of places I am ~

14 Friday Nov 2014

Tags

becoming, breath, connection, destiny, family, grace, gravel roads, life, living, love, old maps, passion, postmark, southern, spirit, strength, value

pay no mind
to the weathered boards
paint replaced
by decay
steps worn down
as proof of a life
shutters
broken and gray

of places
I am
if ever was once
a memory
shining and new
windows undimmed
by the breaking apart
glisten with love
shining thru

. . .

the shape of words ~

08 Saturday Nov 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Poetry

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

becoming, connection, conscious consciousness, destiny, faith, family, fearless, grace, gravel roads, home, knowledge, life, love, memory, old maps, passion, poetry, postmark, reason, restless, southern, spirit, truth, understanding, value, wandering

once
and I was here before
watching from the window
on a piece of land
and thirteen stones
by name

thirty steps
from screen to gate
sixteen more to leaving
headlights swept
above a gravel plan

dusty now
to keepsake hopes
by one of me forgotten
crayola words
tho who to recognize
the shape of words
spilling verse
counting back to heaven

crooked boards
remember me
a poem undefined

. . .

(all the time)

26 Friday Sep 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Poetry

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

becoming, connection, destiny, faith, family, fearless, forgiveness, grace, knowledge, life, living, love, passion, reason, relationship, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, wisdom

It has been a long week, but still a blessing. God is good (all the time). Even when we are immersed in frustration, indecision and worry, the truth remains with us. The things that haunt us do so for a reason – so that we see them more clearly – so that we examine our own feelings, motives, and choices.

I believe that if we find ourselves in the same place time and again, there’s a reason. We need to pay attention. We are brought back there so that we can appreciate the lesson. Otherwise, we are much like a person lost in the woods….led by nothing more than the desire to be saved. Without direction (the compass of the soul), we wander again and again to the same sweet tree.

What I know. Adversity doesn’t build character; it reveals it. When we are faced with something we’d rather not, or we get something other than what we wanted, it becomes a point of strengthening – perhaps even a clarification of who we are (as opposed to who we wish to be or claim to be). It offers us a deeper understanding of what matters, what doesn’t, and all the mess that can get in between.

But sometimes (sweetly), the mess is a part of the blessing.

“The barn’s burned down; now I can see the moon.”

Within the devastation known as ruin, we find hope such that a clean slate doesn’t appear quite so empty. We look up, and for a moment, even the stars surprise us. The path glows brighter in the darkness.

beyond the night
a wiser sun
than e’er the dark
could claim
beyond the prayer
a blessing
we became
a song we knew
before the tunes
were found
in sweet refrain
beyond the light
eternal burns
our flame

. . .

more ~

24 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Poetry

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

bliss, breath, connection, conscious consciousness, destiny, dreams, faith, family, forgiveness, grace, life, living, love, old maps, passion, reason, relationship, restless, resurrection, self, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, value, wisdom, wonder

Yesterday (Sunday), I listened to a message entitled ‘enough’. It spoke of a culture that seeks fulfillment in the physical accumulation of more and more stuff. Although I had never thought of it, we place our hopes and dreams in things that will ultimately end up in a landfill.

It was a message designed to motivate, at a time when most churches are looking for financial commitment. The minister spoke of tithing and ways of getting by on less. The ultimate question asked again and again, ‘how much is enough’…….

I was reminded of a conversation with my sister a few years back when we talked about all we had, and how it was nothing more than on loan from a greater power. How many cell phones do we need? How big does a TV need to be in order to be enough?

Later, I was thinking back on this word – ‘enough’ and found it ironic that we live in a society that never seems to get enough, but has no concept of ‘enough’ as it relates to investment in those things we cannot hold anyway. I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about love, forgiveness, compassion, and time. When we consciously give these, we find the greater wealth returned to us. Love should always result in more love; compassion, more compassion; and forgiveness, room for more.

“He is no fool who gives that which he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.”

When I wrote this on Sunday afternoon, I had no idea how the week might unravel, and yet last night as I reflected, all things seem to connect through this, to this notion of more.

I love the idea of grace and although Mr. Webster might describe it differently, I think of it as love undeserved. When someone says, “I love you”, it is the ‘more’ that matters – not that I love you more than you love me, but that I love you more than you might have felt you deserved. That’s grace, and it is (in my opinion) the divine within us. Certainly, life would be less messy if God had asked us simply to love those just like us, those who deserve it, those who make it easy.

