as you were dreaming ~
01 Wednesday Jun 2022
01 Wednesday Jun 2022
31 Friday Jul 2020
Tags
jealous moon, life, love, poems, rambling, soul speak, still, stories, surrender, witness
so much of me
some you don’t know
– poems I have written
on my soul
I can’t tell you
I won’t tell you
how it is
I’ve surrendered you
remembered you
another day –
again
so much
and who am I
to remind you what is real
of moments come
this destiny to steal
wait for me
at twilight
out beyond the fence
I will show you then
how I love
. . .
19 Monday Mar 2018
Posted Poetry
input me in a jar
of twilight and jasmine
(never let me go)
hide me away
in folds of scented linen
stories written to yourself
names and places faded
unto years –
(whispers now)
of another time I wished aloud
I remember still
how it was (how it felt)
to hold the stars
. . .
26 Thursday May 2016
Posted Poetry, Uncategorized
in28 Monday Dec 2015
Posted a time for telling, Uncategorized
inWe 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
25 Wednesday Mar 2015
Posted Poetry, Storytelling
inTags
connection, family, grace, gravel roads, home, knowledge, life, love, memory, old maps, poetry, spirit, stories
We are more than the sum of our choices. We are perhaps the sum of every story we’ve been a part of, every chance encounter, every star crossed meant to be.
The story of us is so much more than the story of just us.
03 Sunday Nov 2013
Posted a time for telling, Poetry, Storytelling
inTags
angels unaware, barbed wire, becoming, connection, faith, family, fearless, forgiveness, grace, knowledge, life, living, love, old maps, postmark, prison, reason, relationship, spirit, stories, strength, the forgotten, trust, truth, understanding, value, wisdom
the best of me
comes late some days
apples
berries
blackbirds
the night hangs wet
against my windowpane
leaves are falling
hear their sighs
of spring
denying winter
would come –
and yet he does
to love again
judge me well
though who can tell
what secrets
I’ve been keeping
some would swear
to stories
never heard
but keeping here
far more than lines
more than
winds to weary
names and faces
graces
undeserved
save the light
still the might
of those who have no
sorrow
those who know
of every trust
by name
somewhere now
a gale of birds
wings beyond
the keeping –
angels every one
where I remain
. . .
31 Thursday Oct 2013
Posted a time for telling, Poetry, Storytelling
inTags
becoming, connection, destiny, dreams, faith, family, grace, gravel roads, home, knowledge, life, love, love the only truth, memory, old maps, passion, reason, relationship, southern, spirit, spirituality, stories, strength, understanding, value, wonder
stories now
my daddy tells
of times before the better
took us by surprise
and shut our soul
of red clay paths
and old tin lines –
mary heaven
showed us
the ways to home
was not so far
to go
no ringing
of the latest news
no clamor to achieve
candles burned
beside
the feather bed
children wrapped
in babies
held as one to one
blessings come
– wherever
prayers were said
no looking back
or leaving long
another chance –
for nothing
would shake our faith
or move the least
to fall
dirty hands
so tender –
eyes caressed the light
dreams just big
enough –
to hold us all
. . .
Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic
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