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tornadoday

~ …might I be found in words I leave behind

tornadoday

Tag Archives: connection

weeds grown up ~

19 Saturday Mar 2022

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Storytelling

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

compassion, connection, desire, empath, home, life, love, nature, passion

when the wolf
is come
for answers
growling at my door
returned to find
his favored bowl is clean
i shall whisper
to his madness
make sense of every need
i shall sing
into the sorrow
of his want
when come for me

i remember well
the way it felt
returning back to home
to find the weeds
grown up
the cupboards bare
i remember tears
can taste them now
how sweet their recompense
for losses
far too many
to repair

. . .

enough to tell ~

26 Wednesday May 2021

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, verse

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

connection, life, love, memory, mystery, soul, spirit

i was never here
where anyone would see
how the sun
became my words
became my skin –
midnight was my pulse
never far
from being found
tho near enough
near enough to hear –
where a practiced word
might fall –
and I beside
who can say
where i was
when you remembered
all i was
how it felt
to lose
a memory
. . .

never less ~

02 Tuesday Feb 2021

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, spirituality

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

bliss, connection, dreams, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, life, love, poetry, reason, relationship, spirit, truth, understanding, wisdom

in darkest days
we seek the light
which shines eternally
our prayers for grace are answered then
as those I lift for thee

as ageless as the pen to trust
the truth grows ever clearer
returning love to all who love –
and seek to draw it nearer

pages tempted from the past
become my destiny –
each step one closer to the light
where others wait for me

should e’er my name your heart recall
in blood or ink confess –
then I shall love you still the more
and never love you less

. . .

little hands ~

07 Tuesday Apr 2020

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

≈ 15 Comments

Tags

connection, destiny, dreams, faith, family, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, inheritance, knowledge, life, love, memory, old maps, our greatest treasure, passion, reason, strength, truth, understanding, value

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

golden ~

29 Sunday Mar 2020

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, Storytelling, verse

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

beginnings, breath, connection, destiny, fearless, forgiveness, grace, kentucky, life, love, moments, old maps, passion, poetry, reason, southern, spirit, strength, touch, truth, understanding, wandering, wonder

memories

as the essence
of remember
floating golden thru the trees –
fingers reach beyond
the midday sun
fumbling with moments
love forgot to say –
sunlight swirls
in feeling just begun

silence wraps
the weary heart –
promise wears us down
with memory of places
yet to be
quiet proves a slow refrain
of stories never told –
verses fall
into the years
between

musings o’er the reasons
and wondering
the pause –
what of life and where
the leaves are blown
swept on dreams repented
by the way we hold the words
bittersweet –
the flight of love
unknown

. . .

whispered into sorrow ~

22 Sunday Mar 2020

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, folklore, Poetry

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

awakened, becoming, connection, death, destiny, faith, family, fearless, forgiveness, grace, knowledge, life, love, nature, old maps, passion, poetry, reason, restless, spirit, spirituality, strength, truth, understanding, value

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

. . .

best ever ~

04 Tuesday Dec 2018

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

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

bliss, connection, faith, family, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, living, love, memory, old maps, postmark, reason, relationship, spirit, strength, truth, wealth, wonder

Just this week, a friend told me of the start of a new tradition within her family wherein each member shared their best Christmas memory. Even in recounting the experience, tears filled her eyes as she spoke of her own, and those shared by others. There were moments of sorrow and others sweeterstillof pure joy, but eventually, they all became the best memory ever.

How is it that we’ve forgotten that? To know that every sorrow wears a coat of joy, and every bliss is but a warning of grief – a missing of the sweetest part? And yet, when measured into the same overflowing cup, they become the best – again and again.

She asked to my best memory ever and I think (partially) it was dislodged from my heart by her telling, but it is one of joy and family……….the best ever still.

Tho we didn’t know it at the time, we weren’t rich. My family of six lived in a two bedroom trailer until I was twelve. Then we moved into a castle of three bedrooms….. 🙂 The memory recalled is from the ‘castle’. Every Saturday was the same. One by one, my brother and sisters would wake for some reason and make our way to my parent’s room, my parent’s bed. Until we were all there, telling our dreams, torturing and tickling, and eventually deciding on breakfast.

But Christmas was another such time. My brother (who by virtue of the fact that he was the only son, had his own bedroom) would sleep in the girl’s room. We’d all pile into one big bed (or it seemed big at the time – tho I suspect it was no more than a full-size). I’m not sure we slept at all, but during the night, with every little squeak or bending of board, we’d speculate that Santa had come around. My brother was the designated outlook for us, and he would sneak down the hall to spy on the living room………and then run back to the safety of us to report. There was no understanding that it had to be five o’clock before we could get up. The only restriction was that we couldn’t get up before Santa had arrived.

closerYears later, I have heard stories of how long it took to get all the presents under the tree*. Between wrapping, assembling, and playing with all the toys – it was their joy we were most anticipating I think. Even now, at Christmas, I imagine the sound of little boy feet running down the hall…….. ‘he’s here, he’s here’………..

Let us keep Christmas forever in our tiny hearts, remembering things little as big. Let us keep love through the sharing of stories – creating anew every best memory.

