Drops of Color

Two thousand eleven launched and birthed ‘One Single Drop.’

After nine years of expanding and unfolding new thoughts, heightened images, gripping photos, black and white sketches, inspirational messages, challenges, the expansion and expression of rings from ‘One Single Drop’ stretched so wide they appear GONE—yet, the MYSTERY was far from the TRUTH as a new direction appeared on the horizon and beyond the galaxies.

Two years ago ‘Sketch of Myself‘ took on an exciting journey based on Walt Whitman’s ‘Song of Myself.’ The weekly messages gave meaning to the birthing of new days as all life seemed to wake from silent whispers and the world was transformed into different shades of beauty.

Thursdays 2020 ‘DROPS OF COLOR‘ will continue a gradual unfolding of wonder.
The ‘mediator,’ the ‘inspirer’ holds a pen in hand and will dab hues of the Universe revealing the One who resides ‘inside’ each sketch.

The unfolding pages will be blanketed with poignant images and a smattering of words.

ALWAYS gratitude for joining me…

NOW…the first ‘DROPS of COLOR.’

Drops of Color…The Ceiling

 

The Ceiling

The scaffolding—
a wooden floor.

Splinters—soft,
hay-like as I lie on my back
nestled in.

Over my head—
a matte.

From a quilted tip
a simple line flows—
another follows.

In my memory—
traces of masterpieces a hundred years and
beyond filled a ceiling.

NOW—I AM ‘re-creating.’

A space between—
stories, divine revelations…
meaning, understanding, lasting
impressions.

All GOOD, even with dark shadows
casting sides un-frightened to be
exposed.

The artist long ago…
A Soul bleeding colors
unstoppable

so, too, I.

The ceiling—
the one above my being
rumbles then quakes…

I am being MOVED—
I slide across wooden floor boards.

Jabbed—my hands, my feet
my side

I am bleeding.

The ceiling ‘cracks’—

I cannot leave
the colors 
seeping from within me.

Drops of Color
Conscious
re-creations forming.

A tree holds 
the center—
Roots spread infinitely in an
expansive Universe.

For a moment…
I stand

I will be back—
simply going for
MORE colors.

The ceiling,
THIS matte,
a Dome of Transformation.

Drops of Color/ I Can’t Breathe

Drops of Color

I Can’t Breathe…

As I write these three words,
I keep hearing the sounds of 
the hammer driving three
nails into the flesh of an
innocent man.

I hang my head—my lament so raw.
Unraveling the words, my white, feminine flesh
spills black ink from a pen.
I do not know how to
frame the cry within me, choking me.
I must write, but what?

I sought the words of a Dreamer…

“…Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
     Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain Tennessee.
     Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.
     From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

    And when this happens, and when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it
    ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city,
    we will be able to speed up that day when ALL of God’s children, black
    and white, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to
    join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

    Free at last!  Free at last!

    Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

                                                                                                                                                                                             ~~~Martin Luther King, Jr.
                                                                                                                                                                                              28th August 1963

I wish to sing, but my tears flood my
wind pipe…I’m choking.
Mr. Floyd, the simplicity of my words
are an attempt to BREATHE for you.

Was this your life’s purpose…to ignite a flame?
Your purpose so much more!
Across the country, from Minneapolis, to Los Angeles, New York, Atlanta, Philadelphia, Illinois, Utah and—
cries are heard.

Systemic shifts are caving in
amidst a pandemic.
Lives are being lost.
The Earth is quaking.

Will we all perish in our inability
to see we’re all FREE…we are all created equal?

God Almighty, how you weep now with us.

  You breathed life into the dust of this landscape, brown soils, creating humankind…
my heart is not able to reckon what we are
living in NOW
this was/is not a part of your Design.

Come to our assistance—
Come, if ONLY, to embrace our sorrows.
Let us sit for a while in these ashes.
Let us bathe in the folly of all 
our unknowing.

May the loss of George Floyd’s life simply not be a moment we look back upon and ‘recall’.

Let freedom ring
and ring
and ring
until God Almighty we are all Free at last.

I pray my ‘eyes’ behold the Dream Come True
before I take my last breath.

Forgive me while I still breathe.
I cannot keep silent.

Drops of Color/ Built on Water

Drops of Color

Built on Water

The house
was not built upon sand…

Nor did ‘rock’
hold the weight of an
array of limbs and twigs.

The branches were laced, intertwined,
woven together
on a bed of water.

Yes, this house built
upon a weightless
stream running slowly
—rushing effortlessly down yonder.

