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tornadoday

~ …might I be found in words I leave behind

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Tag Archives: questions

means ~

13 Thursday May 2021

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, spirituality, verse

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

distance, life, love, mystery, questions, spirit, surrender, time, truth, what I know, wonder

had I means for stopping
a way to end all ways –
a time to stall
to take my fill and leave
untouched by a door
still closing
no backward glance reprieve
had there been but one
surrender
would it have followed me

from the moment
I first noticed –
how stars became your eyes
was there I floated
flailing
the sweetest bird
the darkest skies
had I known
had I noticed
when first tempted into flight
might I have changed
direction –
taken chances
with goodbye

. . .

which way ~

22 Thursday Apr 2021

Posted by tornadoday in home, Poetry, spirituality, verse

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

all I know, find me, journey, life, love, mystery, questions, searching, sometimes, spirit, time, truth

how far
from where you left me –
are there traces to be found
broken twigs
whispers
marks upon the ground

places
I may find you –
lest I search beyond the veil
for the path you took
and there my heart
as well

branches bent
to block the sun –
winter wheat to ash
no one keeps your memory
and I can’t bear to ask

which way
the moon will follow
to find a promise made
past the barn
down the night –
another once we lay

how far
from where you left me
are there traces to be found

. . .

the choice for everafter ~

11 Wednesday Apr 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

faith, knowing, life, love, mystery, note to self, questions, reflection, truth, wonder

nearme

do you stutter
when surrender
finds its way
onto your tongue
is promise left to bleed
outside your door
when the choice
for everafter
makes a case for one more day
a longing sweet
as any
come before
do you dry your tears
while sorrow
makes a home inside your soul
do you lie awake
to wonder
over words
that you haunt you so
is there anything
remembered –
of the life you dared to dream
were your plans for love
forsaken
in your quest for all
it means

. . .

beyond the reach of always ~

23 Tuesday Jan 2018

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, Storytelling

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

faith, forgiveness, love, questions, seasons, surrender, time, truth, understanding, wondering

wondering

beyond
the reach of always
where questions
often hide
tis there you love –
as wings above
the tide

how many
are the lives between
the first
the last and then –
a place
we’ve yet to understand
awaits our time
again

I wonder
when the moon is filled
do you linger with
its rise
across the page
of ages past –
to sit atop
the sky

. . .

couldn’t sing ~

10 Thursday Nov 2016

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

grace, light, love, mystery, questions, realization, reflection, seeing in the dark, truth, understanding, wisdom

whereIamknown

was awakened
by a dream
(pieces falling into place)
a promise
given clarity
as evermore to grace

from birth
a quest for wisdom
came questions still to ask
such pleasure
with the seeking
each mystery surpassed

and tho the house
was empty
but for birds
along the wall
they couldn’t sing
(they wouldn’t sing)
were frightened by it all

so taken by insanity
at last I knew the rest
what pages had been missing
returned as consequence
when someone chose for others
what each should choose alone
would take you there
if mine to do
would gladly bare you home

I couldn’t sleep
the hours passed
as shadows rearranged
what longing knew
his away around
(truth I wouldn’t change)
always here
I see that now
I’d looked for
somewhere else
was sleeping on my pillow
searching for myself

was always here
(I wonder)
of moments
now recalled
did I share this fate
with breakfast
what nightbird strained
to call
who watched me
from a distance
storied arms
too weak to fight
taken down
forsaken paths
in shadows of the night

approaching dawn
was tennessee
out beyond my fears
papered birds now gather
these sacred psalms
to hear

. . .

voices ~

04 Wednesday Jun 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Storytelling

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

age, alone, changes, conscious consciousness, dispair, fear, forgiveness, knowledge, life, living, memory, mental illness, questions, rambling, restless, retreat, self, time, woman

itsallcomingbacktomenow

When does it end, she wondered.

I hate this wallpaper. I wish I could remember who it was that thought this was a good pattern for me.

(probably your mother or someone else long gone)

It’s a good thing.

She wasn’t going to pee. It was obvious now. She’d tried all the usual tricks: turning on the faucet, focusing, even pressing against that little bowl right at the base of her spine.