* My Chatty Cathy doll was almost worn out before Christmas, and a promise to get a kitten for my sister resulted in an unexpected run to the country – and a cat that nearly brought my dad to stitches.  In the telling, even more sweet beautiful tears.  My dad comments, ‘we didn’t know just how good we had it’….  Then he winks, ‘yeah, we knew’……..

wake me home
some other year –
beyond this life surrendered
fall to me the places
I have known –
save for me
a little room
with not much more
for leaving –
arms to fill
wake me now
to home

. . .

Author’s Note:  One of my favorite reposted as a reminder.

shutter ~

27 Tuesday Nov 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

another world, awakening, connection, contentment, dreams, life, love, poetry, sleep, sometimes around midnight, spirit, time, truth, voice of the soul

curtain

do you understand
how far a whisper travels
when you mutter
to the darkness
do you know –
of another
not so distant
not the least of far away
who shutters from the depths
that calm her soul

contented in belonging
sometimes the lonely boards
are pressed beneath her pacing
was here
you surely passed
watching for some evidence
she wonders
do you hear
an echo of a murmur –
not her last

. . .

best ever ~

21 Thursday Dec 2017

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

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

bliss, connection, faith, family, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, living, love, memory, old maps, postmark, reason, relationship, spirit, strength, truth, wealth, wonder

Just this week, a friend told me of the start of a new tradition within her family wherein each member shared their best Christmas memory. Even in recounting the experience, tears filled her eyes as she spoke of her own, and those shared by others. There were moments of sorrow and others sweeterstillof pure joy, but eventually, they all became the best memory ever.

How is it that we’ve forgotten that? To know that every sorrow wears a coat of joy, and every bliss is but a warning of grief – a missing of the sweetest part? And yet, when measured into the same overflowing cup, they become the best – again and again.

She asked to my best memory ever and I think (partially) it was dislodged from my heart by her telling, but it is one of joy and family……….the best ever still.

Tho we didn’t know it at the time, we weren’t rich. My family of six lived in a two bedroom trailer until I was twelve. Then we moved into a castle of three bedrooms….. 🙂 The memory recalled is from the ‘castle’. Every Saturday was the same. One by one, my brother and sisters would wake for some reason and make our way to my parent’s room, my parent’s bed. Until we were all there, telling our dreams, torturing and tickling, and eventually deciding on breakfast.

But Christmas was another such time. My brother (who by virtue of the fact that he was the only son, had his own bedroom) would sleep in the girl’s room. We’d all pile into one big bed (or it seemed big at the time – tho I suspect it was no more than a full-size). I’m not sure we slept at all, but during the night, with every little squeak or bending of board, we’d speculate that Santa had come around. My brother was the designated outlook for us, and he would sneak down the hall to spy on the living room………and then run back to the safety of us to report. There was no understanding that it had to be five o’clock before we could get up. The only restriction was that we couldn’t get up before Santa had arrived.

closerYears later, I have heard stories of how long it took to get all the presents under the tree*. Between wrapping, assembling, and playing with all the toys – it was their joy we were most anticipating I think. Even now, at Christmas, I imagine the sound of little boy feet running down the hall…….. ‘he’s here, he’s here’………..

Let us keep Christmas forever in our tiny hearts, remembering things little as big. Let us keep love through the sharing of stories – creating anew every best memory.

* My Chatty Cathy doll was almost worn out before Christmas, and a promise to get a kitten for my sister resulted in an unexpected run to the country – and a cat that nearly brought my dad to stitches.  In the telling, even more sweet beautiful tears.  My dad comments, ‘we didn’t know just how good we had it’….  Then he winks, ‘yeah, we knew’……..

wake me home
some other year –
beyond this life surrendered
fall to me the places
I have known –
save for me
a little room
with not much more
for leaving –
arms to fill
wake me now
to home

. . .

Author’s Note:  One of my favorite reposted as a reminder.

stilled ~

12 Thursday Oct 2017

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

becoming, bliss, breath, connection, destiny, grace, knowledge, life, living, love, old maps, passion, poetry, spirit, strength, understanding

closerhome

heaven
is never
as close as was then
warmth
to my cold
fingertips

somebody wrote
themselves into story
e’en now
I remember
the way –

the essence
of light
when stilled
by surrender

purpose made sweeter
by the giving
away

a shimmering
promise
of love yet
becoming

the same as was
morning –
found new
on the day

. . .

 

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Poetic Thoughts

Benjamin Grossman

Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic

Discover WordPress

A daily selection of the best content published on WordPress, collected for you by humans who love to read.

Walt's Writings

Poetry about Life, Love, Music by Walt Page, The Tennessee Poet

Silent Fingers

~ journey of a rose scented ink ~

House of Heart

vimal samuel

Whosoever Will, May Come

Faithful Believers, Are There Any Left?

Exploring the epiphany

Seasonings

Just a little poetry...

Revelation

MyWorldsInWords

View my worlds

yelena's poetry

Now & Then

The fears of a girl, the heart of a woman, and everything inbetween...

Blonde in Flares

Flared and prepared.

Ziyaad poet

Just a cup of poetry and cookies

The Reluctant Poet

A Discovery of Enlightening Insights, Information, Humor, Writings and Musings

Dr. Eric Perry’s Coaching Blog

Motivate | Inspire | Uplift

Broken roads of Destiny

“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.” — Maya Angelou

grandfathersky

Thoughts and feelings made into words about the world and times in which we live ...

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