that i love ~
23 Monday Jan 2023
23 Monday Jan 2023
20 Tuesday Sep 2022
when once
you were mine
with permission for more
than ever one lifetime
could hold
come back
you forgave me
for times surely gone
live while your love
is still young
wait as i pleaded
another some day
would grant us the grace
of time in this place
allowing my heart
to beat next to yours
wait
and i’ll come back
to find you
stay while my lips
know your name
. . .
30 Monday Aug 2021
were living
made heavy
by times we let pass
days we forgot
for graces to grieve
were love
but a memory
carved to our soul
a place
we remembered
to be
gathered
to story
the weight of our years
moments deeper
than skin
were longing
the measure by which
we remain
a name
breathed in silence
amen
. . .
29 Thursday Apr 2021
Posted Poetry, spirituality, verse
inhistory
keeps no record
of lives I lived before –
choices made
a promise trade
as want for evermore
no place
I should have faltered
a kiss I might have kept –
had I known
the fear in falling
was answer for regrets
another time
some other day –
and I without a doubt
lived my life
returning –
to the place
once dreamed about
will age erase
my story –
ease these scars I wear
take from me
your memory
moments written there
another day
some other time –
years before I knew
I was waiting
for the moment
when I’d
remember you
. . .
24 Saturday Apr 2021
Posted Poetry, spirituality, Storytelling, verse
inTags
constellations, destiny, evermores, heaven, innocense, memory, promise, stars, time, years, youth
were not for breath
a moment more –
than e’er the years were promised
were not for prayer
I spoke aloud
or gave to stars
one night
as venus burned
another sun
I fell into your eyes
beyond a meadow
deep and sweet –
flush with fireflies
were destinies delivered
a kiss at seventeen
became a wish
to stars recalled –
the memory
of a dream
. . .
22 Friday Jun 2018
Posted Poetry, Storytelling
in09 Monday Oct 2017
Tags
age, direction, distant now, dreams, home, hope, knowledge, life, love, memory, reflection, time, years
the trees
were praying
as the sun slipped low
to shadows cast
much longer
this
threadbare soul
these brittle bones –
a verse or so
becoming
aged hopes
of a seasoned heart
a path where none
remember
time is bent
to the shape of life
to the curse of ways
uncharted
. . .
09 Thursday Mar 2017
Posted Storytelling
inTags
breath, carrying, death, family, life, love, memories, remembering, seeing in the dark, story, time, truth, value, years
As of late, my mother has been sharing stories. Some I’ve heard, but others, I haven’t. It seems almost impossible that this much time could pass without me knowing that my mother lied about her age when she married my daddy. Of course, on the other hand, it seems unlikely they would have married had she not. My assumption that the laws were different then had never really been tested so I was surprised to find numbers written on the edge of their license. When pressed, she confirmed she had lied. I suppose the justice wanted the ‘last word’, noting their ‘supposed’ ages to the official proof.
There’s another tale about her leaving the basketball team when my grandmother gave her the choice to either quit the team or stop seeing my dad. My mother actually fretted for a while over that until I reminded her that they only dated for a couple of months before marrying, at which point she quit school. I wonder how much of the last 62 years have been filled with angst, when in reality she might have missed two or three games.
But we do that, don’t we? The things that shouldn’t be given any weight at all are made bigger by our insecurity, anger, frustration, jealousy and need. And yet, the things that should be viewed as ‘big’ most often aren’t. We lose sight of the first kiss, choosing instead to focus on the first broken heart.
The attention given to my sweet Aunt Lyda* isn’t near the amount given to those whose lives were defined by bad luck and worse choices.
Mom wants me to write a book filled with her stories. I’m all for it, though periodically, I put down my pen and exclaim, ‘that’s not making the cut’ or ‘sorry, but that story’s going with you’.
It’s not the burden that breaks us, but the way we carry it.
tell me now
again
I will you
speak of times before
split the veil
wherein my name
is sewn
listen this reminder
lest I should pass
the night
burdened with
the memory
of every love
I’ve known
*My great aunt Lyda (my granny’s sister) was a beautiful soul. She married a man whose first wife was lost to illness. She helped to raise his three children, though she never bore any herself. They were hard times, and his wife had been buried in an unmarked grave. When he passed, Lyda had a stone made, bearing his family name. The first wife was moved, and for more than 40 years, they’ve lain next to one another, Ruthie and Lyda, with the man they shared between. It’s a story I love to carry.
06 Wednesday Jan 2016
Posted a time for telling, Poetry
inA week or so ago, a friend made comment about her search for purpose.
It reminded me of another forever friend who posed the same question a few years back. As her days increased, she wondered whether she had accomplished the purpose for which she was created. It was difficult for her to imagine because she wasn’t sure she knew what it was.
At the time, I remarked that maybe her purpose was intertwined with mine – that our divine purpose was to know each other and love one another.
Quite simple really. Quite noble as well.
When asked a similar question a week ago, my only thought was to everything we know of life and living. If there is but one sacred instruction, it is to love.
If we love, then everything else finds its place – and other commandments are wasted.
So, surely, love is our purpose. Love changes the weight of all our days such that even the smallest tasks become amazing accomplishments. The least of us becomes more than we might have imagined, might have planned, might have dreamed.
With love as our purpose, we become more than just the sum of our days.
stay
where I have lingered
a whisper on the wind
a fragile light
along the window pane
dream
where once
I fell to sleep
calling out your name
stay
that I might
love you here
again
. . .
20 Thursday Aug 2015
Posted Poetry
inTags
acceptance, find me here, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, home, knowing, love, seasons, seeing in the dark, time, trust, years
a moment
(forever)
was the last time
(the first)
looking thru eyes
the same (still)
as mine
seeing me clearer
than any
(save one)
silence
(longing) to fill
hands falling
tenderly
glistening
raindrops
reasons and seasons
for times
(we remain)
understood
as a sigh on our lips
(amen)
remember
(forever was) once
the echo of bliss
released
to my heart
ashes
(rivers)
nights (in the kitchen)
scattering whispers
let us begin
the leaving (worn bare
by our living)
all is forgiven
time grieves (for none)
the trust that was love
(a moment)
our all
. . .
Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic
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