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Drops of Color/ …the sound of the bell
Drops of Color
…the sound of the bell
Listen
…the sound of the bell.
Wait, the sound of Bells.
The night sky fading—
a sliver of stars
returning to their quiver.
A purple blue softness magnifies
the horizon in the West
and subtle pinks and oranges
—a field of marigolds in the sky
—intermingle and prepare for
the Liturgy already begun.
We have made our way, one by one,
side by side from our straw mangers.
Now, we graze, we chomp and chew,
and stomp toward verdant pastures
—we ring bells.
Bells draped around our necks
—we herald a song
—raising antiphons and psalms.
Lyrics are written by passers-by
who stop, who listen, who genuflect
at the Glory of Creation.
The sound of the bell
—the service never ends.
Listen…let us go ‘together’ in peace.
Self-Portrait
Self-Portrait
(Inspired by the works of Maya Angelo)
Slipping through the bars
—WAIT, I cannot get through.
Yet, my arms,
solid…built to last
—‘pull back’ the cage.
No matter how often this cage door sealed,
I sing from a perch.
The song is soft
—sometimes passionate
like a flame ignited by a
simple whisper~~~’FLY.’
I set out.
I am a ballad which allows the
tears inside to become notes
playing tenderly,
brazenly.
The latch lifts.
I move effortlessly, arms raised.
A silent flutter,
I have discovered the edge.
I leap,
extend.
The very essence of my Soul
in flight…soaring.
No destination, no settled place
to land.
I am out of the cage.
I live the melody strumming the
soft feathers carrying me
to heaven’s door-less entry.
You, Oh God,
created who it is I am.
I hear you singing back.
‘I am an image
trying to find its way.
I am made in your likeness.’
How can a caged bird not sing?
Drops of Color/Shining like the sun…
Drops of Color
Shining like the Sun
“It is a glorious destiny to be a
member of the human race, though
it is a race dedicated to many
absurdities and one which makes
many terrible mistakes; yet, with all
that, [God] gloried in
becoming a member of the human race!
To think that such a commonplace
realization should suddenly seem
like news that one holds the winning
ticket in a cosmic sweepstake.
I have the immense joy of being a
member of a race in which
[God] became incarnate. As if
the sorrows and stupidities of the
human condition could overwhelm
me, now I realize what we all are.
And if only everybody could realize
this! But it cannot be explained.
There is no way of telling people that
they are all walking around shining
like the sun.”
~~~Thomas Merton
Each day
Each day
This day,
I rose in the darkness
—drops of rain pelted my window.
Pausing…yes, here I invite
you to be still upon rising…even NOW.
Let your eyes take in the hid-den
splendor…it is there in the darkness.
A storm surging outside the glass pane
…is there a storm brewing
restlessly inside me? Inside you?
Let it reside
—don’t be quick to push it away
—there is beauty in everything!
In the not so distant distance
—a light house, a beacon
—a SILENT guide
(imagine it, hold it in your mind’s eye)
A messenger
—invite that unspoken presence to be with you.
Now breathe—
Breathe in —the waves rolling natural rhythms.
Breathe out—the crashing waves
pulling you to leave this undisturbed place.
Breathe in—the clarity of this moment.
Breathe out—all the tasks that need
to be met.
Welcome the Stillness
—No matter the turbulence
—the grief
—all the sentences that are incomplete.
Begin, in the darkness.
The Sun will rise
AND
recognize EACH day.
You are the Sun.
Everyone of us shines
what lives inside.
Illuminate your very essence.
Be transformed by living wonder.
If we ‘all’ witnessed in each other
the gift we are…
we would never stop bowing offering thanks.
Drops of Color/ Another Harvest
Drops of Color
Another Harvest
Here it is,
the ripened red fruit lets-go.
Falling into the hands
—picked with ease
—plucked from leafy branches
waving fare-well.
The laborers are plenty.
An abundance of bushels
gathered.
The succulence of juicy, delicious
apples waiting to be consumed.
By whom, you ask?
Trucks pull in,
other transport vehicles arrive.
Boats, planes, trains, bicycles,
walkers, runners.