It isn’t really a bowl; I’m not sure it has a name.

(does it matter; it isn’t working)

No, but then again, she hadn’t really expected it to. When she tried explaining it to her doctor, he grunted (she was sure) and gave her a look. You know the one – the one that says you’ve convinced yourself of something that isn’t true.

Maybe I should change doctors.

(really)

Yeah, well, that wasn’t going to happen unless he died. But she’d thought several times that it made her uncomfortable for him to know her so well.

(shouldn’t he)

How long had it been?

Almost forty years. How was that possible? And yet, with each visit, she saw the proof in him that she was getting older. She had toyed with the idea of finding someone else, it was never a thought she took seriously.

Who could I trust?

(who do you need to trust; trust with what; the fact that you no longer have hair where you used to and what is there, isn’t the same color)

Still.

Still she didn’t feel quite the weight of years as long as there was someone who knew how she got to ‘here’. She read once of a device that would allow you to carry all of your medical history with you, on a string around your neck. But what about the other history, the stuff that couldn’t be seen with an x-ray or pulled from strands of dna? How did loss look under a microscope? She was proof that some scars couldn’t be seen.

She bit the inside of her mouth, as if somehow the tears would spill forward to her tongue instead of down her face.

. . .

Author’s Note: Why I don’t write novels – she’d never get out of the bathroom.

story ~

25 Sunday May 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Rambling, Storytelling

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

angels, children, community, compassion, connection, conscious consciousness, divine responsibility, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, knowledge, life, living, love, mental illness, questions, reason, relationship, restless, self, society, solutions, spirit, spirituality, tears, truth, understanding, value

nearlyhomeIt seems as late, I am compelled to writing stories. Maybe it’s the look in my daddy’s eyes when he’s telling me something I didn’t know already, or maybe I’m coming to understand that it’s something I do well, and that poetry need not be lost in the process.

I’ve discovered is that I don’t need to create an imaginary world to write. I have the world already, and stories that I’ve often worried to – that they would disappear completely if someone (if I) didn’t write them down.

You see, I love the story. I want to know the why of everything. I refuse to chalk off violence or ignorance as just poor breeding or insufficient laws. It’s impossible to ever truly understand, to truly know compassion if you don’t know the story of how someone (anyone) got to the place they are, how they come to a crossroads where the choices were so blurry (and perhaps so few).  I want to know because every story is in some part my own.

Do I know you?

I watch the news and hear the latest details of a killing, a beating, a thoughtless remark…….and know there’s more to the story – a betrayal, a loss, an act that seems beyond reach of forgiveness. And yet, as a rule, society cares not much for the why; with most attention focused on who – who can we blame? Maybe if we spent a little more time understanding, there would be less that needed fixing. If our sympathies extended beyond others just like ourselves, then maybe we could become part of something more than a temporary distraction – a moment of outrage.

A moment beyond the moment in which we’ve forgotten.

I will listen.

Instead, reporters tell us the same thing over and over (we must have someone to blame). We hurt for the victims of senseless violence, and yet cannot see that we are all victims. Most perpetrators have family, people who love them, people who will struggle with survival in the world of ‘after’. Do we grieve for them, or are we much more selective with our compassion, identifying only with the survivors we recognize? Do we grieve for the soul that was so lost as to think this was really an answer?

Who let go?

It makes us angry, when it should make us sad. “Every man’s death diminishes me.” Every story becomes a part of my own, every sorrow, a memory mine.

which way
the beginning –
was a moment in time
when love
found a way
through the dark
forsaken the promise
would take them to home
and a light
on the porch
burning still

walking and wearing
boots into dust
the wringing of wrinkled
these hands
are emptied by losing
each innocence come –
by way of the path
we’ve forgotten
to watch

. . .

look up ~

08 Thursday May 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Poetry, Rambling, Storytelling

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

angels, becoming, comfort, connection, conscious consciousness, death, destiny, divine this, faith, forgiveness, God, grace, knowledge, life, living, loss, love, questions, reason, restless, seeker, spirit, spirituality, strength, truth, understanding, value, wandering, what I don't know, wisdom

