09 Monday May 2016
Posted in Poetry
Tags
allowance, comfort, death, grace, gratitude, home, joy, life, love, rain, solace, time, treasure, wholeness, willing, worth
how softly sings
the morning rain –
a pit of willing patter
as tears along
a length of tin –
buckets from a ladder
rain me down
drown me here
lest I the same become
a threat of storms
beyond the creek –
as rivers from the sea
sorrows
I have given claim
as paid with joys for me –
let it rain
tell I am clear
then let it rain
again
. . .
03 Tuesday May 2016
Posted in a time for telling, home, Poetry, Storytelling
If you know me, you’ve come to understand that much of what I believe to be true I learned early, nurtured by love, and surrounded by nature. I rarely read anything without finding another perspective, one in which the lesson is made clearer, sweeter, with a foundation as dear as old roots and ancient stars.
Yesterday, I read something about grief and immediately determined another point of reference (simply of love).
Some of my favorite childhood memories are of camping. Earlier this week, mama and I talked about some of those times, those which are as near today as they were then (close your eyes, brother).
One such endearment lies within the process my mom and dad had for getting us to bed at night. Mom would take us to the bath house earlier in the evening (before dark), and we would return to sit around the fire after supper. As it got later, at some point, daddy would fill a dishpan with warm water and would, one by one, wash our feet and carry us to the tent. What a wonderful memory!
Truly, in retrospect, I’ve come to understand that this was likely an effort to protect the tent from dirty feet…………yet, still……..
The thing I read about grief compared death to the extinguishing a lamp before going to bed. But my immediate point of reference was to nights around the fire. If you’ve been camping, you know that people tend to retire slowly rather than all at once. I recall lying in the tent, listening to conversations taking place around the fire, mesmerized by shadows dancing on the canvas.
What a lovely thought, to think of those who’ve gone on, knowing they are as close as the next room, just beyond the canvas. While we linger around the fire, tending to life, they have retired to dream……….where they wait for us………….
For another dawn, with air so clean it surely is the breath of God, and of bacon frying over an open fire!
. . .
beyond the will
where living still
a fire burns
the brighter
. . .
19 Tuesday Apr 2016
Posted in home, Poetry, Storytelling, Uncategorized
Tags
beginning, blessing, holding, home, joy, learning to live, life, love, resurrection, sorrows, truth
4/13/2016
7:15 AM
when leaves don the color
of twilight descent
when night pulls away
from the dawn
when tears all have dried
will you remember me then
as a time
saved for living
divine
will the birds
sing a chorus –
songs known by heart
to fill up the trees
– as breath
with the breeze
that blows through
your hair
unsettling loves
you’ve forgotten
to remember
somehow
will you wake
with a start –
with a longing for home
miles from the place
was forever begun
might I find you again
by another
someday
a light spilling warm
to my face
elusive as memory
at the edge of a dream
where last I was held
in your arms
untouched by tomorrow
a moment of grace
lingers now
on beginning –
my sorrows
erased
. . .
12 Friday Feb 2016
Posted in a time for telling, Poetry
solace
wears a mask of grief
home – a time began
where reaching back
too often
I am found
mesmerized by everything
let my soul embrace
the tender touch
no matter now
how brief
sorrow
knows of other times
of joys
too big
my heart to spare
of wonders
we shall know again –
bliss (o sweet)
forever shared
evening
sits in shadow
where once the morning
sun
was burned
love remains
the proof of life –
beyond the still
a moment
yearned
. . .
28 Monday Dec 2015
Posted in a time for telling, Uncategorized
We chat about redbuds and the best kind of molasses. Lessons are made of wings to the feeder, rainbows fleeting just beyond the window sill. Stories are retold time and again.
He’s reminisced more than once about his grandmother (Darthula) and of his favorite time of year – the anticipated weeks just before her arrival, before her visit (she traveled by foot o’er many miles, unless someone with a wagon was coming their way).
She held him closer than most, breathed in his ‘little boy’ skin, whispered kisses, baked like a mad woman, and brought with her a treat they otherwise couldn’t well afford – corn flakes.
Prior to his birth, there was no real baby, as the youngest of the children had passed. He was both unexpected and treasured. His sisters spoiled, as his brothers watched over him.
He didn’t care much for eggs, but loved sausage (still loves sausage). Grandpa would sometimes rise at two just to fry him up a skillet full.
There is no leaving…no pulling back.
I speak with others and quite often, the conversation is the same, ‘I know it kills you to see him this way.’
