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Tulips

Tulips

You cannot 
look at a tulip
and walk on by…

Can you?

Look, look at its
vestments…the finest
tailor could not replicate.

Soft pinks, glamorous yellows,
striking reds and passionate purples
dazzle us in this season of Spring.

Short-lived
yet, each year we
welcome their arrival.

The tulip bursting from
earth’s womb…

Littering life with loveliness.

Awe, if the tulips were the only trash
we needed to collect
to care for this garden
from which we, too, burst forth.

Drops of Color/ Beneath the Boardwalk

Drops of Color
Beneath the Boardwalk

The boardwalk beckoned—
instead, I dove below.

Surfacing, I heard the 
footsteps overhead,
and suddenly the soft echo
of surf chimed in.

Beneath the boardwalk,
a sort of amphitheater ensued.
The sound played
a soft ballad.

Several sailing vessels passed-by.
A few fish swam at a distance.
They blew bubbles
that rose to the water’s surface.
They dipped down quickly as 
a gull ‘sneaked’ in~~~unannounced
—no shadow revealed here.

Slowly, I tread
and came out from beneath
the boardwalk.

The sun was bright
and glided across the unknown
boardwalk of hid-den depths
living below.

Buoys

Buoys

Plunging into a sea
~~~green feathered stalks stood
swaying in the ebb and flow of
a balmy breeze.

Slowly treading water
around me
in every direction,
yellow buoys broke the surface.
They appeared like a million
faces lit by the sun…

Overhead, the skyscape
~~~a blue canopy
holds patches of seabirds,
their wings casting endless expressions.

