Drops of Color/ Dazzling Kernels

Drops of Color
Dazzling Kernels

The field was endless.

Stepping into one of the rows,
I softly made my way.

The stalks reached toward the clouds.

I crossed over into another row.

Time passed.
I lost any sense of direction
—the sun, my guiding post.

Here I was in 
a corn field.

I thought I heard
a crackle, then a pop.

Sitting in the middle
of this pleasant abundance,
I glanced noticing an ear.
Something , someone pulled it back.

Bright yellow dazzling kernels
layered like the rows I 
had been traversing.

I reached to pull it from
its coat of green leafy sheaves.

Suddenly, it was as if
my ‘reach’ held in time.

I heard, ‘Let me live long enough to die—
let my seeds fall, planting themselves…
let the birds carry them off, dropping a few
as they soar…’

See, see this pattern ‘in’ life…

Born from seed
—bursting from a sack.

Life, a harvest waiting
to be lived out.

Closure, returning to Earth—

Death

—it is not an end
    as we have been 
    led to believe

—it is a beginning
    into NEW tomorrows.

 

 

 

Drops of Color/ Who Wins?

Drops of Color

Who Wins?

Victory will resound only
when, together, we
collectively ‘win.’

There is a time for 
everything as the writer of
Ecclesiastes pens.

We weep, we laugh.
We, mourn, we celebrate.
We sing, we sit in silence.

We pray ONLY to allow 
love to guide us.

 

 

Drops of Color/ For her…

Drops of Color

For her…

I have written those
two words innately—‘for her.’

Only now
these two syllables burn into this
page like commandments
engraved on stone tablets—‘for her.’

For her
the ink spills from this pen
or is it a river
flowing from the corners of my eyes?

I wrote ‘for her
—the girl just about to go into the
     classroom a first time
—the feminine Soul who has already
     learned ‘letters,’
     has begun to form words and 
     is creating sentences
—the ‘She’ who has embarked
     on a path significantly making
     her way in the world as a person
     designed and fashioned
     in the divine image of Life.

—NOW, PLEASE DO NOT LET IT BE TAKEN AWAY—

For her
I bow and pray
that her identity not be shielded
—that her beauty and integrity not
    be covered or handed over
    as if, she, a mere possession.

I speak out for her,
I cannot hold back.

How long,
How long, Oh, Lord,
will you hear the weeping of ‘her’
and remain still?

Show me what to do,
and I’ll act in the
only way YOU are made
known to me.

Let me write a door way
of love
for her,
so that she might pass through
safely, freely.

She has already bore witness
to what ‘eyes’ should never see
or the body never experience.

For her

For her,
my ink runs dry.

Still, though You be,
I will write on

For her

 

Drops of Color/ In This Town

Drops of Color

In This Town

Somewhere
in this town,
You are.

I am not certain
I will find you,
but I know
You see me.

You often
lead me
to places “I Think”
you could never
be found.

Then…

I find you
—on every corner
—in between alleys
—on each cobble stone  walk
—dangling from window panes,
spacious courtyards,
and coffee shops.

I find a place to rest
and sit on a park bench.
You are sitting on the opposite end
reading the newspaper.

You pause
placing the paper between us.

The headline reads:
“I Found You”

I, who was
in search of You.

 

 

 

Drops of Color/ Cornerstones

Drops of Color

Cornerstones

These stones…

I continue creating
—archways
—windows
—bridges

These stones carry
stories as they were
—rolled into place
—hauled, lifted, chiseled.

Is there a cornerstone
holding them in place?

Is that what I am attempting
to find as I draw
yet another ‘stone’ edifice?

How is it these structures still
stand, no re-building
plans.

The hands that laid this work
—Unknown

Perhaps, in their own way
each a Cornerstone…

 

Drops of Color/ Rosie

Drops of Color
Rosie…

rises on all fours.
Tiny paws already
revealing the size this pup
will one day be.

A tail swings back 
and forth like a metronome
especially when she hears her name
spoken aloud.

A soft step
followed by a playful tumble.
Now she rumbles into a pair
of limber legs.

Arms reach for her.
Rosie jumps with delight
attempting to wrap her
furry arms around a neck.

Her eyes glisten.
She always seems to adorn
a smile…
it’s that simple.

“…And they call it Puppy Love.”

Could it be so simple?

Just ask Rosie!