The builder,
out in the early hours of dawn
chopped trees 
like a pecking of a chisel
until…”timberrrrrrrrr.”

Yet, no sound heard
except the pounce of
the wood caressing the ground
and then the mighty branch
being hulled by a tug boat.

But, this boat
has no motor.

An enormous tail works
the water like a shutter
—swift movements
—a thrust forward then back
finally arriving at home base.

The builder tugged,
pulled, lifted
and sewed the wood
into the foundation.

Protected from the weathers
—inside, one dry elegant room.

A family gathers.
Day has begun
—hidden they remain,
until the first star appears.

The lumberers sharpen
their teeth
as off to work
they paddle.

Their house on 
the water
BUILT
and fashioned
with care.

Drops of Color/ Red Shovel

Drops of Color

Red Shovel

There it was
lying on the path—
a price-tag dangling from its handle.

Who lost this treasure?
A simple red sand shovel…
it held the potential
to go ‘deep’ into the sand.
Oh, what ‘one’ could create
with this ‘toy.

Reaching down,
I held it by its neck…
placing it in my pack so that it 
was visible…why?

Days passed—
the red shovel
stepped with me,
but it began to weigh down
my being.
“Let me dig,” it seemed
to say.

I was not about to stop,
and then
in front of me,
a clear path—

flowers strewn on both sides…
scented walls greener than green
cascading with blossoms…
a pond of fresh lilies to my left
—they held my gaze
I heard the fall!

She was five maybe six—
she was on the ground.
She was hurt,
she wanted to cry.
A little hole was in her pant leg—
her tiny hands cupped her tiny knee.

As she rose,
her father grasped her hand.
As she rose,
the little red shovel in my 
bag climbed out.

As I handed her the shovel,
a curve in her lips turned
upward…
a smile revealed.

“You, took a fall~~~
now you can use this shovel
to dig for treasures…
share with your brother.”

I glanced at the father
and then the mother—
their eyes spoke words
that were not echoed aloud.

Then, the little girl
holding the ‘toy’ in both hands,
said without prompt,
“Thank you!”

I walked on.
I discovered the buried treasure.

(Excerpt from a Journal in Wales/Pembrokeshire Coast Path)

Drops of Color/The Font

Drops of Color

The Font

One by one
they flew in.

First, they appeared to
dip their wings.

Second, they dunked their
heads coming up for air
before a full immersion.

A baptism of fluttering
ensued
and the community
gathered around
the ‘font.’

They welcomed everyone
before taking flight

even those without
wings

who dipped 
mere fingers into the waters
for a blessing.

Drops of Color/ This Coat

Drops of Color
This Coat

“This” coat
stitched in love.
The garment which I 
refer to IS the piece
‘inside’ the fabric.

One person
responsible for THIS
design is my mother.
(amongst  a host of others)
She used various ‘strands,’
pieces, designer rags
to form me.
At times, in moments of her own
sacred stitching,
she would tear ‘patches’
of me.
‘Somehow,’
in my small mind, I knew—
I simply saw her brokenness.

Without SEEING—
my world became FULL
of colors…
deep reds
soft blues
gatherings of yellows
blankets of greens
rays of orange
black like an empty kettle
and white stars
flickering
without fading.

All the shades ‘fit’ me.
I have attempted
through the years,
to ‘invite’ others
to embrace
the many colors
of their coats.

Oh, the tapestries
we are~~~
The forms
holding our shapes.

Each of us fits
this Universe.

Without YOU,
this coat
of creation
would be less
than whole
and that pattern
never was
imagined
without you.

You are part of the
seam
threading life
without end.

Drops of Color/ Reminding US

Drops of Color
Reminding US

Each one of us
—a vessel.

Our sails
—how they love the wind.

The ride changes
from day to day.

There is ‘something’ about
moving with the current.

Moments can push us beyond
the movement of the water’s flow.

Tossed off course,
we discover a resolve
within to find the path.

To accept the course
D-signed.

Sudden wakes
guide
the bow
into clear waters.

Gentle waves
tickle the sides of
our vessel.

Lifting our head,
—Sails extended.

The wind blows—

“Divine Spirit”
a presence
reminding us

“I’m here
     I’m here
        I’m here.”

Climbing into the mast
—looking outward

No land
in sight—

Soar

Drops of Color/ Come

Drops of Color
Come…

Come pick a lovely
flower from my basket.

Find the color
or colors that pick you.