This body ‘alive’
~~~the hues
being born again unto themselves.

Drops of Color/ The Arch

Drops of Color
The Arch

From the window, twelve sealed frames.
All who enter the arch below
or exit beneath its halo
are made visible.

The arch—
what is seen
from within its held space
—endless stories
—legends told
—myths created
—truths held
—footprints vanished
—timeless trails blazed.

There is an unknown element
that cannot be defined
or made manifest.

Its mystery is known to those
who pass—
those who do so
are unaware of the thresholds
by which they traverse.

At the time of ripening,
life’s unfolding happens as we
live life simply.

The thin veil
will open itself
and, in a moment unknown,
you’ll know you have
made your way through.

It’s Time

It’s Time

Clearly, it’s time.

Perhaps, I knew
a long time ago…it was clear then,
but I was not ready to say, ‘Good-bye.’

I learned a lot from you.
I’m grateful
even to this day.

Yet, my path is different
so I’ll ask you to excuse me.
If you cannot, that’s o.k.
‘Cause it’s time to say, ‘Good-bye.’

Please don’t use that book of
yours and preach
the verses you’ve memorized.
Go ahead, hold it up.
Bless you for the truth you hold.

I’m not judging you
so I ask you, ‘Just remember me.’

Good-bye…you left things in my hands.
Important things—
I’ve done my best.
You have your photos, ‘images’
—illusions of the truth.

I’m going now.
I wish you well.

Truth is
I’ll never stop 
loving you.

Good-bye—
it’s finally time.

Drops of Color/ What If…

Drops of Color
What if…

What if the colors
in these windows
are the words resting upon the sills?

Fly

Fly

I am learning 
in all things
to spread my wings and fly.

Even if my wings are clipped, broken,
I know the 
essence of flight.

The season, the times,
my guides.
These, I have come to trust.

The wind calls—
it is this moment

NOW

I rise flying in what appears
the opposite direction.

I am strong enough to carry myself
into the raging headwind.

Even if pushed back,

even if I fall to my ending,

I will be true to the path
that has been unknown
yet, driven by love’s
desire to nest in your bosom.

Drops of Color/ The Scenery

Drops of Color

The Scenery

You held the ‘oar’—

all I had to do
was ‘be’ in the moment.

Whatever way the gondola 
sailed,
it was in your hands.

I paused…

First, I reached—
then, I pulled my arms
back in.

Second, I heard
a gurgling in
my throat, words rising,
then ‘something’ within stirred—shhhhh!

Finally, I closed my eyes.
I’m uncertain for how long,
but when I opened them

THE SCENERY.

I was held in beauty

and asked to

BEHOLD.

Together, we sailed on.

He said, ‘Follow me.’

He said, ‘Follow me.’

And, so I have.
I try each day.

He always seemed to say,
‘Be not afraid.’

I believe he learned these words from
his mother who bore him
and, I have spent my 
lifetime following this man.

He went about
walking parched paths.
He spoke to anyone, everyone
who would listen.

He changed people’s lives
and reminded them,
‘Don’t tell anyone.’

He broke open stories—parables.
The person who dug a hole
when given a talent
is one of my favorites.

That person chose NOT to
be part of the system.
He knew the one handing out
the talents, a person who gathered
where he did not sow, and reaped
what he had not planted.

How little attention paid this man.
After giving out certain percentages of talents,
 he set off to conquer lands

AND

he was sent back empty for he
was corrupt.

This message was overlooked because of the focus
on ‘profits made,’
and hearing the words,
‘well done servant.’

The one who buried the treasure
belittled, made fun of, bullied,
cast out…like the one
sharing the parable.

Did he know his destiny?
I think he knew the love he
proclaimed would change
hearts, would open minds and
it would threaten the 
dominant systems.

He was true to what was
planted in his soul
and, at times, it caused him
to weep.

He would never lay a hand to
strike.  His message was
nonviolence.  He told his
friend, ‘put your sword back
in its sheath.’

When he hung upon 
the cross, he spoke
‘forgiveness.’

He never rallied troops
to fight.
He gathered food to feed people.
Everyone ate, no one went away hungry—
there was bread and
fish left over in baskets.
A nameless little boy
turned over his fish.

This is who I choose
to follow.

He said, ‘Heaven is within’—
God’s Reign would 
one day come—be ready
—be vigilant, watchful
—be kind, respectful
—show mercy, lend a hand.

He blessed the poor in spirit.
He blessed those who mourned.
He blessed those persecuted
for trying to live rightly.
He blessed those in search for mercy.

He blessed
the fullness of life
and the abundances it offers.

He did not set out to create
a new religion.
Instead, he attempted
to clear a path of ALL religions.

Everyone came to hear him—
no one ever sent away.

A woman at a well was told
‘Go, call your community—
Invite them to hear a message
from the One who came to bring
about a new spirit.’

This woman did not say, ‘but, I am a 
woman and you are asking me?’  No, she 
heard his call and ran to
call all the others.

He told a little man up in a tree
‘Come down, I am eating at
your house.’

He created paradoxes—
welcoming the poor, the leper,
the outcast, the adulterous.

He tore down barriers
that privileged persons set up
showing them
how to rebuild by
washing the feet of those
who would carry on his Hope.

He never asked for monies
to carry on his message—
he paid what the 
system required.

He turned over tables
when a house of prayer was
used for material gain.

My steps, I pray,
more and more
like his—

Walking a way
—that is not mapped out
—that I am not always
     certain is the direction I should be going
—that allows silent
     ‘moments’ when I 
     simply hear the wind blow
—that follows
     a man who loved
     God so intimately
     that he could not
     not love everyone
     he met.

Want to follow?

The only burden—
if you say, ‘No.’

Drops of Color/ A Window

Drops of Color

A Window

A soft wind echoed
pushing a rock
with enough effort
that the stone let-go.

Like Rapunzel’s hair
—broken bits of the
canyon wall slid
and, like waves
crashing into the shore,
you could hear the
plumbing avalanche
causing dust to
envelop the sky.

A whispering breeze
ensued pushing away
particles and
a window revealed.

A mighty gust howled.
It needn’t penetrate
the lavish wall.
For now,
an opening
allowing a passage
into yesterday’s gone-by,
today’s vision
and tomorrow’s uncertainties.

This window,
for now,
sends an invitation to behold
the present.

Fresh air cascades
along the sill.
The curtain walls a
lovely shade and the 
trees set off in the distance
look like a box of flowers
held within
the window’s arch.

Gazing awhile
through this ‘pane,’
an inner voice 
taunted me until
the rock split
falling upon a blank
page creating
an image of itself
by the person holding this pen.
“It IS A Holy Thursday”

Will these people…

Will these people…

This moment 
a mist eerily moves 
like a milky shadow
enmeshed in a sky
painted in the sweetest essence
of black licorice.

Tasting this day,
this hour,
the moon in her fullness
dangles unperturbed
moving willfully in the 
pattern entrusted
and designed
by the One who seeks
no name.

How we have tried, attempted
to define, explain this 
mystery.

How we have abused the wonder
defining limits on
the color of skin,
the role of each gender,
 to yield power 
to ones who carry heavy 
purses taking the spare
change from the widow
who feels obliged by
a hierarchy holding out
a collection basket.

This night the stones
cry out…
their arms raised out to
the side.

The goddess of the Universe
weeps.. the moon at her side.

Her words are few…
Her arms set ONLY
to embrace.

So many already
taken too soon.

She does not look
out as if there are
two sides.

She sees through a 
heart of Love
—the mist is the droplets
    of her tears
    quenching an earth
    wondering,

“Will these people ever
understand.”

Drops of Color/ Today

Drops of Color
Today

I created a sketch,
then another unfolded,
followed by a third and fourth.

Lately,
I’ve turned off the T.V.,
refrained from news.
I opened my windows wide,
the sound of song birds
—music to my ears.

Colors splashed on paper.
The ink ran dry
but, I found another pen,
another pencil.

Flowing between colors
—words, hid-den tears,
laughter…memories.
Memories of the past
bring me to NOW,
right now.

Another image created on
a page…a blank page.

Life, unfolding in pictures.

Maybe I’m not a Picasso,
a Rembrandt, a Monet or
Michelangelo—

No, I’m none of these.

Today, I’m me.
It has taken a lifetime to
just be me.

Today, all these sketches—a collage of this Soul.