• About
  • Proof

tornadoday

~ …might I be found in words I leave behind

tornadoday

Tag Archives: living

edges ~

19 Wednesday Aug 2020

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, spirituality

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

all I know of living, another me, destiny, faith, life, living, love, memory, moments, morning, mystery, sometimes, trust, truth

in the still
that is your morning
do you drift on yesterday
as your coffee cools –
do you linger
for a while

with pieces
oft forsaken –
tho sharp the edges be
do they steal your breath
and leave you
with a smile

sometimes
my best intentions
are just reminders of the past
daylight spun to corners
in my mind

til the lure
of presence binds me –
to the place where living waits
tethered by a moment
of divine

. . .

for a season ~

12 Tuesday May 2020

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, spirituality

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

living, love, memory, miracles, nature, seasons, soul, spirit, time, truth, understanding

nearenoughtohome

in this moment
I remember
everything I came to know
the way the rivers
gather to the sea –
the measure of a rainbow
bending soft against
the sand –
a miracle
still happening
to me

I remember
every kiss –
every touch was ever mine
the echo of my name
within the dark
a rush of swallows sailing –
blind within their faith
breathing out the song
that is
my heart

I remember how it was
that first bloom within the snow
searching for a reason –
for a season
not to go

living scattered sweetly
across ten thousand years
I remember
every lifetime –
I would wait
to find you here

. . .

not with words ~

05 Tuesday May 2020

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, spirituality, Storytelling

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

beginning, destiny, journey, knowing what I know, living, longing, love, memory, mystery, nature, promise, soul, spirit, time, travel, truth

remember me spring

there’s an field
beyond our seeking –
a place where we belong
the life we dreamed
no less
for living
another one

there’s a want
beyond the waking –
of winter wheat
and purple sword
where longing flows
the sweetest honey –
yet not
with words

there’s a silence
to all that matters
lest we grieve
for signs we missed
a truth we cannot speak of –
a promise
or a kiss

there’s a moment
I’ve heard tell –
blinding sunlight
of time displaced –
where love begins again
as always
from a memory
retraced

. . .

nothing more ~

06 Thursday Feb 2020

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, spirituality

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

dreams, essence, hope, intimacy alive, life, living, love, simple wantings, spirit, story

stealmeaway
was there a moment
I was spinning
wishes into plans
intent on misdirection
with hope
for nothing more
than a hand to hold –
a story not yet
made

. . .

shadows to dancing ~

04 Monday Mar 2019

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, spirituality

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

dreams, intention, lessons, living, love, moments, promise, shadows, surrender, time

yesterhere

confused
by a promise
I’ll come back to find you
warm as a whiskey –
slow let me learn
of moments made sweeter
of a morning
left broken –
to memories scattered
let me return

to a time
I was willing –
and there you were welcomed
as shadows to dancing
whispers goodbye
telling of dreams
red swirling sunlight –
a cascade of reasons
for your hand
holding mine

. . .

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.

things I might have changed ~

03 Monday Dec 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, spirituality

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

blessing, goodbye, gratitude, kiss, living, love, nature, one more everything, poet, poetry, promise, seasons, time, winter, wishes

belonging

for another day
a lifetime rent –
for wishes undenied
one last kiss –
one verse upon my brow
too many more
than I endured
to save for any less –
the way I came
much sweeter than before

I only dreamed
to finish here –
until the dying came
until my waiting freed
one more goodbye
– will then I dare
remembrance
of things I might have changed
had winter passed
with not so harsh
a claim

. . .

last in line ~

11 Wednesday Jul 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Storytelling

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

acceptance, contentment, family, happiness, home, living, love, still, truth, unplugged, wealth

When I was a kid, I did not (ever) walk five miles in the snow to get to school. I didn’t have to get up at three to milk the cows or muck the stalls. The things I did as a child weren’t seen as ever a hardship, but simply what I did. I neither saw it as hard or easy, but simply a part of my living.

Until I was a teenager, I shared a tiny room with a sister and a brother. Later, I shared a slightly larger room with two sisters. I shared a bathroom with all of them. I shared shampoo, towels and toothpaste. When times were really tight, as the oldest, I was last in line to use the bathwater.

Was it disgusting? I don’t recall ever thinking that. And, up to this point, I’ve suffered no long term trauma as a result.

Maybe I already knew it wasn’t all about me. Regardless of how bad or easy I had it, I already knew there were others who had it worse.

granny's house

Until my grandpa died, he and my granny lived in a plain clapboard house they had lived in most all their married life. The only electricity was on the ‘cold porch’ where they kept a fridge (which was a huge upgrade from their earlier icebox). There was no indoor plumbing. A cold drink was dipped from a bucket on the kitchen counter.

Almost every Sunday, my grandparents’ children and grandchildren would come for church and stay for dinner (aka lunch in most parts of the country). An average Sunday might include thirty people. There was a huge dining table, but ladderback chairs covered the front porch, the side yard, and back stoop.

Now, I realize there are plenty of people nowadays who cook like that for family on holidays or maybe even on Sundays.

But here’s the difference.

We’d have fried chicken, homemade biskits, white gravy, corn on the cob, green beans, and at least two kinds of cobbler. On special days, we’d have homemade icecream.

Doesn’t sound like much, does it?

But (remember) there was no electricity. Granny had most likely killed that chicken before church or the night before. All cooking was done on a wood burning stove with no microwave, no mixes, no running water, and no air conditioning…..by two little weathered hands.