Into the highways and byways they go,
carrying the delicate delights
into small cities, rural neighborhoods,
desert places, enormous bustling cities,
deep into the heart of the bush,
into mansions—tables of plenty,
tables without
—awaiting a ‘core’ of edible arrangements
–satisfying
—mouthwatering
AND
all are fed.
This harvest,
‘imagine’ the field.
Endless persons serve as
all are fed.
Left overs fill the baskets..
Reach Out
Reach Out
Your wings
are as wide
as the ocean…
Reach out~~~
the winds will carry you beyond
the tides.
Drops of Color/ Inside the Edge
Drops of Color
(Sketch re-created from an Unknown Artist’s Original)
Inside the Edge
One by one they came,
no sequential order.
Four corners of the Universe
unfolding like stars.
From in between spaces,
unknown, yet collectively,
they were People
walking with a Promise.
Straw once used for bricks
was braided into baskets.
Young, old, leaving their pasts
behind in Search of a Home.
They had little but their worth was
not measured in possessions.
Freedom, an uncharted path
—fruits gathered for the day
trusting tomorrow would take
care of itself.
From an ‘edge’ inside, i view…
from a privileged place i bend on both knees.
i carry, yes, even now, a weighted pack
of my own making.
Still, ‘we,’ One people,
both/AND weaving straw
into baskets
~~~gathering to share
~~~to break bread in as many
pieces as possible
~~~so all can Taste and be fed.
Each distinct color made welcome
~~~a rainbow ignites the sky.
All religions, plunged into a Sea
~~~salt erasing the formality of rules
inviting the ‘vessels’ we are
to sail beside one another.
The wind does not
decide who is or is
not worthy.
Blessings
Blessings
Blessings
overflow.
Displays
Displays
Some pieces
of art work
—have no signature
—no title
they simply wash ashore.
The beach
—a museum
—free of charge
DISPLAYS
Drops of Color/ The Artist
Drops of Color
The Artist
The artist began.
A gentle brush stroke.
A dab of water.
Dipping into pools of color…
each a sacrament
—a portrayal
—a sign.
Slowly, the image
becoming clear.
Lifting from the matte,
breathed into life
—created
a living human being.
Trees clapped their branches.
The sky sank, for a moment
beneath the sun,
bowing in reverence.
Birds anointed the easel
with their savory swipe of feathers.
The human looked upon
the Artist
and simply said,
‘One day, I hope to be like You!’
Hands through time
Hands through time
An acorn
lets go of the long
arm that has cradled and nurtured
the seed—until NOW.
Around and around
this cycle spins, twirls, revolves,
a wheel of time
—evolution
creating, sustaining, lingering,
dying
and discovering life—AGAIN!
Glancing upon scene after scene,
the picture, the same in its frame,
yet, it is different, changed
and grows off the edges.
The acorn,
like the wheel
circling the seasons,
plants itself through changing
weather
—it grows, slowly.
The acorn’s becoming
forms roots
digging downward into the darkness
while its stem bursts the soil
—discovers light and rises!
The necessity of the descent,
the ascent
—the rhythmic pattern
—the rings
unseen forming inside the Oak.
An acorn
lets go
—the wheel winds
itself like hands through time.
In the blink of an eye,
we ripen
planted in the Season.
Flow
Drops of Color
Flow
The earth ‘shaking.’
At the top of a ridge,
a magnanimous display.
Millions of droplets thrust
from an edge.
The direction—
spontaneous.
No time to waste
‘casting lots.’
Speckles of moisture
spew every which way.
Fierce, elegant,
Powerful, grace in full motion.
Tantalizing, soothing,
Life altering, washed away
hidden pools—
tiny creatures bathe.
The sound
deafening
—spill a box of pins,
you will not hear a single
drop.
Nature…
rapid, swift, breathtaking.
A force, always changing,
wondrous to behold—
earth shattering, if you attempt
to defy its way.
Beauty, wonder
witnessed from a distance.
Shoes off—
standing upon ‘holy’ ground…
Drenched by ‘I Am.’
Humbly stepping on…
trusting life’s flow.
Play me…
Play me…
Pretend I’m an old
tin can.
Bring your ear close
—closer…
that’s it!
Touch a key
—again.
Touch another
—play me.
Before you go
—tap the old tin can
AND
whenever you need
a song
—lift the cap
Play me.
