verse remains
to fill my days
mornings
without you
evidence of movement
as tears the weight
of touch
another time
what value this
the trade
the rub
the reason
stories laid
beneath the lands
you love
. . .
29 Monday Nov 2021
30 Friday Jul 2021
Posted Poetry, spirituality, verse
ini have come
to this silence
where nothing exists
no need for name
the squander
of verse
i have come
without tears
or passion renewed
a vow
without lines
to rehearse
i have come
on my knees –
broken and bare
averting my gaze
from the flame of your eyes
arms wrapped around
hold me in place
as tempted am I
for a moment
to fly
agate and rust
canyons of clay –
echoes writ
to rivers of stone
as memory
rains from the sky
. . .
30 Friday Apr 2021
Posted Poetry, Rambling, spirituality, verse
inTags
forgiveness, life, love, memory, redemption, tears, time, trust, truth, weakness, writing in the dark
how is it
you can break my heart
and before I chance to mend
you come around
to break my heart again
you’ve memorized my
fault lines
with weapons still the same –
your eyes meet mine
and then you speak
my name
I’ve forgotten
how it was to heal
don’t care to ever know
the ease of loss
is nothing
if I never see you go
I’ll move the bed
to face the dawn –
I’ll rearrange the room
further from your leaving –
hidden to the moon
. . .
08 Friday Jan 2021
Posted Poetry, spirituality
inTags
alone, brokenness, enduring, faith, ignorance, knowing, life, love, maps, refuge, sorrow, surrender, tears, truth
I’ve spent some time
in disbelief –
with years to wonder why
mornings washed
a flood of tears –
yet not a one to dry
not a one to
understand –
and ne’er a will to know
beds made up with thistle
and left along
the road
with none to share
who can say
they knew far better than
those who dream of dying –
who walk a broken land
who decides
and who condemns
the ways for which we came
with maps we drew in darkness –
hurts we gave
our name
. . .
13 Wednesday May 2020
Posted Poetry, spirituality
inTags
abundance, blessing, days between, death, grief, home, love, memory, remembrance, sorrow, tears, time, worth
dare we worry
the darkness coming
– or tears
we’re bound to leave
a sorrow not yet given –
tis a blessing
I believe
a barter made
for living –
will grieve our losses
soon enough
with silence
meant for breaking –
were not for love
let us take our fill
of passion
and toast the days
til when –
we meet beyond the taking
in the place
where love began
. . .
19 Thursday Mar 2020
Posted Poetry, spirituality
inTags
endearing, faith, longing, love, pandemic, promise, reminders, seasons, surrender, tears, time, trust
how tender this
the end begins –
from stems
are petals longing
reaching toward the water
tears
we dared to dream
yesterday
reminders of a wish
no longer new
a promise once removed –
from all
the heart
has left
. . .
13 Thursday Sep 2018
Posted Poetry, spirituality, Storytelling
inwas another side
of Sunday
when I found your hand
in mine
I was sitting over coffee
with the times
shedding tears for someone else
passed just yesterday
counted well the years
I threw away
a man
without a daughter
a bride denied her groom
a boy
who filled his story
much too soon
orchids bloom for every soul
years beneath the dawn
lost to days
we never knew –
this tearful hour
would come
. . .
13 Friday Oct 2017
Posted Poetry, Rambling, Storytelling
inTags
been found, grace, gratitude, home, it's what I do, life, love, memory, prayers, sorrow, tears, time, truth
A couple of days ago, I was tempted by one of those Facebook confession postings. You know the type, where you input information relative to you and post it on your timeline so that others will learn more about you, but also be inspired to do the same on their timeline.
Sort of a chain letter for Facebook fans.
It started innocent enough –
Names you go by: Bobbie, Bob, Aunt Bob
Beer or Wine: Coffee
But the next point for input was ‘When’s the last time you cried?’
Now that’s a bit tricky. You see, I don’t truly view myself as much of a crier. Though I feel things deeply, the tears I shed are pretty private and I am not sure that either (a) they would be perceived as such, or (b) the fact that my answer isn’t ‘yesterday’ would lead anyone to believe that I have no feelings.
That I would care about either of those last items is an entirely separate matter, and one worth pursuing at another writing.
However, it got me to thinking about the tears I do shed.
You see, I can’t start down my list of reasons to be sad without bumping into reasons for thankfulness and gratitude. I can’t think about how much I miss my daddy without thinking of all the wonderful moments we shared. One gets in the way of the other in a way I am not sure most would understand.
I can shed tears of gratitude, but not for my own personal loss because my loss is far outbalanced by my gain.
And such as it with most everything I might grieve. My tears aren’t of sorrow, and may not even be seen as tears of joy.
They are instead tears of having been found.
Yes, that’s it….. And the answer, ‘all the time’.
. . .
cleave not to December
the reminder of spring
~ a sparrow returned
to the nest
with faded remembrance
of faraway sighs
futures ~
the color of snow
grieve not the leaving
but the coming around
to place
unaffected
by time
tears of reflection
are falling around
~ far from the living
we’ve known
. . .
29 Wednesday Apr 2015
Posted Poetry, Rambling, Storytelling
inTags
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
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.
25 Sunday May 2014
Posted a time for telling, Rambling, Storytelling
inTags
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
It 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
. . .
Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic
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