Those same hands, covered with flour would fold into grace before we ate, offering gratitude for love that brought us into a solitary place.

❤

There were lots of trees in the yard; a side fence separated the house from the orchard, the backyard from the garden, the barn and the livestock. During most months, the song of the cicada was louder than that of the crickets. When they emerged from the ground, it was the trees where they left behind their brittle shells.

I’d collect those shells, lining them up along the porch and down the front path, creating a miniature parade. I would talk to them and pretend they were friends to each other.

❤

I realize it doesn’t sound like much. To anyone who never lived it, it might even sound backward or simple.

But we weren’t. We were rich. We had one another. We had Sunday. My grandpa had a store just over the hill with dirt floors, blue horse notebooks and ice cold Dr. Pepper and Orange Crush.

❤

I can recall spending hours watching feral kittens out the window. They lived under the house, but wouldn’t allow anyone to touch them. The closest I could get was the bedroom window.

We had the coldest water I believe I’ve ever tasted, and apple pie like nobody knows how to make anymore. We had a pond that froze in winters, and woods filled with Christmas trees!

❤

Was it always perfect? Of course not, although I can’t seem to recall moments that weren’t. I believe that who we become in this life isn’t due to a series of experiences, but rather what we choose to keep.

We had the beginning of a story, and hands that warmed around us.

❤

when there was nothing
I remember you –
a name within my mouth
a thunder slipping
soundless
through the night
when there was nothing
all we had
was enough to fold around
when there was nothing
all we had
was everything

. . .

Author’s Note: Inscription on the back of this photo –
First rule of life. Never be without someone to love. ❤

from hiding ~

07 Wednesday Feb 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

faith, home, living, love, only this, seeing in the dark, sometimes, surrender, time, truth

the_sheep_by_elementik

ease the moon
from hiding –
naught for nights succumb
or mornings tempted so
the sun to breathe
held within
uncertain lines
how it is I wandered
closer still
to all the things
I loved

. . .

the fierce embrace of living ~

25 Thursday Jan 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

beginning, divine blessing, immortality, living, love, purpose, reflection, soul, spirit, truth

reflection

were not for love
what purpose this –

the fierce embrace
of living
the gentle tug
of evermore –
a hand that fits
the same

what mortal death
the slightest power
to steal what none can steal
truth
that even silent lips
proclaim

tis not for us
to understand
of breath
beyond the knowing
of graces heaven gathers
in our name

. . .

← Older posts

Recent Posts

  • the truth of everafter ~
  • sworn to find ~
  • no me without you ~
  • mourned by the tides ~
  • memory of me ~
tai game ve dien thoai Để Tai Game Ve Dien Thoai – Tải Game Về Điện Thoại các bạn chỉ cần truy cập vào trang Game4m.Net – Đây là trang web game Tai Game Ve Dien Thoai – Tải Game Về Điện Thoại cực lớn với nhiều thể loại game dành cho mọi dòng điện thoại : Android , Java , IOS ,BB các dòng máy Trung Quốc Các game được Tai Game Ve Dien Thoai – Tải Game Về Điện Thoại bao gồm các thể loại : Nhập vai , chiến thuật , game trí tuệ , Game đánh bài , Online , Offline được cập nhật rất đầy đủ và phong phú . tai game game dien thoai game dien thoai Tải Game Dien Thoai – Game Điện Thoại cực hay tại Game4m.Net thế giới của Game Dien Thoai – Game Điện Thoại di động Tại đây các bạn có thể tải Game Dien Thoai – Game Điện Thoại miễn phí với những phiên bản mới nhất , sự kiện liên tục được cập nhật

Archives

  • April 2021
  • March 2021
  • February 2021
  • January 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • June 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • March 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014
  • September 2014
  • August 2014
  • July 2014
  • June 2014
  • May 2014
  • April 2014
  • March 2014
  • February 2014
  • January 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013
  • October 2013
  • September 2013
  • August 2013
  • July 2013
  • June 2013
  • May 2013
  • April 2013
  • March 2013
  • February 2013
  • January 2013
  • December 2012
  • November 2012
  • October 2012
  • September 2012
  • August 2012
  • July 2012
  • June 2012
  • May 2012
  • April 2012
  • March 2012

Blog Stats

  • 103,861 hits

Direction

a time for telling Awards folklore Haiku home perfect country song Poetry Rambling Soapbox spirituality Storytelling Uncategorized verse

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Blogroll

  • Discuss
  • Get Inspired
  • Get Polling
  • Get Support
  • Learn WordPress.com
  • Theme Showcase
  • WordPress Planet
  • WordPress.com News

Blog Stats

  • 103,861 hits

Blogs I Follow

  • Benjamin Grossman
  • Discover
  • Walt's Writings
  • Silent Fingers
  • House of Heart
  • vimal samuel
  • Whosoever Will, May Come
  • Exploring the epiphany
  • Seasonings
  • Revelation
  • MyWorldsInWords
  • yelena's poetry
  • Now & Then
  • Blonde in Flares
  • Ziyaad poetry
  • The Reluctant Poet
  • Dr. Eric Perry
  • Broken roads of Destiny
  • grandfathersky
  • Randomreasoning

Blog at WordPress.com.

Benjamin Grossman

Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic

Discover

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 poetry

Just a cup of poetry and cookies

The Reluctant Poet

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

Dr. Eric Perry

Psychology to 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 ...

Randomreasoning

Making a connection when everything is connected

Cancel

 
Loading Comments...
Comment
    ×