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
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.

A New Song

A New Song

The forest pulled back—
pushing aside the leafy branches.

An old fence post…
a tiny crevice…
a perfect ‘fit.’

The couple
chiseled, pecked,
then dashed into the 
woods gathering soft
nettles, tiny twigs
and dampened soil.

In the hush of night,
their feathers
caressed each other—
three delicate eggs

Taking turns,
the new oblong rubies—
never without shelter,
always swaddled in
the curl of wings.

Then, ‘Crack’
another, ‘Chip’…
Unseen to the visible eye,
the wonders of pregnancy—
life brought forth.

The pair scurried
into the trees
bringing with them morsels…
moths, crickets,

Three new voices
open beaks, plunging
necks reaching, expanding
to taste
unfurled desires.

Days passed—
weeks went by.
A new song 
sung by three
little chicks yet to 
life ‘outside’ the nest—
their hid-den cave.

Sitting quietly, I watched
the proud parents.
They would reveal their
‘catch’ to me
and scurry into
the den to feed.

I would strum
a few cords
on my guitar.
 From the fence post,
the duo would swoon
then dip into
open cupboards
of soft dewy grasses
savory delicacies
for their young ones

I knew what 
was to come.
Yet, I could not
help playing
one chord then
a small attempt
to join in 
‘the song.’

The dawn arrived.
I knew
the parents came to 
my step the night 

The first one
‘flew’ out
and stood atop the 
The ‘parents’ perched
calling for the others.
The sweet sounds
made their way
into the wings of 
towering trees.

Silence overcame
this time
chords plucked me
—tears gathered
—my lips parted,
but a song
was not ready to be 

I laid myself down.
My nest seemed to 
have so much more room.
 I slept hoping to
feel a pair of wings
around me.

Walking early,
I reached for my strings—
they sang to me.

I began to envision
all the wonders
the three tiny starlings
were encountering
and I Played on, and on, and on.

When I stopped,
I looked out from my perch.
There, in the branches…
the pair sang.

I knew their song—
It lives in me


Three ‘new’ notes
filled the forest.
A new song

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

each and every petal.

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

You are no longer
and yet,

here you are in 
this paper
rose garden.

I close my yes—
teardrops of tiny
lace my cheeks.

And, smiling~~~
my heart beating

knowing you are
not gone.

Life and…

Life and…

Venturing outside
from my inner dwelling,
I was greeted by Life.

Together, we walked 
shoulder to shoulder.

Alright, I confess,
we held hands.

Quietly, we traversed
mile after mile.

Life began ‘projecting’ scenes.
Before my eyes,
a rolling film played itself
—slides, before my time,
flashed in rapid succession.

I looked deeply into many faces
—there were horrific times
—no words ‘fit’ to diagram
     for they ran on, and on, and on.

No sentence structure
could piece together
paragraphs, chapters of inhumanity,
natural disasters, chaos.

Yet, Life nudged my hand,
and I picked up a pen, this pen.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Life stepped with me
over mountain tops
dazzled with pristine snow.
We skipped through valleys
with colorful wild flowers
stopping their sway to stare.

Life took me to the water’s edge
and, letting go of my hand,
united me with another—Death.

I gasped, I cried.
I knew this ‘sting.’
I dropped to my knees.

Death seemed to hold me, yes,
almost lovingly.
Death stayed at my side
and wept with me
as the tide rolled itself in.

I did not move~~~

Sand slipped its way alongside
my body wrapping me like a blanket
—it was so difficult to be comforted.

The film I had been watching…
I whispered, ‘cut!’

What was before me was NOW.
How long I was held on this shore
I know not.
The tide was out.

Death brought me back to Life.
The three of us rose.

I’m ‘inside’ again
with this pen and paper.

Though at a “loss for words,”
I continue creating
because the picture now playing 
IS my Life

and I’m living with so ‘many’
in these unknown times.

I still know how to laugh.
I embrace the depth of my tears.
Fear is a friend, anger causes me to
reach out more and more.
I touch, and am touched, even 
from a distance.

Life is in ‘these’ words.
Death will come and the ink spilling
from this pen will dry.