I suppose that’s true – in a way. I wouldn’t wish this current circumstance on him, but on the other hand, I certainly wouldn’t let it keep me away. If the only options are to see him ‘this way’ or not to see him, well, there’s hardly any room for indecision.
If age and disease persist in taking bits of him, then surely, they must love him as I do.
To be truly blessed in the loving, we must find the blessing in every part of letting go, for it is in that place (of grace) that we build what will be left for clinging to later on. Sorrow is a divine inheritance – the same as joys we could not bear part from.
The wrens clamor for the darkest of the seeds, while songbirds wait patiently their favorites. Redbud boughs bend as hymns waft through nearly silent halls – where blessings are whispered without regard for the taking.
of ways
I still remember
how it was
to hold you near
though time has passed
and left no scar
at all
winds are blowing
how I love
the song they hesitate
names I spoke aloud
I speak again
leave to me
the everything –
of all I’ve known to love
let the years
forget not long –
the path
we came
for getting on
05 Wednesday Aug 2015
Posted in Poetry
Tags
acceptance, becoming, bliss, breath, divine this, eternal, fragile, journey, joy, love, moments, nature, returning us to home, sacred intimacy, seasons, time, together, travel, unremembered
for heaven
might I hesitate
the giving of my all
or barter here
for one more yesterday
when willing met
with needful dreams
one night beneath
the boughs
sealed within the silence
of truths we couldn’t say
as proof allowed
in making less
soul to bind my weary soul
words
the stars mistook
for let me in
whispers to the
forest floor
swirling luna flight
breath
where once
your ache
became my skin
. . .
26 Tuesday May 2015
Posted in Poetry
Tags
assurance, beauty, blessings, bliss, gravel roads, here, home, joy, letting go, love, sometimes, starting, truth, unremembering, value, wandering
can we ever
live it over –
leave from places
now forgot
making butterflies
paper
from the moon
remembered
where the going –
was for times
we couldn’t stay
a sunrise
like no other
burned again
lives
becoming stories
of the falling
into you
the taste of home –
a kiss
within a name
. . .
30 Thursday Apr 2015
Posted in Poetry
Tags
always, beauty, blessings, bliss, eternity, friendship, grief, joy, life, love, presence, Q, spirit, Susan Q. Fults, truth
in the gracious greys
of just before
sunlight spills the dawn
darkness pulls
his tender heart
to mine
silence rings
with angels
rafters bend and sway
heaven wanders
not so far –
not so far away
from evermore returning
words without a sound
to grieve ten thousand
mornings
with a sigh
love is but a moment
of light before
the dawn
a dream denied
the safety
of the night
Author’s Note: As the result of an ectopic pregnancy in 1984 , she required
a blood transfusion. It saved her life, but took something in return.
Testing wasn’t the norm, and she contracted Hepatitis C. It would
not relent, and claimed permanence via liver cancer in 2012. This weekend,
hospice was called in.
She waits, and those who love her pray for a miracle. And yet,
already she is one. For Q with love always.
. . .
16 Tuesday Jul 2013
Posted in Poetry
Tags
becoming, bliss, breath, connection, death, destiny, dreams, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gratefulness, joy, life, love, memory, old maps, passion, reason, restless, sorrow, spirit, spirituality, strength, truth, understanding, wisdom
if ever
i were asked to give –
of everything i own
were sorrows but for tears –
a garden grown
names repeated quietly
indifference to the night
– of touch
the heart reminded
by failing light
would e’er i know
or e’er i dream –
no cause for letting go
of places
i was meant to love you so
lest ashes blow
or winters grace –
some wreath upon my door
or longing fit
as hands i held
before
would e’er i curse
the sure release –
of moments gathered here
of lives to come
but none as this –
so dear
my knees to bruise
i know they will
i fall most every time
repeating words
of gratefulness –
for all was once
(is ever) mine
. . .
14 Wednesday Nov 2012
Tags
becoming, blessings, bliss, destiny, faith, fearless, grace, gravel roads, joy, kentucky, life, love, passion, reason, soul signature, spirit, spirituality, strength, truth, understanding
of the man that I knew
not much
now the same –
and more than for time
I’ve remembered
the curve of a jaw
a faraway smile
and destinies pushed
to the edge
of the wall –
a soft side of something
I dare not give name
or seek in the finding
another so sweet
as was one
when we walked
amid places of light
and discovered forever
we could not
unlearn
pretending the worst
was torn from us first
even now
there’s a feeling of home
a strange recollection
of familiar reverbs
as echoes
returned –
in truth we became
was there reason
I’ve yet to recover
at all
as was light (more than you)
we remain
Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic
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