Drops of Color/ Mansion

Drops of Color
Mansion

‘Inside’ this mansion,
the views ‘outside’
reveal the essence of
what IS The Mansion…
Yes, from ALL directions.

Drops of Color/ Wedding Garment

Drops of Color

Wedding Garment

The garment
—a natural design
—a fit needing no alterations
—feathers laid like a winnowing fan.

A blue painted sky
began the celebration.

The wedding feast
—an invitation to all.

The trees let loose—
The ground shook as sprigs of grass
stood tall like towering steeples.

Buttercups unraveled.

Why, even the wind stopped a moment
to honor the silence.
Silence…the opening hymn.

Wings spread themselves like open arms.
The sun lit the cathedral.

An open eye
scanned the vast assembly.

Everything had its place.

No words spoken—
No rings exchanged.

They took to the
sky and exchanged a 
wedded kiss.

The garment no longer two—
they flew as one.

Petals of white feathers
floated down
anointing the ground
blessing this
holy union.

Drops of Color/ A soft Howl

Drops of Color

A soft Howl

In moments
of silent meditation,
a soft howl brews
inside of me.

Then, the howl expands
on an ordinary
piece of paper.

Drops of Color/ Rainbow of Puddles

Drops of Color
Rainbow of Puddles

Slender bristles
separate, yet bound together,

dangling from a wooden rod.

Each strand
seeking ‘the color’ revealing
an essence of its individual self.

Only inches away
a palette lay…a rainbow of puddles,
pooled separately.

The rod, rocking
back and forth,
not of its own making,
but that of the 
collective gathering
in the form of a brush.

The anxious thrill
to bathe oneself
in one’s color

BUT…

a pause holds
—an empty canvas waiting.

One brush, many bristles
decide to use each color
not one left out or excluded.

A prism painted,
another canvas beckoned.

When ‘all’ the colors used and fashioned
—utilizing its purpose,

the designs

Eternal.

Drops of Color/ Undecided

Drops of Color

Undecided

Do I go up the stairs
or do I walk down the stairs?

Who or what determines
where the stairs begin?
What if they never end?

Why is ascending the 
path we seemingly aspire to climb?
Do we fear the descent because at
its deepest roots we could actually
discover our unseen selves?

I sat in the  middle of the stairs a while.
I wasn’t drawn in either direction.
Up, down…in the moment I sat
balanced.

The stairs did not crumble or fall.
I was not launched in a direction to soar
nor was I destined to plummet into
the depths of a hid-den well.

Can we meet in the middle?
Your thoughts, my ideas, your opinions,
my approaches, your style, my design…

From this middle ground—
I sit here on these stairs,

together, the stairs are endless
in ‘all’ directions.

Drops of Color/ Full Bloom

Drops of Color

Full Bloom

When you unfolded,
the heavens rejoiced.

The waiting—an eternity.
Now, that you arrived,
each moment that proceeded
this dawning
~~~alas, makes sense.

I don’t want to close my eyes.
The petals of your presence
have attached themselves
to my Soul.

Yes, my Soul, in full bloom.
It did not even see
the arrival.

Now, that it is here,
closing my eyes
~~~I see.

I see what could not
be timed
or planned
or predicted.

Opening, opening
to an unfolding

noticed
here, now

then gone.

Blooming season
shall ‘become’ once again.

Now, my Soul
no longer struggles
as it waits.

Drops of Color/ The Interview

Drops of Color

The Interview

The interview began.
“Please, take a seat.”

Which chair do you wish me
to sit upon?
“The empty one.”

Excuse me, but…

“I’m sorry, I did not hear you.
What did you ask?”

It was nothing…I’m simply going
to sit.

“Good, good take all the time you need.”

Wait, I’m here for an interview.
I thought you were going to…

“Excuse me, did you say something?
Sometimes my mind is racing and
I’m oblivious to the sounds all around me.”

It’s alright…
I’m beginning to think this interview…

“Pardon me”

Well, this interview…there are no questions
to be answered.

“Yes”

I’ve been invited to sit and LIVE
the questions.

“Amen.”