Please, don’t leave any coins—
these flowers are my
gift (for you…)

Their beauty—behold.
Their soft scent—take in.
Touch their petals—their skin.
Hold their stem—fragile, yet firm.

Tend your bouquet of flowers
even it be one or two.

Treasure the flowers
picked this day
just for you.

Drops of Color/ Endless Pages

Drops of Color

Endless Pages

Every day another
story shared—
better yet, an abundance of
GOOD News messages.

Yes, I have read
and been immersed in these
times of difficulty
AND
I’m aware we are writing
chapters of what it IS we
are living ‘in’ presently.

The messages
‘breaking’ open through
‘hosts’ of wordless emotions,
gut wrenching facts,
heart felt feelings
ARE creating a Gospel—

A STORY that could never HOLD
the endless pages of Love transforming.

‘Behold, all things are being
made new’…
right before our eyes.

Drops of Color/ Paper Roses

Drops of Color
Paper Roses

I planted thee
a rose garden…

Paper, though it be.

If you close your eyes
and slowly breathe inward,

the scent of the flowers’
sweet perfume
fills your nostrils.

I remember your
garden of roses.

I would listen
from a distance
as you clipped
and trimmed.

A love song
you would hum
as the hot sun
blanketed your back

and the roses
unfolded

each and every petal.

Knowing, yes
somehow knowing,
you were
singing a ballad
for them.

You are no longer
here
and yet,

here you are in 
this paper
rose garden.

Now…
I close my yes—
teardrops of tiny
petals
lace my cheeks.

And, smiling~~~
my heart beating
softly

knowing you are
not gone.

Drops of Color/ Today

Drops of Color

Today

Jump in…
Carry your umbrella…

Splash with delight
in the largest puddle you might find.

Go ankle deep,
knee deep if you’re daring.

Laugh out loud
for the sake of nothing.

Give thanks for simple moments.

If today your heart is filled with
melancholy,
shed the tears into the puddles
beneath your feet.

Immerse yourself in the flow
AND,
maybe, just maybe,
close your umbrella
and get soaked.

YOU WILL DRY

Today…
Jump in
and splash ‘someone’
with Love.

Drops of Color/ Window’s Ledge

Drops of Color

Window’s Ledge

From this window’s ledge,
the views are limitless.

She holds a gaze—
her own vantage point.
It IS what she sees
and from here
thoughts flow—
beliefs once held
drift on by.

She does not cling
to anything she 
thought she knew
for certain.

She does not hold
as a ‘possession’
this day’s unique
‘picture.’

For she realizes
it is always changing—
The images of years gone
by—memories.

Yesterday’s sun broke
through the window
and today’s drop of
rain skews the scenery
splashing the brick.

There are so many
windows to LOOK out from
and to search
ourselves ‘in’ from.

No ‘One’ window—
right or wrong…

Let us SEE the
world through
different windows

and allow other
perspectives
to give us the room
to grow.

Drops of Color/ Tides

Drops of ColorTides

The tide in…

My feet at the water’s edge.

A ‘rock’ picked me—
I cocked my arm

firing

the rock airborne.

I heard the ‘plunge.’
The ‘rings’ it cast while 
making its way to the sea’s bottom
eventually splashed at my ankles.

Unaware of time,
I see the tide slowly recede,
and there I am 
standing in a barrage
of rocks…
some jagged, others smooth.
There were stones the size of boulders,
unmovable, unshackled.
Yet, the water
seemed to carry them with ease.

I bent low…’it’ was the 
stone I threw!

I picked it up, but then settled it back 
in its place.

In the moment,
I became the stone
carried in THIS life by infinite tides
coming in, going out.

Where I am presently…
is it my choice?

Only the tides will tell.

Drops of Color/ YOU

Drops of Color
You

Play a tune—
sing whatever comes to mind.

Let loose your heart~strings…
trust each note
will turn out right.

Your words
a melody—
a hymn of effortless praise.

What is ‘inside’ of you
—a concert of longing
—an opera still searching
—a rock band waiting?

Bring your yearning—
Let ‘out’ the music
that IS you.

Drops of Color/ Heaven’s Entrance

Drops of Color
Heaven’s Entrance

The entrance to heaven IS
everywhere.
If you’re waiting
for the afterlife,
you are missing
the words of the One who
simply said…
“Heaven IS within you!”

Drops of Color/Ivory Blanket

Drops of Color

Ivory Blanket

An ivory blanket—
painted and ‘perfected.’

