my only every time ~

careful
lest the dawn arrive –
shall we linger
with our dreams
decided not the weight
for days ahead
let us languish
still unknowing
as one with all
we keep –
safe within the breath
of words unsaid

undeclared
the portion
if you must go
then go beside –
leave the heart where I
am moored
the sanctity of home
a velvet understanding
forgiven to the light
pressed against
the certainty
of morn

. . .

collecting ~

08 Thursday Jul 2021

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

absolution, carry me, evidence, life, love, memory, seasons, that thing I do, time, truth, writing in the dark

what evidence
remains –
a ring upon my table
the faintest scent
of smoke
within my hair
a shadow burned
from down the hall –
edges I can’t see
reminders
of a lifetime
everywhere
poetry
fills my bed
begged you once
to leave
I’m not the same
nightbirds nest within
weightless
as a memory
familiar discontent –
dust collecting
just beneath my skin

. . .

ache ~

07 Wednesday Jul 2021

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

destiny, dreams, home, life, love, moon, mystery, night, personal, pull of the moon, sometimes, that thing I do, trade, understanding

from slumber
I am taken –
lest my dreams
return for me
lest my covers ache
the essence
of my sin
when the moon is perched
along the southern eve
let him weep
let him find me distant
find me gone
succumb to all was
missing –
surrendered not to fate
one more day
I dare not spend it now
steal me from
the cool embrace
of sheets just off the line
shatter my
allegiance
to the night

. . .

from everything ~

07 Friday May 2021

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, verse

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

heaven memorized, love, need, poet, that thing I do, truth, want, witness, writing in the dark

I shall tender
these moments –
as cedar carved to pen
as ached beneath the threat
an evening flame
I shall cleave your name
from everything –
shall find you everywhere
a part of me
ten thousand more
than claimed

I shall wait the dusk
to falter –
rings of smoke to dissipate
evidence of story
you were here
and I
a moment fell into
a smudge between the lines
take me now
I’ve nothing left
to fear

. . .

enough to reconsider ~

28 Wednesday Apr 2021

Posted by tornadoday in home, Poetry, Rambling, spirituality, Storytelling, verse

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

death, dirt road, grace, gravel roads, home, journey, love, memory, pilgrimage, southern, spirit, that thing I do, time, weath

thirty miles
is not so far
tho less along the fences
lines already drawn
from heart to home
the road curves back
beside a creek
I remember once you held me –
the water was so cold
I cried for days

there’s a weathered bridge
a leaning barn
winter wheat and locust
boxes stand as one
their flags aloft
afternoons
the sun wears low
enough to reconsider
how many loves
forsaken to this road

cadillacs
and beat up trucks –
drift along the shoulder
pass without a curse
without a pause –
a fleeting recognition
of someone
once you loved
can’t see the tears
beyond the years
can’t say I’ve had enough
of honeysuckle
gravel roads
heaven spread before

weeds have bound
my thirsty heart
to yours

thirty miles
is not so far
lest I lose my way –
wait the creek to rise
would take me home

. . .

tethered to the trees ~

12 Friday Feb 2021

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, spirituality

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

grace, introspection, life, loss, love, nature, rambling, reflection, sometimes, still, that thing I do, time

of riches
I have nothing
but the memory of love
gathered close as breath
near as touch

the soul remembers
lest I faint
was lost
tho I am not
faith has kept me
tethered to the trees

drifting
on an evening gale
life restored
as choice to be
held within a promise –
a seeker sure to see

the world is changing
as am I
as e’er were we
to start
racing toward forever
not a breath apart

as certain grace
a holy place
reserved
of none I own
a tender prayer
is whispered there
faraway
is here
and I can’t tell the difference
between love
and letting go

let the truth
in living
fold around
the memory of where
I’ll be
some wiser sun
will pull me from the branches
trailing winds
where once
I was set free

. . .