returning me ~

17 Friday Apr 2015

Tags

divine this, here, love, sacred intimacy, sometimes, still, touch, truth, value

how many lives
to find anew
the part of me was missing
a longing sweet
the heart could ne’er forget
this tender flame
your precious name
hands to fit with mine
returning me
a promise
the soul remembers
yet

. . .

hymnal of feathers ~

15 Wednesday Apr 2015

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

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

beauty, blessings, breath, cherokee, connection, conscious consciousness, creation, hearing with the heart, home, knowing, nature, seeing in the dark, southern, touch, truth, unremembered, value, wisdom

will
and I wonder
to places unknown
forgotten the weeds –
my way back to home
a secret
unspoken
by lovers and thieves
echoed by crickets
knees
touching knees
a hymnal
of feathers
as light through the pines
souvenirs left by
the rain
where was I going
who waits the dawn
with promise
of heaven
to love me
again

Author’s Note: I love the woods and I love the shore. A couple of years back, while sitting on my porch, I closed my eyes and raised my face to the sun. But the breeze, he told me something more. In that moment, I noticed the song that is the fluttering of leaves. It is the same as the waves on the shore. I wonder who knew it first, but wonder not at the love that allowed them to share it.

how tender
these blessings of
sapphire and pearl
oceans singing
of leaves

. . .

another new beginning ~

13 Monday Apr 2015

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Storytelling

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

beauty, becoming, beginning, bliss, connection, conscious consciousness, gravel roads, home, life, love, poetry, storytelling, touch, wandering

from another
new beginning us
remembered now
as one
were never more
but come as may
another we
begun
from stories
might some other tell
of nights
we dared not sleep
of mornings sweet
to lie awake
warmed by all
we keep

. . .

just the way ~

31 Thursday Jul 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Poetry

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

becoming, bone cave, breath, cedar grove, destiny, faith, family, fearless, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, living, love, memory, old maps, passion, postmark, reason, southern, spirit, spirituality, touch, truth, understanding, value, wisdom

papa thought
the path was long
but didn’t mind the walking
was just the way
he told the story
mine

of skies
where only wing’eds sailed
heights too much
for man
lands beyond
a destiny
imagined us become

a house
and forty acres
was someone left
to grieve
hands were folded
doors unlatched
always

clean enough
for supper
sunday
as talk where silence lay
nestled in the arms
of everything

by visions into light ~

24 Saturday May 2014

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

breath, cherokee, conscious consciousness, dreams, faith, fearless, grace, gravel roads, home, knowledge, life, love, old maps, passion, reason, seeing in the dark, soul, spirit, touch, truth, understanding, wandering

beyond the longest shadow
a sense of something more
– a night
here I have wandered
(fearlessly)

to distant meadows
(blooming)
grass stains
on my toes
(a ways) beyond
the only path I know

houses where
(the lowly) I
was cradled tenderly
a yard is overgrown
(but I don’t care)

tis not my want
to question –
when wishing me to home
dreams are come
(and I am)
everywhere

a deeper trust
divided
(by visions) into light
hearts are one
(tho all the proof is gone)

what of me (another)
remembers where to go

when once (as then)
my sleeping ends –
miles from this I dream
familiar lives
reclaiming (now)
my soul

. . .

to watch you sleeping ~

14 Wednesday May 2014

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, Storytelling

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

becoming, breath, connection, destiny, dreams, fearless, forgiveness, grace, life, love, memory, moments, old maps, passion, poetry, sacred intimacy, spirit, touch, understanding, wonder

let me just this moment
lay my head
upon your shoulder
trace your secrets again..
and your voice will tickle me
because i haven’t heard it
in a while..

i’ll pretend not to see
the scar on your hand
from when i broke you
and you can pretend not to notice
the way i say your name

just let me write you
in a hundred places
and don’t get mad when
i wait to watch you sleeping..

and we can tell that story
– to each other of course –
about the angel and the little girl
(was me so far away)

while you twirl my hair
and always make up the ending –

‘..and one day
they got a house on the beach
because that’s what she wanted..’

your eyes are always so yellow
when the sun is setting

‘..and he painted the whole world
different colors just for her’

. . .