NOW…I live
along side you
and, among the many who have become new stars
in the canopy overhead.

Hebrew Prayer…
“Let there be such oneness between us that when one cries the other tastes salt.”

Drops of Color/ Today

Drops of Color


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
shed the tears into the puddles
beneath your feet.

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


Jump in
and splash ‘someone’
with Love.

Gentle Shepherd

Gentle Shepherd

I enter your pasture…
Where is your flock?
Are there those who follow by night?

No seats set
between the blades of grass—
the rocky crags,
the lofty mountains.

No pulpit
awaits a message

because you, lamb,
You are message itself.

I hear you
in the quiet hush—
the place where one is

and the Gospel
is the harmonization
of a crescent moon,
an owl’s winnow,
Orion’s belt loose in a Universe


filled, ignited with reckless abandon.

Gentle Shepherd

I do not see you remove
the artist’s easel from your
tangled hair, damp with dew.

You carry a hollow sack AND a
prism of colors begins to span
across all space.

Time is only seconds on a 
clock, but the ONLY time you keep
is the ticking of my heart
within this pasture.

—In this moment—
writing a sermon
from your lips that do not speak,
yet meet and dip the curl of
my pen around these words.

Gentle Shepherd

You are the ballad of
THIS song.


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

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

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
to give us the room
to grow.

Amen, Amen…

Amen, Amen…

Amen, Amen I say to thee.
You do not have to be
spiritual, religious, atheist
to notice persons
during these times
coming together
even at a ‘humane’ distance.

Amen, Amen I say to thee.
Figuratively, so many ordinary
‘routines’ have been upturned…
‘blood’ now pooling
from heart centers.
Persons are reaching toward each other,
families are riding bikes, playing in the parks,
walking in the woods.
Long conversations are taking place
with grandparents, our seniors,
vesting ‘time’ talking 
and there is ‘listening.’

Amen, Amen I say to thee.
The world has gotten a bit quieter—
Less traffic on the roadways,
restaurants functioning on carry-outs,
grocery stores are open but the shelves
are bare.  Many of us, a large majority,
have what we need…and then some—
while there are those who
have NOT (each day) and understand THIS moment—
We are learning the gift of the Sabbath.

Amen, Amen I say to thee.
One cannot deny the present sufferings.
Yet, why is it, kindness ‘grows
abundantly from grief, chaos, and pain?
I will not attempt to explain it and I 
certainly will not deny it.
Persons are coming together.
Oh, yes, sometimes the usual ‘stutters’
break the flow, but hope held,
as curves rise and fall AND
acts of compassion, care, service
heighten to needs still unknown and growing.

Amen, Amen I say to thee.
Our children are watching—
they are ‘hearing’ and observing
the heart beat of our world.
We, as adults, are we able to exemplify
the sacred art of ‘pausing?’
Breaking from rushing to the next constant event
in our daily schedule?
Can we light a candle
guiding our young people
no matter how much may still be invisible?
Our flame will not burn out.
AND, if it does, we will create another wick!

Amen, Amen I say to thee.
May we burn brightly enough
that our light casts itself
across this globe reaching outward
to the Sun.

Amen, Amen I say to thee.
I can almost hear that fiery ball exclaim,
“Look, they’re finally trying to imitate me.”

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


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.



Dangling locks.

Tiny buds

An invisible voice
from no-where
whispers, “Let down your hair.”

The velvet~green leaves
The flowers trumpet.

The roots hold
the soil as the satin
braids give way.

The invisible One
Each petal, a step,
draped in pastel hues

reaching the soft
hung beneath the window.

The silent One
laying down.

A golden hush
loosens a braid
covering the 

‘you’re home.’

Drops of Color/ YOU

Drops of Color

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.



In silence,
perched upon a branch,

a feathered mortal
scanned the pool of water
where the ice
had not begun to sculpt.

Its eyes sought
‘any’ movement. 
Its longing for a taste
of some-thing to satisfy
an empty belly.

Holding steadily,
bathed in sun’s light
like a monk
consumed in prayer…

was this communion?

Was this solitary winged-being
already fed?

It was I who feasted at this site

AND so very full.