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~ …might I be found in words I leave behind

tornadoday

Tag Archives: postmark

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.

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.

rememories ~

16 Tuesday Jun 2015

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Storytelling

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

acceptance, divine this, family, fearless, grace, gravel roads, home, inheritance, knowing, love, postmark, rural traces, sacred intimacy, sometimes, story, time, truth, value

134256a018149ae2ec48e48ee2c606a9

Over the weekend, I had a moment – an epiphany of sorts. Perhaps it was just a fleeting view through an almost empty glass, but it was good.

I was standing in the market browsing maple syrup options. I love maple syrup, and am somewhat of a snob when it comes to pancakes, waffles, butter, and syrup.

Anyway, back to the telling. There between the maple leaf shaped bottles and the plastic options for fat free, sugar free, and tasteless, was a bottle of Karo syrup.

My fingers lingered over the label, while my heart was racing backwards to a clapboard kitchen where my granny sat in a straight back chair not far from the woodstove. With the practiced hands of a chemist, she poured Karo syrup in a bowl and then a stab of butter.

With her tiny hands, she gripped the bowl and beat the concoction until it was the color of summer wheat. Then she would dip one piece of bread at a time (referred to as light bread by we southerners) into the sweet batter.

And one piece at a time, we would wait patiently for a piece to be passed to us. Our little bit of heaven – our divine sacrament for living a life swelled up with blessing.

But the ‘aha’ moment was in realizing that I hadn’t told that story, and it’s also quite possible that the memory is folded just as sweetly away by my sisters and brother – in a place where treasure needs not space or name. And the thought that I hadn’t shared made me a bit sad, for surely it is a felony against creation to hoard away the best parts of us, the stories of our becoming.

Bet you know what I had for dinner Sunday evening……..

Let us speak kindly of our beginnings, memorizing anew the parts where love made us at home.

. . .

things we might have said ~

10 Wednesday Jun 2015

Posted by tornadoday in perfect country song, Poetry

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

gravel roads, learning as we go, life, love, postmark, rural, seasons, song, wearing through, you'd think living in Nashville would be worth something

savemedown

was ne’er the first
to let you go
miles on past the promise
you’d stay and I was
sworn to be your baby

a habit
sure to wear you down
a devil in a flannel gown
passions
more than one
to drive you crazy

boots and lace
the dream replaced
kisses not for keeping
but for these
old memories

things we might have said

as proof of heaven
here on earth
graces ne’er
so undeserved
a picture of a picture
on the dresser
of your soul

I’ll make a place
for your returning
dare I keep
these embers burning
reminders
I was sworn
to be your baby

. . .

a moment of something ~

15 Friday May 2015

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

change, divine, forever this, go ahead, gravel roads, home, let me, life, love, postmark, sacred intimacy, save the best, seasons, time, twilight

nowagain

I’m the same
as remembered
though years
pressed between
linen
stained by a rose
a moment
of something
graces me still
a photo
come loose
at the corners
where dates are penned
gray
and names are
erased
by the turning of leaves
light through the page
where once
we were something
once we were well
on our way
to the same
ever after
as easy as breathing
in an ocean
of stars
fixed on another
hello
where have you been
how is it I know
what was truth
I am still
the same

. . .

all souls ~

04 Monday May 2015

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Poetry

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

becoming, breath, connection, conscious consciousness, death, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, life, love, old maps, postmark, reason, restless, resurrection, spirit, strength, value, wandering

names
by some forsaken
the fondest memories
a slight of hand
a slower fate than most
whispers sworn
to secret
reserved for us the same
reminders of another
love I knew –
will I
remain

a silent praise
along the path
for someone no one knows
hands are folded
quilts are wearing through
who of me
I wonder
will there be
when I am gone –
will one return
to speak my name
aloud

. . .

I moved back to Tennessee in 1991.  Three days after the
first on the porch, I noticed something along the back fence line – an edge
amid the briar.  It was a portion of cemetery marker, apparently from
the time when many civil war battles were fought nearby.

