

Was it disgusting? I don’t recall ever thinking that. And, up to this point, I’ve suffered no long term trauma as a result.

Maybe I already knew it wasn’t all about me. Regardless of how bad or easy I had it, I already knew there were others who had it worse.

granny's house

Until my grandpa died, he and my granny lived in a plain clapboard house they had lived in most all their married life. The only electricity was on the ‘cold porch’ where they kept a fridge (which was a huge upgrade from their earlier icebox). There was no indoor plumbing. A cold drink was dipped from a bucket on the kitchen counter.

Almost every Sunday, my grandparents’ children and grandchildren would come for church and stay for dinner (aka lunch in most parts of the country). An average Sunday might include thirty people. There was a huge dining table, but ladderback chairs covered the front porch, the side yard, and back stoop.

Now, I realize there are plenty of people nowadays who cook like that for family on holidays or maybe even on Sundays.

But here’s the difference.

We’d have fried chicken, homemade biskits, white gravy, corn on the cob, green beans, and at least two kinds of cobbler. On special days, we’d have homemade icecream.

Doesn’t sound like much, does it?

But (remember) there was no electricity. Granny had most likely killed that chicken before church or the night before. All cooking was done on a wood burning stove with no microwave, no mixes, no running water, and no air conditioning…..by two little weathered hands.

Those same hands, covered with flour would fold into grace before we ate, offering gratitude for love that brought us into a solitary place.

❤

There were lots of trees in the yard; a side fence separated the house from the orchard, the backyard from the garden, the barn and the livestock. During most months, the song of the cicada was louder than that of the crickets. When they emerged from the ground, it was the trees where they left behind their brittle shells.

I’d collect those shells, lining them up along the porch and down the front path, creating a miniature parade. I would talk to them and pretend they were friends to each other.

❤

I realize it doesn’t sound like much. To anyone who never lived it, it might even sound backward or simple.

But we weren’t. We were rich. We had one another. We had Sunday. My grandpa had a store just over the hill with dirt floors, blue horse notebooks and ice cold Dr. Pepper and Orange Crush.

❤

I can recall spending hours watching feral kittens out the window. They lived under the house, but wouldn’t allow anyone to touch them. The closest I could get was the bedroom window.

We had the coldest water I believe I’ve ever tasted, and apple pie like nobody knows how to make anymore. We had a pond that froze in winters, and woods filled with Christmas trees!

❤

Was it always perfect? Of course not, although I can’t seem to recall moments that weren’t. I believe that who we become in this life isn’t due to a series of experiences, but rather what we choose to keep.

We had the beginning of a story, and hands that warmed around us.

❤

when there was nothing
I remember you –
a name within my mouth
a thunder slipping
soundless
through the night
when there was nothing
all we had
was enough to fold around
when there was nothing
all we had
was everything

. . .

Author’s Note: Inscription on the back of this photo –
First rule of life. Never be without someone to love. ❤

the ways of love ~

10 Tuesday Jul 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, spirituality, Storytelling

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

beneath the maples, colors, home, life, love, patience, time, truth, what matters most

walkinghometoday

more to me
than yellow leaves
a kiss beneath a whistle
count the stars
to speak of me
somehow

reminded of another
life –
the ancient ones recall
colors left of living
faded now

if e’er the time
for turning home –
was cool beneath my feet
the ways of love
I’ve come
to know them well

silence lures
with tender tongue
so sweet
the lover’s cry
dying holds a story
few can tell

for every chance
another took –
nights of consequence
and there
beyond the vapor
fires burn

to fell the barn
where winter wheat
is stacked
the same as letters
taken breath
another love to learn

. . .

one more only time ~

06 Friday Jul 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, spirituality

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

darkness, endurance, faith, home, journey, lessons, light, love, prophecy, the path, truth, understanding, wisdom

belonging

beyond this day
of forgotten wills
night to darkness cleaves
a canopy of stars
where all
will shine

watching long
the narrow path –
searching familiar skies
grieving still
for one more
only time

how many now
the roads behind –
as promise laid before
a velvet stretch of moss
beneath our toes

the fading sun
reminding us
of all we’ve left to leave
before in some –
another time
we know

. . .

tethered to glory ~

06 Friday Jul 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, spirituality, Storytelling

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

guardian, hawk, lessons in everything, life, love, meditation, memory, nature, protector, solitude, story, time, travel, truth, witness

RedAs much as I might claim otherwise, I sometimes find myself ‘drifting’ through days – life and memories, back and forth between the past and present, and quite often into an improbable future.

At times, my absence is hardly noticed; at others, the person to miss my presence most is me.

Mornings are my favorite time for traveling.

In the hour it takes me to get to work, I can traverse years, miles and lifetimes.  There are no calls to make, so I drive without much distraction, often arriving at work with no clear remembrance of passing the post office or picking up coffee.  Some might call it multi-tasking of another kind altogether.

It’s what I do, and suspect I’m not alone in my comings and goings.

Yet now and again, I am pulled from my reverie by the most unlikely of culprits. One such diversion is a dear friend I call Red. Red is a hawk that sits atop the powerline, just at the point where my country road turns to the highway. While I’d love to think he watches for me, I suspect he’s perched with a clear view of nearby fields while awaiting breakfast.

On days he isn’t there, I imagine him soaring over other fields, or dividing spoils among a nest of open mouths.

But when he is there, he is a sweet reminder, a gentle pull backward from the edge of nothing into the moment where glory resides.

Of all I could waste, let not this moment be lost.

I’ve seen you there
awaiting tides –
that I might turn
to find you
perched above the altar
to my soul

. . .

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Poetic Thoughts

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