Drops of Color/ This Side

Drops of Color
This Side

There
in front of a calm stream
~~~a bridge.

A bridge
with an unwritten invitation,
‘Come, crossover.’

So, cross over I did.
Now, that I was over
what I crossed
was I on another side?

If I crossed back ‘over,’
would the bank across the way
be another side…again?

Bridges do indeed
give way to
another side.

Yet, from this place
~~~from this bridge
~~~as I stood in its center,
both ‘sides’ opened my
eyes to see.

Yes, dad, you!
You crossed over~~~
yet, I see you
from this bridge.

I see you in all things.
As I gaze into the
water beneath this bridge,

I see you staring up at me
from the reflection of myself
on this side of a bridge.

I love you dad.

(In lasting memory to every man who is a father)

Drops of Color/ Tear Drop

Drops of Color
Tear Drop

The form of  a 
tear drop
hangs from pines.

A choir 
bellows from
this ‘spun’ papier-mâché’ drop
~~~dangling effortlessly.

A single entrance
carved out at the bottom.

The community worked
from the sun’s rising
until the stars appeared.

Chewing upon wood fibers,
the workers blend their saliva—‘wasp spit’
creating the formation
of their castle.

Open-celled combs
~~~life being birthed from within
~~~the outside, a thick
        multi-layered shell.

Hundreds work inside this stately drop…
it serves its purpose
for a time and then remains vacant

or is removed by Autumn’s winds
or winter’s chill.

Many times the tear
shaped domain
hangs in life’s museum.

