Tattooed By Grace

hat on the boatTatooed By Grace

All fades
Sun drenched  life reduces Technicolor to sepia
Brown is beautiful
A memory lingering
Is a memory
Still
No tattoos in my mind mark my mind
But ask me to recall
And I will
Reconstitute
What is there
Resurrect
What my senses bear
And remember
We are saved, sometimes
By the faint and faded
Waxing and waning
White ink tattoos
Branded, blazed
Dimmed by pain
Flood with memory
Rest, then leap
Remain
Dormant, changed
Ingress and egress of tidal
Pools, float, then swell
Framed motion, still life, and movie reels
Shift the pace of going back
And forth
When we can
Peel back the skin, reveal
A healed
Scar
Hold the remembering
Then
Maybe
Not before

A life
Tattooed
By grace.

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Joining Tweetspeak Poetry for their poetry prompt this month “Tattoos”.

And inspired in part by writer friend Sarah Markley at Sarah Markley dot com, her words and heart in today’s post “Hope and Grace”. Thank you Sarah, your words are always a gift. And today’s so very very lovely.

The Art of Remembering

new fave for art quote

The Art of Remembering

In a home
Frozen
In time
You will remember
Funny the fragments
That break apart
Aren’t we
Bound by memory
Remembering
While
Picking up the pieces
Remaking a life
Re-ordering the pages
Living in reverse
The mind rewinds
In fact
You can go home again

You too have a
Docent
Telling the story
Slant it lovely
Slant it real

Sift it in remembering
As you go home again

Virtual remembering
Physical changes in time
For us to pick up the pieces
The smallest of detail
Left in the dust
Off the places with the Pledge
Soaked cloth
Light as a feather
Dust off a memory
Here
One over there

All in the home
Housing your memories
You can look homeward

Angel
All of the memories
Are yours

OneWord2013_ArtBl

A Letter To My Son

Dear Son, loved and treasured One:

When you go to the movies,tonight, with this sweet sweet young girl, young woman even, remember these things.
Dwell on them, never forget.

It’s hard to wrap a lifetime of learning into a very short letter. But I shall try.

And I’ll stammer and struggle and try to bleed my love for you as a man, in days now, my son, on this white page.

And what I want for you in all your relationships, but most especially with women.

Be gentle, be strong.

Be both.

Be a rock, a strong place to lean on. With big ears and an enormous heart. With room to grow and room to love.

Your Dad wooed me from the very beginning with his strength and gentleness, his compassion, his caring.

I never told you, and you wouldn’t care much before now, but early on, very early on, as we sat in a restaurant in New York with friends, he cared in the smallest of ways for me and about me. My memory fades like early morning fog, but I remember my hair in my plate or something similar and he loving pulled it out. He is gentle and attentive that way. He still married me.

Be attentive to the small.

You have watched your father cherish and care for your sister.

Care. Every time.

Do not follow the crowds, the throngs of people following the culture and all its siren song ways. Just rest in who God created you to be and be yourself. Comfortably you.

You, my son, are witty and funny. Enjoy that, but don’t be a peacock, calling attention to yourself. Use your gifts gently.

And you are creative, oh so creative. This is a gift to use for God and His glory.

Look to Him and His beautiful plan. Look in His eyes and ask and seek. Ask, be bold, ask. Then listen.

And listen well, my son.

Your Daddy does that so well now. Watch him listen and bend an ear to me.

And be selfless not selfish. In all you do.

Argue, not. Demand to be right, never. Be a peace-maker. Discuss with a gentle spirit. There is no need or time to fight. A gentle tone will take you far, strong one. Stand firm, yes. Find your balance with your words. Stand on what is right, noble, honest, pure, worthy of praise, and lovely.

You don’t have far to look, my son. Your oldest brother is tender and gentle and strong with his girl.

Follow these men, be yourself, be a gentleman, you were raised in the South, the premium on this is huge. Its our tradition. Carry it on.

Think of your grandfathers. They loved you and love you. And all their ways. Carry on traditions of kindness and gentleness and strength.

And look ’em in the eyes. Always. Everyone. Don’t look away, or look astray or wander off, not in their presence. Be fully present. Your beautiful blue eyes have always been so big, so unimaginatively handsome, these windows to your very soul.

Be right where you are, in the beautiful moment and savor it all. Remember the details as they unfurl.
Your father is my memory. He remembers often for us both. He has seen and he has remembered the details of a life, our life.

Pay close attention, such close attention, to the details, that are your life.

Listen to music, enjoy art, walk on the path outside our house that leads to the shore, often, daily, savor that salty place. Share your love for where we live. It’s glorious, its gift. It’s the ocean and the river, it’s God-beauty all around.

And get into those words God wrote for you, for us. And linger there, you man, you son, you child of God.

Your pecan pies and all your masterpieces, offer them in love.

And know that you were always loved by us, by Him.

Enjoy the movie. And be a gentle-man. Be respectful, so full of respect for others, for women, for all people, always. Shower others with a spirit of respect. And dignity.

Hold your shoulders back, your head up, wear your seatbelt every time.

Loving you this day and always, your very verbose,

Momma

P.S. I wrote you once before. Please remember those words too, of love to you. I wrote them in the summer months. These words from down deep in my soul.

Rolling, Rolling, Rolling- A Reflective, Part 1

Life looks different in the looking back, from the reflective posture.

The way you look back over the simmering of the events, the narrative of days, unfolding, shades the past with different colors of a back traveling mind.

Changes.

The heart, the mind, the soul have time to envelope the days of the life in a love note.

Stamp it, seal it up.

Mail if off to the memory holder of the heart, to treasure forever.

This is the way of a life, and this is the way of this adventure.

The one in June. We boarded at the last minute, not the final minute, but late by standards of planners and plotters.

We packed our expectancy, excitement in bags, zipped up our longing for adventure in a sack of joy.

So in the marinating back over a journey of the heart and body, it takes time to sort it out.

We process, look back in love, look back in time, look back in longing.

And the wheels of the heart go rolling, rolling,  rolling back over it all like a wooden pin on biscuit dough. Like the wheels on that bus we boarded in June, in Brooklyn.

We live life forward but we go diving for treasure in the past, sometimes, we do.

For a buried memory, a tucked away time and place, a once-in-a-lifetime adventure is not once after all, because of rolling back in memory.

We pick through the memories like birds at the feeder, knowing there is delicious nourishment in the mix, finding it, pulling it out and savoring it deep in the soul.

Tasting and seeing that He is good.

The eyes of the poet’s heart tread lightly through the story. Waits to tell when her heart feels it is just right.

Unveiling memories like red velvet curtain on the stage, the players, the memories must be ready to step out and step forth.

So it is with this.

There is a poem brewing. Will you come back and back journey with me through this piece of me, piece of my life.

Until then, Nathan Lee, a very talented artist has produced this documentary.

I share this piece of me. As I write in my heart what will spill on the page, tomorrow.

Joining Laura and Michelle.

And with Ann at a holy experience dot com

And Jen at finding heaven today

Do you Wordcandy.me? Click for a deliciously sweet discovery of words, poems, and more. Courtesy of the folks at Tweetspeak Poetry.