For days, I’ve worried with the words – knowing (somehow) where I was going, but not so sure of the way. And then a friend mentioned a struggle with writing, and the process of both explaining and understanding – well, it provided a basis for telling. And so it is…..10252040_830728883622152_554999854775940393_n

I don’t know that I’ve ever had writer’s block. In fact, for a long time, I wondered if there were a giant ledger, where unbeknownst to me, IOUs were being written down. I feared that one day I might wake, unable to speak, with my hands having forgotten the weight of a pen. Only when I allowed the fear to consume did I figure it out. Only when I feared not being able to write – only then was I unable to find a single word. The rules of rhyme, meter, publication and form could keep the page empty. And for most writers; it’s the fear which cripples them. They either get tangled in the rules, or they refuse to write for writing’s sake. The hope of getting rich binds the poet’s heart I think.

I write. And every day, I expect to. I don’t wonder about it or grow weary over whether there’s a place (I know there’s a place).

But that isn’t the subject I’ve wrestled with. It just  happens to fit nicely in a way I hope someone sees beyond me.

As of late, I’ve come to know many people who are grieving. Some grieve a life ended too soon, and others grieve the loss of love or health. Others still, mourn for years long past and voices nearly forgotten. More than not, there are questions that cannot be answered. We want to understand; we want an explanation; we want someone to blame. We want the hurting to stop.

Yet, life is filled with sorrow, and moments of undeniable ache. And, just when we think we couldn’t possibly go on, we look up – and there, in the darkest sky, is the same bright star as before. Or, we step out to a broken porch and find a reason – a reason come for us after all.

I believe the wise are only wise because they love….but also because they trust.

I don’t have the answers, and can’t imagine a time when I will. I may have stumbled on some, but some is a long way from all. For that, I’m grateful. I don’t need to know everything, nor do I desire such a burden. I want to be able to question, and question I will. But there is wisdom beyond my capacity to keep, knowledge beyond the realms of rationality, compassion, and humanity – beyond the living we entertain. I believe there’s a reason for that, and it’s a reason I am GOOD WITH!

Thus, the thing I started out to write about – there’s a reason that God is God, and I am not. In some ways, it’s like writing – in that I don’t need to worry with or debate what would happen if God weren’t God. Because He is; because I expect Him to be. My life is made sweeter in that knowledge, in the simple understanding of things I don’t understand.

were times before
the reason
for the ways
in which I’ve come
with only these
few stars
I know by name

muddy boots
and misplaced rhyme
miles
I faint remember
of stories lent
to places
left behind

as proof
of understanding
– a trust
beyond the dark
when prayed
the light became
another dawn

. . .

illusion of warmth ~

01 Monday Jul 2013

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, Storytelling

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

answers, becoming, bliss, connection, destiny, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, home, kentucky, life, love, old maps, passion, poetry, postmark, questions, reason, relationship, southern, spirit, strength, understanding, wandering

once

faultless
to leave me
the winter you loved –
is kept with a quilt in the barn
tho sometimes
I carry it –
home for the night
and sit for a spell
with your warmth

as lingered in moments
scraps of haiku –
verses spilled over
at the end of the day
was your favorite
peaches –
blueberry knew
of a time worth repeating
yet the same –
fell away

of leaving
I won’t get to ask you
another –
or when you’ll return
I’d watch way too long
for a star on the meadow –
of autumn come sweet
I’d forget
we were missing –
to dance
without song

as comforts
there aren’t many left to recall
the orchard since lost
to the passing of time
stories remain
of places
I am –
verses unhinged
by the absence
of rhyme

like the chill
of september –
a promise made true
stored with the others
the box barely holds
every piece
of my aching –
every blessing unwrapped
longing reminded –
how tender
the fold

. . .

Recent Posts

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Poetic Thoughts

Benjamin Grossman

Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic

Discover WordPress

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 poet

Just a cup of poetry and cookies

The Reluctant Poet

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

Dr. Eric Perry’s Self-Help Blog

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 ...

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