Between—slender trunks
living beside a 
pearl black stream.

The only sound—
a snow-flake
rolling off the edge…

plunging into
the shivering water.

The white 
blanket
seems to rise

attempting to cover itself
so ‘no-thing’ will fall.

But, fall it will
and, the 
sound created,
if only a hush,

melts its way down the water.

Drops of Color/ She Ran

Drops of Color

She Ran

She ran…
then she picked up her pace.
The sounds of bloodhounds in the distance
—in pursuit.
She quickened her strides
—they were after her.

There was no path—
briers covered her garments
branches slashed her ankles.
At night, mosquitoes would draw
her blood
still~~~She ran.

In the evening,
the North star pointed the way.
By day, she covered the banks
along side the river.

She fell to her knees
when her captors drew near…
“Show me God”…”You brought me this far.”
She walked into the water…
She never swam a stroke in her life.

The waters rose
—to her knees
—to her hips
—to her shoulders.

She trusted
and she crossed.

The visions she had—
Were they from the blows to her head
She ‘saw’ what was yet to come—
She was haunted by the memories of her
family being carried off, sold…
Why?  Because of the color of their
skin?

She ran…
making her way to freedom.
BUT, she was shackled within
knowing her people were enslaved.

Back she went…
When she was told she should NOT
because it was too dangerous,
she refused to listen.

She listened to the voice speaking to her…
Her God said, “Go, FREE my people.”

She fled ‘back’ into
a villainous landscape
where persons used/misused the Scriptures
to ‘possess’ lives.
Her God would not hold ‘kin’ to that~~~
THAT way would NOT lead ALL to the 
Promised Land.

Her God led all people, all things,
all seasons to lands flowing
with Milk & Honey.

Yet, history has a way of
repeating itself.

We are all One…
MANY believe this true.

Yet,
there are still systems at work
religions intertwined
‘laying’ down the voice of
the gods they see themselves to be.

The same voices that passed
(Fugitive Slave Act, 1850)
the law allowing slave owners to return
and reclaim their run-away property.

Again—she ran.
Others ran beside her.
She went back for the sake of OTHERS…
For the freedom of others…
this was her ONLY reason…
her greatest gain.

Segregated still—
she gathered her people like a 
mother hen.

She led them into battle,
to fight for freedom.

Violence was NOT her nature—
The scars of slavery, like roots,
thread through her people’s skin.
She would NOT allow tomorrow’s
children and their children
to carry those stripes.

Harriet—
in which direction do we run
today?

Spirit calling Harriet—
lead the way
Woman, daughter, sister of God.

Drops of Color/ The Window

Drops of Color

The Window

Standing on the sidewalk…

I SEE the window.
I know what is ‘inside.’
Metaphorically, I was
born between the pews.

At a young age,
I was always drawn to
the window—
the light from ‘outside’
stained the glass
in colors
not a single word
could convey.

I cannot give you
a day, an hour
when it happened
but, somehow
the glass shattered
and I climbed out
from ‘inside.’

I let go of everything
except what I carried
within—beating aloud.

Now, now that I am out
I see someone has
repaired the window…
better yet, it has been
replaced.

Wouldn’t want anyone
sayin,’ “Another Gone.”

So, here I am
on this sidewalk—

So many beside me.

Maybe ‘we’ are the 
broken pieces the
light shines through

because from out here
we are ‘in’ the 
dwelling place
where not a 
‘single’ One
left out or
restrained.

I have found heaven…
it has been here all
along.

Drops of Color/ The Bell-Tower

Drops of Color
The Bell-Tower

The outline of the bell-tower
held in shadow.

As the first chime
begins to clang~~~
the coloring of the dawn
‘high-lights’ the sound.

A sweet caress of a 
face born anew.

Drops of Color/ Sometimes

Drops of Color
Sometimes

Sometimes I can
sit for hours
and the only words
that caress the paper—
the point of
a pen…
the rest
‘paint’ a picture…

Drops of Color/Puffin

Drops of Color/ Puffin

erfect

      U nexpected

       F  athomless

ierce

      I   ntimate

N  oble

Drops of Color/Night~Fall

Drops of Color

Night-Fall

You have held the day
casting light
chasing away shadows.

You begin your descent
giving way to the
night.

The sounds of the ocean
loud and fierce—
I can no longer SEE the curl
of the wave into the shore.
Yet, I hear it crash.

Closing my eyes,
I am lulled to sleep
sweet dreams of light
comforted like a blanket

in night’s fall.