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~ …might I be found in words I leave behind

tornadoday

Tag Archives: gravel roads

distances too fragile ~

09 Tuesday Aug 2022

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

distance, gravel roads, life, love, maps, rural, seasons, time

she held winter
in her apron –
snowflakes on a string
a touch of something
magic
she restored
seeds of revolution
weary wicked vine –
she bit her lips
whene’er she willed
for more
of distances
too fragile –
love where weeds permit
roses pressed to walls
yesterday
she walked beyond
what made her longing easy –
wanting for another
to wonder why
she came

. . .

enough to reconsider ~

28 Wednesday Apr 2021

Posted by tornadoday in home, Poetry, Rambling, spirituality, Storytelling, verse

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

death, dirt road, grace, gravel roads, home, journey, love, memory, pilgrimage, southern, spirit, that thing I do, time, weath

thirty miles
is not so far
tho less along the fences
lines already drawn
from heart to home
the road curves back
beside a creek
I remember once you held me –
the water was so cold
I cried for days

there’s a weathered bridge
a leaning barn
winter wheat and locust
boxes stand as one
their flags aloft
afternoons
the sun wears low
enough to reconsider
how many loves
forsaken to this road

cadillacs
and beat up trucks –
drift along the shoulder
pass without a curse
without a pause –
a fleeting recognition
of someone
once you loved
can’t see the tears
beyond the years
can’t say I’ve had enough
of honeysuckle
gravel roads
heaven spread before

weeds have bound
my thirsty heart
to yours

thirty miles
is not so far
lest I lose my way –
wait the creek to rise
would take me home

. . .

faraway ~

05 Friday Feb 2021

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, spirituality

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

broken fences, easy as I, enough, faith, gravel roads, home, it's what I do, life, love, memory, time, writing in the dark

come the morning
of redemption –
city lights
to fade your doubt
for every time
another came
and I was left without

breath no longer easy
was a plead for me
to stay
tho I couldn’t hear
I wouldn’t hear
words you’d never say

for every life
you promised
another perfect place –
an empty barn
a broken fence
memories retraced

to kiss this ground
and cleave my heart in two
been buried
more than once –
beside the river
next to you

shadows slide
on maple floors
while someone that I knew
remembers me
from other times –
a lover passing through

the worst is done
the right made wrong –
and who am I
for asking –
will the crops be gone
before the frost
is come

faraway
so faraway
and where we’ll be
worth telling –
city lights
are faded now
to places faraway

would stay the sun
and block the path
from taking more to pay
the bills tomorrow
bargained for –
with love so far
away

. . .

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

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.

clay somewhere in georgia ~

17 Thursday May 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

compass, discovery, gravel roads, home, life, love, memory, old maps, returning, somewhere still, time, travel, truth

missingyou

my aging skin
is the color of maps
of clay
somewhere in georgia
used to be
sometimes –
i remember that way
the fresh scent of clover
the perfume
of hay
places my skin
was touched by another
kissed by lips
the sun
to discover
nothing but whispers
as a breath on my shoulder
the etching of maps
to trace you
back home

. . .

the beginning of time ~

23 Friday Feb 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

beginning, blessing, gravel roads, home, life, love, moments, old maps, only this, surrender, time, truth

nearenough

let me love you
while I can –
while my hands
can decipher
the map of your soul
the breadth
of your journey
merging with mine
for a moment
untested –
the beginning
of time

let me love you
while I can –
while these bones
can remember
the fusion of wills
fingers weaving
with fingers
toes to curl
forgive me this –
the beginning of all
I’d forgotten
to miss

. . .

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.

rhyme ~

30 Thursday Nov 2017

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Storytelling, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

a time for telling, abundance, ageless, allowance, choice, destiny, divine intuition, gravel roads, home, journey, love, story

aroundagain

today I found another
note –
a reminder tucked away
beneath the eaves
flat against the wall
amazing how
the weather turned
but not a line
was lost
to autumn’s beating branches
winter’s silent fall

I wonder
as the ancient west
spins to dark again
will there we meet anew
some other time
daring in our fearlessness
to write our names
as one –
easing as a season
into rhyme

. . .

souvenirs ~

15 Wednesday Nov 2017

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

always, alzheimers, dreams, gravel roads, home, life, love, remembering, reminders, stars, time, truth, whispers

sunrise (2)
remember me
the sunset
pressed into the plain
as shadow
where the mountains
meet the sea

remember me
a field of lace
where once you lay
me down
beneath a sky
of ancient whisperings

remember me
an always
we dared to reminisce
of one more one day
a star to wish
upon

remember me
the twilight ~
I fell into your eyes
raptured by a
fleeting glimpse
of home

. . .

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Poetic Thoughts

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