We are better, or at least I believe we are.

And there’s that word – believe. There are the things I believe and the things I know.

We are warned time and again about judging others, and yet we do it. Everyone does it. I do it, because inherently, I feel an urge to judge those who judge. Twisted, I know! I try, but it is difficult not to. But judging is razor’s edge. It is not just about forming an opinion based on information or facts (or a lack of either). It’s about denying love, forgiveness and compassion based on our own ideas of whether or not someone deserves it. It is the thing that keeps love from being ‘more’. It keeps love from being grace (and it is surely by grace, we are saved).

Silly me, but I would argue that it’s not really love if it comes with the condition of being deserved. As Lyle Lovett penned it so well –

And who keeps on loving you
When you’ve been lying
Saying things ain’t what they seem
God does
But I don’t
God will
But I won’t
And that’s the difference
Between God and me

I don’t always get it right, but that’s okay. In my bones, I believe we are asked (blessed) to make a habit of giving ‘more’, of being ‘more’, of forgiving ‘more’. When I think of judgment, I think of something I once heard. God created us in His image, and in return (out of some crazy reasoning), we create Him in ours. We assume our logic of what is lovable and forgivable is the same as His.

I thank Him every day that it’s not.

When I fail to love, that isn’t about deserving. That isn’t even about the person I’m withholding my love and forgiveness from. It’s about me. When my life is over, I will not be asked what I kept for myself, but rather what I gave away. In giving of grace, I am hopeful to receive the same. I don’t know about you, but I was kinda counting on a little divine grace.

What I believe – a sweeter life awaits beyond what we could earn, beyond what we deserve.

What I know – we don’t have to wait.

of choices
only these
of what I give away
the last I knew
of promises
of debts I can’t repay
but let not
there be another
would wander to a place
where arms
are not yet opened –
love is not yet grace
break my heart again (again)
that I might learn to heal
that I might live
beyond this life
another truth revealed
of choices
might I gather –
as stones
along the road
and carry not their burden
to my soul

. . .

riches ~

26 Tuesday Aug 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Poetry

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

bliss, family, forgiveness, grace, knowledge, life, living, memory, old maps, reason, southern, truth, understanding, value, wisdom, worth

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

I’m reminded of a time when my daddy took it on himself to haul off the trash for the trailer park rather than pay someone to do it. It was a great idea, but contained a flaw that should have been predicted. He brought back more than he took. Even with good intentions, he couldn’t drive off and leave a ‘perfectly good’ ironing board in the dumpster. No more than he could spot a nail on the sidewalk and not pick it up (because you never know when you might need a nail).

On a visit a while back, my daddy was looking for his wallet, adamant that it was somewhere on the coffee table. I was helping as best I could, and picked up something that looked like the back off a cellphone.

“Mama, is your phone broken?”

“No.”

“Well, what’s this?”

“Your daddy found in the parking lot at the Burger King.”

“Does it fit your phone?”

“No.”

“So……. (catching up) it’s here because there might be a time in the future when you DO have a phone it will fit, and your phone will be broken.”

Daddy interjecting… “just put it back on the table”.

He came from a generation where waste was unforgiveable – near the end of the Depression. He saves everything. Perhaps there is some universal karma at work. “If I found it, then surely I will need it at some point.”

But that brings me around to the real reason for this piece. I am grateful that he is the way he is, but am also grateful that he doesn’t know anything about Craigslist.

If ever there’s a moment when I need a chuckle, all I have to do is go to Craigslist and access the link labeled ‘free’. Here are a couple of my favorites from the past.

‘Couch in fair condition sitting beside the dumpster outside the Walmart on Gallatin Road. Better hurry; it looks like it could rain.’

‘Bookcase and piano. The bookcase needs painting and a little repair. I don’t know much about the piano, so don’t start sending me emails wanting to know whether it plays or what kind it is. What it is is free.’

‘FREE Panasonic huge tv, on front porch. Do not ring or knock on door!!!! Bring a buddy & a truck it’s heavy. Works great!!! Will not answer door if you knock, I go to bed by 9pm.’

‘Horse Manure. Just bought a property with a horse barn. There’s manure aplenty. If you’re a gardener or you compost, come and get it. If you don’t garden or compost, but you want a bunch of horse manure, this is your big chance. Come and get it. If you know a gardener or someone who likes plants…well, Christmas is coming. This may be just the thing for that hard-to-shop-for in-law. Come and get it. If your teenagers are totally grounded and you want them to learn the importance of mindlessly unpleasant work, come WITH THEM to get it.’