There is no name…only dates.  When days are hot, it is a place of retreat,
and many poems have found word there.  Yesterday morning, it seemed
the only place to be – held by one without a name, as witness to my tears.
(I shall give).

Image: 1998 somewhere between here and the place where I was born.  Souls
sleep where solace grows deepest.  “Ask not for whom the bell tolls….”

. . .

worn out rhyme ~

29 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, Storytelling

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

becoming, blessings, destiny, divine, faith, fearless, forgotten, getting on, grace, gravel roads, home, just this, letting go, living, love, postmark, provision, rambling, reaching, tears, truth, understanding, unremembered, value, want, writing, writing in the dark

stay

told me once
but I don’t recall
names and faces
line the hall
someone I’ve forgotten
to remember
a story passed
from son to son
a daughter came
the only one
to see beyond
the circumstance
of fences

broken by this
getting on
healed by hands
tired and worn
graces said before
the lay me down
to hear again
the sacred drum
beat with wonder
I’ve become
the answer to another
sweet amen

a fate decided
while I slept
reminders of a secret kept
and choices made
was there no choice
at all
but take of life
a moment more
of passions
locked away before
somewhere I was sure
you’d never find

a future folded
nice and neat
against the sunshine
of my sheets
way back on the shelf
of memory
dreams of people
I don’t know
crowding round to let me go
kisses where
the curtains touch
the ground

tell me how it seemed to you
give me something
I can do
speak of places
one last time
to leave

dirty dishes
everywhere
worn out rhyme
but I don’t care
they warm against
the places
you were there
taking notes
and stealing time
with promises
to fit with mine
lines to cross
eternities
of one

. . .

Author’s Note: While coffee is my drink of choice, I periodically
indulge in a hot tea – white with orange. It brings me sweet slumber,
up until the time it wakes me up for a trip down the hall. But even then,
it’s not without the benefit of words. Writing in the dark.

mysteries undone ~

28 Tuesday Apr 2015

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

acceptance, bliss, divine, echoes, faith, fearless, forgiveness, gravel roads, love, postmark, sacred intimacy, sometimes, soul, souvinirs, still, truth, value

auburncomes

of sorrows
I’ve forgotten much
daylight
passed between
the dark of dawn
as reason fell away
a place to keep
so holy now
resolved as once
to touch
solace meant the moon
was come to stay

poetry
of wake me up
before the light is gone
leaves are falling
tears beyond
the sun
dreams
of you remind me
somewhere yet unknown
I speak of these
of mysteries
undone

nestled down
in fresh cut grass
a shimmer o’er
the pond
a whispering of wings
above the pines
echoes fill
the places
now am I again
the same I was
tho ne’er the less
divine

. . .

became of love ~

18 Saturday Apr 2015

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

divine, faith, family, fearless, heaven here, here, home, life, love, memory, postmark, stars, truth

divine

a softer constellation
than once was given place
when voice
became of light –
became of love
the ways of our returning
back to open arms
a home
the same
as once before
we dreamed

habits ~

02 Thursday Apr 2015

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, Storytelling

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

bliss, conscious consciousness, destiny, dreams, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, life, love, old maps, passion, postmark, reason, self, southern, spirit, truth, understanding, value, wisdom

comein

someone made mention
of rings on the table
habits worn clean
to the bone
a rusted out latch
keeps no one from leaving
a whispered reminder
of reasons
to stay
where the fences
need mending
and water runs cool
sprung from a river
two miles ‘neath the porch
we watched the sun rise
another
one day
when spoke of intention
promise undone
by a change in the
weather
warm cotton gowns
I dared not replace
with the pretense of love
the essence of summer
left on the line
and a glass
of the best I knew how

. . .

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Poetic Thoughts

Benjamin Grossman

Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic

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

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Flared and prepared.

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Motivate | Inspire | Uplift

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

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