How wondrous
~~~no entrance fee!

Open your eyes
~~~beauty all around
~~~so prevalent

tear drops forming
    in my eyes.

Drops of Color/ The Entrance

Drops of Color
The Entrance

The doorway
opened itself wide…releasing its hinges.

The architecture surrounding
its space
was strong like bar bells
secure like a knot in a rope
and held a delicate design…
like petals lapped around a flower.

The wood dipped in varnish
darkened like a pool

beneath a mid-night sky.

The stone-cut, shaped
smooth like the feel
of melted wax.

Stepping through,
a silent pause taken.
I was neither inside its chiseled arch
or outside its course frame.

The way, suffice it to say,
depends what you choose.
Will you enter
or believe yourself unworthy?

You , you are the image and likeness
of the One knocking in the doorway
of your being,

“Come In, Come In
why are you waiting?
Welcome.”

The entrance is narrow
and it is open
for ALL.

Drops of Color/ This View

Drops of Color

This View

From here
—the view appears
     eternal.

Time seems to 
     hold its hands
—each tic
     every toc
     ECHOES.

Beyond the valley,
     the mountains 
     ‘catch’ the refrain
     launching it skyward.

Softly, the 
     sounds drizzle
     back down
     to the green
     grasses
—to the soil bed
    of the earth’s stage.

This performance
never closes
its curtain.

From this view,
the show lives on.

Drops of Color/ Up, Up and away in my beautiful balloon…

Drops of Color
“Up, up and away in my beautiful balloon…”

Sailing higher
into clouds,
my imagination
out of reach to find words.

My eyes look turning to the
East.  The sun joining this 
ride…igniting the 
balloon’s colors, the 
airborne vessel does not
burn…instead it joins
the Sun…two lights
beholden in the sky.

The wind catches us
launching us North—
towering mountain tops,
their peaks reaching to
‘touch’…jagged, rugged
places undiscovered nor
traversed by the likes of
humankind and still, the
mountains maintain their
recognition…they stand
unchiseled—created by an
unseen hand.  Mountain goats stand
on peaks, balanced like ballerinas…
they join in the flight.

Soft vapors
bath me, one drop after
another.  Descending
South, the current
pulls this flying bubble
swaying steadily as if the 
sky were an ocean.
We float looking
down upon rolling waves
as dolphins lead us along
as if pulling us in play.

The hours have passed.
Beds of green grass, rolling
like a million fingers waving,
waving, waving…

Persons stand together.
Yes, hundreds, thousands stand
upon the landscape.
Brown, black, yellow, red and white—
their heads joined in unity.

The balloon bows
and veers Westward.
A purple sky reveals the beginning
of dusk.
Before this day ends,
I begin to sing…

“Would you like to ride in my beautiful balloon?”

 

Drops of Color/ Design

Drops of Color

Design

Who designed your outer wear?
What makes up your daily uniform
defining what you do,
who you are,
how you ‘attempt’ to present yourself?

Does the outer design hold many colors?
Is the fabric a solid shade
imitating crayola?

When the garment of your outer self
removed
and your nakedness appears—

Do you ask
in the quiet space of yourself,
now disrobed from any form of titles:

Who am I?

Silently, behold what is You.
‘Stop’ looking so hard.
Pause from ‘thinking.’
Close your eyes and when the soft
light finds its way
into your internal gaze,

bathe in the color or countless colors
of the creation that is extraordinarily you.

You light the world…
you’re the ONLY design which
casts~~~ You!

 

“Even after all this time,
The Sun never says to the
Earth, you owe me, look
what happens with a love
like that, it lights the whole world.”
                                                              Hafiz

Drops of Color/ For Brian

Drops of Color
For Brian

When he saw them…

Immediately, he knew
—their white button down shirts
—their black tapered suits
—their ‘fine’ beaks
    tipped so,
    so that every morsel of sustenance
    filled the little ones beside
    their patent leather boots.

He fell in love with these
feathered arctic penguins.

Like tiny toy soldiers
at attention, they lovingly stand
facing harsh winters in creches.

Taking turns amongst millions,
stepping outside to be a barrier
from blustery winds,
they step back ‘in’ to warm
long enough to go back ‘out’
combating the elements.

The ‘sound’ of their nestling heard
amidst shrieks of thousands—
the parents know their own chick.

My friend—
He draws them
and draws them again.

I love him…
So Brian—this is for You!

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.

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.

Drops of Color/ What If…

Drops of Color
What if…

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

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.

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”

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.

 

Drops of Color/ Blossom

Drops of Color
Blossom

The Earth shook.
The ground quaked.
Thunder parted the clouds.

You lie in fallowed soil
unseen, invisible, hid-den.

No One called you to take the stage.
A bell did not chime signaling your time.
Lights weren’t beaming on/off queuing you.

You moved like a silent hush.
You adorned yourself with a heavy
winter coat and you knew just
when to unbutton the top button
unclasping the rest that followed.

You then burst.
Your coat scattered to the winds.
Your nakedness exposed your
true color.

You were One, yet hundreds of
petals were what blossomed forth,
revealing You.

Your sweet scent
like incense rising…

The sun poured its light meeting you—
taking you in.

You were born for this moment.

All you had to do was blossom,
and you naturally came to be.

Drops of Color/ A Living Well

Drops of Color

A Living Well

All who drink from
this Source no longer
thirst

AND

blossom into
eternal flowers
filling the world
with beauty.

Drops of Color/ Quieting the Mind

Drops of Color
Quieting the Mind

When quieting the mind,
images revealed.
Shadow sides
expose the roots,
nurture the blossoms
    of the One sitting
    in an open meadow.

Everything suddenly
connected.
No-thing is ever divided
except when the ‘thinking’
believes it knows all the answers.

When the mind is quiet,
knowing ceases.
Trusting all that befalls us
is part of the path
upon which we are to dwell.

We can remove our hands
from our eyes and 
say, “Look, look at the beauty of Life”
and, then
with eyes wide open,
you SEE ‘inside’ yourself
and know you are part
of Life’s Beauty.

Drops of Color/ History/HERstory

Today, is the last Thursday in February
—this month honors/celebrates/remembers Black History.
My sketch highlights Kamala Harris, the first woman,
the first African American/South Asian woman
to become the Vice President of the United States of America—
Perhaps, this is a first of many more to come where all women will make
History/ HERstory.

 

Drops of Color
History/HERstory

The binding of her being
a soft shade of brown.

From the dust of the earth,
she was fashioned.

Her DNA is linked to the soil’s foundations.

Her pages ‘inside’ were ignited like stars
—their flames lit words burned into
the core of her Divine being.

She stepped held in love, surrounded
by ‘bearers’ of light leading her down
paths that no entrance could deny her
access.

She is a Beacon for young girls,
older women, men with daughters who embrace the companioning
of the other gender understanding
its unique gifts.

The first woman to hold a position
of Vice President in the United States of America.

Imagine if ALL systems opened
their eyes and realized how much
MORE life giving,
how much more fuller they would unfold
to their highest good…
if all were given the opportunity to
become what they are called to be—
Each of us…
the chosen persons of God.

United we Stand.
United we live out the Story…

“Behold all things are made NEW.” 

It is taking place right before 
our eyes.

History being made…HERstory
being told.

Drops of Color/ …I’ll be back again

Drops of Color

…I’ll be back again

Sammy  Did you hear that?

Rosie:     What?

Sammy:  Shh, there it is again.

Rosie:      The only thing I hear
                    or feel are the icicles forming
                    on my nose…already 
                    they’re a frosty shade of pink.

Sammy:    Quiet!

Rosie:        Hey, I heard it, but…

Snowperson:  “Pack it good, real good!”

Did you say that Sammy?
No, Rosie.

Snowperson:  “Come on children,
                                    let’s make all we can
                               of this moment.”

Sammy, Sammy can we keep
the snowperson forever?

Snowperson:   “Rosie, I’m here now.
                                  One day I’ll melt away,
                                    but I’ll be back again…

                                              Now, how about a few more
                                            flakes around the middle?”

Sammy, are we dreaming?
No Rosie, this is REAL
and let’s promise
no one shall ever take
away our wonder.

Snowperson:   “Well said, LOOK, it’s snowing…
               Catch me if you can!”

Drops of Color/ What Song

Drops of Color

What Song?

Sing to me…

What song is being sung
in you?

Are you blowing through
the saxophone?

Are you caressing
the piano keys?

Maybe you’re strumming
the strings of the guitar
or tapping the skin of the drum
with wooden sticks.

Are you sounding a trumpet?

Perhaps you are holding the
microphone and words
are flowing from your lips.

Are you someone quietly listening,
taking it all in?

Maybe you have leaped from your
seat and created a dance floor…

you are gliding, dipping, swooning
right NOW.

What song is being
played in you?

Follow whatever ‘notes’
and
create the symphony

‘in’ you.

Drops of Color/ GOOD Trouble

Drops of Color
“Never, ever be afraid to make
some noise and

get in GOOD trouble, necessary trouble.”

                                          ~~~John Lewis

I Still Remain

A square etched
on a blank page.

What words
began to follow?

One drop after
another falls from
a sky sliced open
no longer holding
the weight of its tears.

Back to the square
~~~a lined drawing
now becomes a box.