You see what I mean? It’s a great source of free entertainment.

But this past weekend, I was reminded again of why I am glad my dad doesn’t know anything about this ‘free’ stuff.

I chuckled out loud as I walked into the living room. “Honey, I’ve found the perfect thing for your and dad’s birthdays.” (they share a birthday)……

A skeptical look (as if I was being anything but serious).

“Yep. A guy in town is looking to give away four donkeys, one of which is pregnant. My only concern is that I don’t know who should get the pregnant one.”

“Well, maybe you should just give all of them to your dad?”

“I could do that. Another guy is looking to give away three chickens and an ‘old’ rooster.”

I am convinced there’s a world of opportunity just waiting for us to find it.

Generally, there’s a deeper message with my writing. But this one – well, it’s just about enjoying life, and laughing when you get the chance.

. . .

hands and thieves ~

22 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Poetry

≈ 18 Comments

Tags

bliss, connection, conscious consciousness, destiny, dreams, faith, family, fearless, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, living, love, memory, old maps, passion, poetry, reason, relationship, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, value, wandering, wonder

Not long ago, while visiting my parents, my mother and I were discussing a much needed painting as part of home renovations. We talked about the wallpaper I recently got rid of, and some she has hopes of retiring soon

Then, as now, I am reminded of the things that matter – that which we keep. I believe I commented, ‘the wallpaper isn’t bad but I’m not so endeared to it that I’d be hurt if you painted over’.

And yet, in retrospect, I realize there are other ‘things’ that I’ve been sentimental over at times, though the sentiment was tied to an associated memory rather than the physical. You’re probably struggling to understand, so let me give you some examples.

When I was eighteen years old, the house trailer we lived in when I was younger caught fire. It was rented at the time, and something on the stove got too close to something on the windows. Before anything could be done, it was too late. Mobile homes tend to be like Christmas trees; there’s not much waiting between flame and ash. I remember that we (my brother, sisters and parents) stood in the road and watched. We held hands, and I’m quite certain each of us cried. Though it was still just a ‘thing’, my mother commented on dresser drawers that bore my sister’s teething marks, and baseboards inscribed in crayon with my name (again and again). That which endeared the place to us wasn’t lost, and yet it was no longer a memory we could see.
When my parents moved from the park they owned, they found they couldn’t transfer the phone number to their new house because it was associated with the business. So, they got a new phone number. And I cried. Yesterday, even as I thought of this, I called the old number to see who would answer; as if some sixteen year old version of myself might pick-up. Since then, the area code has changed, but the affect wasn’t nearly as harsh.
My brother and sisters reminisce from time to time on an orange bathing suit our mother wore for as many years as we could remember, and a pair of plaid swim trunks daddy owned. Does it matter whether they were stylish? Does it matter where they are now? When I see a flower that color of orange, I feel it new, the same, deeply.

Easterners worn us of attachment, and I realize how easy it is to get tied into things that don’t matter, like the wallpaper design or whether you have the latest trend in ovens. For years, I bought clothes at upscale places. Now, I shop Goodwill, and savor the bargains. But deeper, I feel another association. My childhood is peppered with memories of trips to the ‘rag store’ (as my grandmother would call them), hiding under tables whenever she would cry out, ‘Bobbie, I found you some panties.’ 

That which we keep is that which becomes a part of us. It’s not a thing, and it’s not even a time. It’s a moment that exists still, as close as the scent of an orange honeysuckle, or in the feel of tags against my fingers.

It’s a favorite pair of earrings and words nearly worn thru.

When I started this piece, I thought on time. There are those who claim that I spend too much on the past. And yet, I would disagree. I spend my time (now) living and part of the joy in living is a love for how I got to this place. You see, despite what they say, time isn’t a thief. Time is your constant companion. When you are broken, it reminds you of the need to move forward. The real thieves are hatred, bitterness, resentment, and regret. They take all you’ll give – health, relationships, and every bit of your joy they can get.

I’d make a lousy Buddhist. I suspect part of the reason is that I’m a poet, and a keeper of stories (of the old ways). It’s not about ‘things’, but about everything, everything come of love. Nothing matters; everything matters.

Someone near and dear reminds me that enlightenment is seeing things as they really are. With time, I’ve come to revel in my wilderness….to linger softly with my tears, to see with eyes (but more, with my soul).

