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In Thanksgiving
In Thanksgiving
It was a banquet
—the plastic table cloth
festive with colors.
Underneath, painted boards
—a ‘dining’ room table.
Dirt floors
steadied the plastic chairs.
The walls painted in gold
—the window nailed shut to
hold back the cold.
The meal served
—hot from a brick outdoor oven
—the food set on the table
before us
—food that would offer
a month’s worth of sustenance.
They shared it
offering thanks
after every bite taken.
A lasting Supper.
Drops of Color/ What’s Next
Drops of Color
What’s next?
What, what about Rascals?
Little?
Oh, the Little Rascals:
Spanky, Buckwheat, Alfalfa, Darla,
Froggy…’Petey.’
The ‘He man Women-Haters Club.’
Memories…how a gang of kids
brought ‘out’ life’s moments.
Spanky…Leader, coordinator: he was trusted.
Buckwheat…always welcomed. Although
inflicted with a slight speech impediment,
he was able to get his
point across.
Alfalfa…dashing romantic. He sang (off-key)
but, he was destined for
Broadway as long as…
Darla…the ‘girl’ outside the club,
never ceased to be a part.
She had her own talent and
she filled Alfalfa with inspiration.
Froggy…well, if you recall his voice,
there’s no further explanation.
Butch…why, well…there’s always a
Bully. Butch unsettled the group,
came between the boy and his
favorite girl. YET, he caused the
gang to recognize how they
were significant
—one to another.
FINALLY,
Petey…
the pup with a circle
naturally woven around one
of his eyes.
The all seeing ‘eye’ that
stayed ‘in’ the gang.
Wagging his tail, pulling
at pant legs, hoisting ‘goodies’
away.
Maybe, this is not a poem
—a bit too Rascally.
Then again,
a glance back
beside a sketch of characters
What’s next?
Maybe recalling
some GOOD ole’ days.
Mirror
Mirror
You really are
the reflection
of yourself
staring back
from the MIRROR
Drops of Color/ The Amusement Park
Drops of Color
The Amusement Park
—ALIVE—
then suddenly STOPS…
Hovering above the magical ‘landscape’
—a scene.
Held in place,
beholden to countless ACTS,
performers, attendees…
like a stage packed with whirling
dervishes
in harmony
—life enjoying the dance
—the merriment.
Could it be this way
for all? Glancing in this moment of pause,
silent meditation…in an Amusement Park.
IMAGINE?!
‘Each’ of us given a ‘ticket’
to enter this LIFE…
Reflecting:
No price tag for entry.
No conditions placed based on
race, color, creed, gender, religion etc.
No passport
—Citizenship: Heaven.
Alive, within the Reign of Heaven,
We all EXIST.
It is how we choose to LIVE it out!
How we dwell in this
amusement-park together…
A light flashes…three, two, one.
Hands raised in the air—
Trust the ride.
Live it to the fullest!
Running out of room…
Running out of room…
alas, I tumbled off the page.
I found myself splashing
rather delightfully
until I arrived at a shore.
Wiping my eyes,
liquid pools of droplets
dangled from each lash.
I beheld a woodland.
The most astonishing trees
were woven into place
—they reached skyward
inviting me to do the same.
From a hidden perch
swooping down upon me,
shadowing my small self,
I reached, grabbing hold of
its talons. The bird allowed
me to find a soft place in its
feathers and suddenly we were
gliding to the Sun.
“Would we reach the ends of the world?”
I thought.
“Would this ‘place’ I was in
run out of room?”
The moon swirled into this
landscape of timeless pages,
and I wrote
trusting there is no end.
Drops of Color/ That’s why
Drops of Color
That’s why
Walking across a bridge
back and forth,
then back AGAIN!
Why?
History, painted in boards,
stain after stain
after bloodied stains!
Why write about the past?
Why speak out?
Why invoke the memories?
So that they no longer repeat
themselves…that’s why!
