Category Archives: a time for telling

answered to my heart ~

06 Thursday May 2021

Posted by in a time for telling, Poetry, spirituality, verse

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while I dreamed
forever tilted….
and I was thrown from bed
betrayed by sleep
as voices filled my head
as mercies –
broke the window
crossed the lawn
forgotten to the arms
I prayed would linger
forsaken by uncertainty
gifted by the dawn

while I slept
there came another
life imagined
left behind –
packed inside a box
I couldn’t find
names I barely recognized
a photograph misplaced –
coffee was my solace
a mystery divine

while I dreamed
heaven emptied –
wishes floated to
the dark
but for one –
a single star for you
webs I’d spun to hold me
were answered to my heart
beyond the clouds
the sun came burning
through

familiar sunrise ~

10 Wednesday Mar 2021

Posted by in a time for telling, home, Poetry, Storytelling

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what share would I give
of a life fully lived
another life to recall
arms reaching out
from the shadows –
words cut short
by the fall

a house settled back
on the edge of a wood
smoke in the air
in my eyes
steps from my watch
at the window –
dawns a familiar
sunrise

would e’er creation
remember me whole
to places I loved long ago
memories tease
at the edge of my reaching
of something
I already know

Author’s Note: Of those who know me well, a few know me better. They know of the house that has been a part of my dreams since I was a child. As of late, they come less frequent (I have a theory on that) but still. I’ve never been there, and yet I know it, and could find it if chance put me within a mile or two. I know the steps from the porch to the fence, the soft old rose print of wallpaper in the smallest bedroom, the way the wind howls through the trees at night. A dear friend who I shared my stories with once commented that she and I should take a trip in search of ‘the house’. “I’m sure it’s near here, and we could find out who actually lives there.” I froze. She didn’t understand at all. “I live there.”

In another life. I am in the kitchen as morning climbs the steps.  I dance beneath a faded bulb, and worry not for sleepless nights in which I am lost (I am found).  I love.

But in this life, in those moments that reach my soul, I pause. I place my hand against a window, upon someone’s heart. I close my eyes (a snapshot) and whisper “remember this”. ❤

. . .

sometimes ~

05 Friday Mar 2021

Posted by in a time for telling, Poetry

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I’ve made peace
with where you are
(another part of me)
can’t see your sun
from where I sleep at night
can’t listen
as you tell me
what of this is everything
where the story ends
and who you love

from every dream
another came
(tho none to take your place)
some nights I walk for miles
before I see
a star I know is glowing
just as brightly where you are
sometimes I weep
sometimes I laugh
sometimes I hit my knees

I wonder
(as you know I do)
to fill a busy space
do your eyes still hold
the colors of the moon
are there wrinkles
where your smile became
a place I loved
to kiss
would your arms
still reach around
eternity

. . .

when roses bloom in winter ~

18 Thursday Feb 2021

Posted by in a time for telling, Poetry, spirituality

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what of time
was ever ours
eternity to claim
when roses bloom in winter –
will one recall
our name

tis there we live
immortal beat –
for years beyond our years
a photograph
of a photograph –
as love we reappear

as blessings
where we left them be
a smile remembers when –
love was all we knew of life
– is there we touch
again

until the night
is drawn
across the memory of us
would that another
speak aloud –
a name
the same as love

. . .

Lillian Rebecca Smith George
grace in a cotton dress
1923 – 2021

once were words ~

12 Monday Oct 2020

Posted by in a time for telling, Poetry, spirituality, verse

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beyond the first
of lifetimes spent –
spread beneath the cedars
a scratch defies the hour
we were born
for what becomes
of moments held above
the worth of others –
a touch
to free the night
we waited on

hold my name
upon your tongue –
as memory of taste
tie it to a story
none can tell
as well as you –
tho time has eased
into another morning –
where once were words
twas there
I loved you well

. . .

little hands ~

07 Tuesday Apr 2020

Posted by in a time for telling, Poetry, Storytelling

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windowtomyheart

Of all the things we carry with us, home is perhaps the lightest.

Every year or so, I find reason to be in the area where my grandparents lived for most of my life. Each time, my initial response is the same ‘who moved the house closer to the road?’

In my memory, the yard was huge, as was the orchard and the pond. It was surely a day’s walk to my grandpa’s store (rather than the quarter mile it is now). And how could such a little house and little porch hold so many people, so much love?

In the confines of my heart, the roof pushes against my breastbone and apples fall to the safety of little hands.

We may move, and we may know the feel of many floors beneath our naked feet……..but always, there is something greater we carry with us. We may wander, but we never really leave.

*sigh*

there’s no sign
to point the way
no wear upon the road
but I’d swear
the air is cleaner
in this place

beyond the want
for getting back –
someone waits me now
denied the fault
for leaving –
opened arms of grace

. . .

Republished from original – 2014

whispered into sorrow ~

22 Sunday Mar 2020

Posted by in a time for telling, folklore, Poetry

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silencewing

lest I awaken
mourning dove above my head
whispered into sorrow
by his song
will all I have
a pittance make
compared unto his loss
a place alone
where silence beats the same

sworn to birth
some other time –
before the sky burned black
was here
the reasons scattered us apart
folded as a memory
into the great unknown –
while fortune sleeps
beside us
in the dark

. . .

eyes of the heart ~

29 Wednesday May 2019

Posted by in a time for telling, spirituality, Storytelling

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Most every day, he is there.

Sonny stands on the exit ramp with his dog (Miss Peabody), dependent on hearts that often can’t see him, eyes that rarely meet his.

He has become my friend. I speak to him anytime I’m on the ramp. Sometimes I offer him a bottle of water, a newspaper, a sausage biscuit (or Miss Peabody), or some spare change. I enjoy talking with him, and he has told me more than once how much I mean to him. Miss Peabody rests her head on my window while we talk, likely grateful for a few moments of air conditioning.sonny

A week ago last Friday, as I pulled away and into traffic, I realized that I had not mentioned my plans to be on vacation the following week. When I traveled the same road that afternoon, I looked for him but he wasn’t around.

The week passed, and yesterday morning, as I approached the top of the ramp, I saw him. I had never seen him in such a state. He was sitting on the guardrail rather than standing, holding Miss Peabody at his side as he looked toward the ground. He didn’t even look up, and just as I stopped, the light changed.

I rolled down the window and hollered, ‘wake up, Sonny’.

His head jerked and he was immediately on his feet waving his arm, all the while juggling Miss Peabody and laughing…

I haven’t talked to him since returning. This morning, someone else had reached the ramp ahead of him and taken his ‘spot’. Regardless, I expect I will see him soon.

We can never know the impact we have on another’s life, or how the size of our own heart can alter the size of another’s. I only know that Sonny blesses my life…..and I think I bless his.

How easy to forget that we belong to one another. Any concern too small to be turned into a prayer is too small to be made into a burden.

let me know
when you are going
tell my heart
that it be spared
from the ache
that finds you missing
left to mourn
for moments shared
I will grieve
until you find me
carried by your presence home
to a place
that is our passing
lest we ever
walk alone

. . .