May you cling warmly to the tender hands of time.

of another place
become of me –
has taken me to learn
e’en now my heart
grows full
beneath the weight
of blessings found
where I begin
to find my joys earned
a field beyond
my reaching
for the gate

. . .

echo ~

11 Monday Aug 2014

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

becoming, connection, conscious consciousness, death, destiny, dreams, faith, family, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, love, memory, old maps, passion, reason, spirit, story, strength, truth, value, wandering, wisdom, wonder

what closed to my eyes
the certain return
of all I have given –
all I have known
is kept in this endless
cavern of heart
where night never fades
without promise of light
to shine on the writing
the carving of names
held into place
by speaking aloud
of those who are gone
but honor me still
as an echo of some
intangible proof
seasons and who needs
a reason to keep
what became of a story
written of me

. . .

whatever she’s wearing ~

06 Wednesday Aug 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Poetry

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

becoming, bliss, connection, destiny, dreams, faith, family, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, living, love, memory, old maps, passion, reason, relationship, southern, spirit, truth, understanding, value

As a rule, writing isn’t a problem for me. I place my fingers on the keys and let go (sometimes, like now, I close my eyes). The problem is never about writing, but quite often, it is about knowing when to stop. Rambling can become a novella in no time flat. A single good idea can take on epic proportions such that what I meant to say is never heard.

I say that as a way of explaining this piece. I’d like to stay on course, and not stray too far. And yet, I am not optimistic in that regard.

This comes as fallout from a visit with my parents last evening. You’ll understand (hopefully) somewhere along the telling.

My parents are lovers.

While most children are thrilled to have friends over, I was always a little apprehensive. I feared my parents would embarrass me. I can still remember how there was a mirror hung above the TV when I was a kid. You couldn’t watch TV without also catching what was going on in the kitchen behind you. “What was going on” was most always the same – my parents kissing. Yuk! Can you imagine the concern that would cause in a twelve year old girl’s heart?

And yet, now I see it differently (funny how that happens).

My grandfather owned a restaurant where my mother often worked the cash register. Child laws didn’t apply, or least not in the rural hills of Tennessee. My dad was a regular, and they met over the pinball machine. After several attempts, he finally convinced her to go out with him (but that’s another story involving the county fair and some ‘floozy from McMinnville’). Three months later, my granny rode with them over the state line into Georgia, where they were married. He was 23 and she was 14.

His tour with the Air Force ended two months later, with seven days between his discharge and starting a job he would work for more than fifty years. I was the result of that seven day break. By the time my mom turned 25, she had four children.

Other than grandparents, I don’t recall ever a time that my parents had a baby-sitter. They never went where we didn’t go, and if we went to the movie and it turned out to be a little too much, we’d leave. There were no theatres in our town, so movies were trips to the drive-in; lawn chairs in the backend of a pickup truck. But always, we were together; they were together.

I’m positive that things weren’t always so easy, and yet (and yet) more times than not, they somehow managed to make it look that way. There was never a problem bigger than their love for each other.

As grown-up children, we’ve come to understand that there’s no sense arguing. If mama’s in the hospital, daddy will sleep on the floor. If daddy’s in the hospital, mama will sleep wherever she can, and more than once, they’ve been known to crowd into a hospital bed. I’m not sure I’d know what to do if my parents didn’t kiss before parting, even if it’s just a trip to the kitchen. Even now, they snuggle in the backseat as if they had just met.

If you ask my dad what colors he likes best, he’ll quickly respond, ‘whatever she’s wearing’.

But around to last night.

I was leaving. Daddy pulled himself up from the couch, and put his arm around mama. [Let me add another footnote here. Regardless of what time might take, it’s never changed the sparkle in his eye when he hears her voice or looks at her.]

He said, ‘you know something….I don’t know how, but every day I love this woman more’.

I smiled, ‘yep, just when you thought it impossible, your heart got bigger’.

We walked to the door, and there were more hugs and more kisses.

‘Daddy, do you love me more every day?’

‘Yes……..I do’……..and then a crooked smile and that sparkle, ‘but not like her’.

I’ve come to understand that the first person to kiss me doesn’t matter nearly as much as the last.

. . .

somewhere still
they’re making plans
for me another life
than a sheet or two strung out
on the line
a fate I’d never trade
for less than hand-me-downs
a moment here for getting on
is proof
of love divine

. . .

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