Seems we have to cross bridges
AGAIN and again and again.
Together, let us keep crossing
the bridges until we realize
everyone is free to cross.
No matter your race.
No matter your religion.
No matter your gender.
What matters is: YOU are!
We are…One.
Cross the bridge—
help the ones who cannot
get across!
Let us carry one another.
No One is too heavy.
We are all Sisters & Brothers.
We are all welcome
to dwell in
‘A Promised Land.’
It’s time.
We cannot give up trying.
CROSS
let’s cross
until no one is left
behind.
The Growing of a Soul
The Growing of a Soul
I have walked this path
a thousand times.
The Seasons have changed their
face as well as mine.
I have labored here as
I placed one foot in front
of the other.
At times, I backtracked.
Something, someone catching
my eye.
I lingered, reflecting on
the past…days held in the sun
and, yes, even the storms
that taught my ‘limbs’ to move
about in wondrous ways.
Yes, I have walked this path,
times too numerous to number,
and the most profound change,
although unseen, is the change
within.
I talk with stones, with trees
and forest creatures.
Most of the time I refrain from
speech and listen to the stars,
the first rays of sunshine
and the fullness of the moon
on a chilled haunting night.
This path has grown my Soul.
Each day I arrive,
I begin again.
I circle while dawn
rises and a purple
western sky fades into blackness.
The shadows hold tender
places until the light
finds a way to transform
itself welcoming
and letting-go.
No matter how many
moments that have
brought me here, now…
I continue to ask, ‘who am I,
and who are you, Lord?’
I hold a leaf in my
hands that the wind
has pulled from a branch.
A hawk screeches over head…
such an extraordinary song,
and I walk on.
The sound of my soles
touch this earth,
and I hear my breath
while my heart beats inside
—a Soul birthing another
Season.
Drops of Color/ Here Again…asking the same Question
Drops of Color
Here Again…asking the same Question
Chewy, rich, gooey
savory, chocolaty
seeping with delight.
One wrapper removed
—ingesting the tiny piece of candy.
Treats…no tricks.
Ahhh, unwrapping another
—it only gets better.
The gourd seems to smile
filled with pleasures.
Is this season really here…AGAIN?
Seems only yesterday I wondered,
“What shall I be?”
Did I pack away the costume?
Funny, each year
I ask the same question
—deep down really asking,
“Who am I
after removing
all the wrappers?”
Painting a fence post…
Painting a fence post…
why it is quite
natural
—no planning
required
—only the ability to
wait and behold
the ordinary
in all its
extraordinariness.
Drops of Color/ Jump In
Drops of Color
Jump In
That’s right!
Take a few steps back.
Catch your breath.
On your mark, get set…Go!
Before you…
a pile lifting to the sky.
Red, yellow, orange fading leaves
wait for You.
Leap from the ground,
dive in
‘crunch, crack, crunch.’
A smattering of leaves fills the
air, and you
lay upon a leafy bed.
Autumn’s golden moments.
Jump in before
the winds arrive
carrying the world
into another wonder.
Moving On…
Moving On…
is there really
anything more
to say?
Drops of Color/ The Bridge
Drops of Color
The Bridge
A long trail
through the woods…
Hours passed, the color
became ever more vibrant
as the sun reached its zenith.
An opening drew back the trees,
and a bridge suddenly
visible…it appeared as
an opened hand
reaching out,
“Come, Come and Cross.’
I stepped before realizing
my feet already in motion.
Wooden boards, giant oaks, formed a cover.
In the bridge’s center,
‘all’ the light—out.
In the darkness, I held my place,
for how long—unknown.
The darkness revealed messages
—unwritten realities expressing
the beginning of all things.
The black shadows hid-den
within this bridge held the void.
The ‘hand’ nudging me through—to another side.
The deep shades made way for
the pastel paintings of life— good.
It is all GOOD.
I walked, glancing back
—the bridge held the full moon
in its hand.