Stepping outside,
I lay the sketch
~~~a lined image
of the box
on the soaked ground.

Suddenly, an abundance
of gathered drops
fills the box so quickly
that the image

NOW

washed away.

I stand, soaked.

I am not washed away.
I stand, I am
present, alive, free to
wander.

Even though I am drenched,
I still stand.

I hope
      I trust
                 I believe

in GOODNESS.

No-thing can
wash me
away while

I still remain.

In Memory of John Lewis, ‘GOOD Trouble.’

Drops of Color/ One

Drops of Color

One

We are One Tribe
We are One Nation
We are One people

Why do we go on
pretending we are not?

Your Joy is my Joy.
Your sorrow is my sorrow.
Words flow like a river
down my cheeks.

Your prayer is a choir
sung from the heaven we live in here…NOW.

Look…even if your sister
does not understand you,
she remains your sister.

And, if your brother believes
you’ve veered off the path,
together, you still walk with
your brother on this land.

Your skin color—
Your sexuality—
Your beliefs—
Your religion—

If they separate You
from this One Tribe,
this One Nation,
from our Oneness
as people
United in Creation—

If it so…

Run, run and do not
stop until your very
breath almost leaves you.

Stay until the very roots
‘in’ you find their way
into the soils of life.

Trust, you’ll be fed by
rain, wind, bird songs,
luscious fields of wheat
and barley.

In time, you’ll rise
to the Sun calling you.

You have already Risen—
do you understand?

Now…go back
into this World…

Proclaim—
We are One Tribe
                   One Nation
                         One People
beneath a Universe of Stars
‘Welcoming’ us to
simple abundance each day.

Drops of Color/ The Gate

Drops of Color

The Gate—

it is not so narrow.

In fact,
if you simply ‘lift’ the latch,
it opens.

In fact,
if you’re unable to lift the latch,
there IS someone to lift it for you
—trust.

In fact,
the truth is ALL are welcome to enter
through this gate.

—You don’t have to DO anything
     to gain access
—You don’t have to be a certain race
     to pass through.
—Your religious background/affiliation
     do not matter…
     in truth—if you wish to leave
     your beliefs at the gate’s entrance,
     you can OR you can bring them through!

Because, what’s in your heart
is heard here.

Beyond the gate, the path is inclusive.
No judgements.
Sticks and stones are on the ground.
There they lay unless you pass a pond
and wish to toss a rock and gaze at
the circles growing wider and wider.
The sticks make great kindle for
evening campfires beneath stars…
white diamonds
glistening in a cascading black sea.

The gate.
There is so much more to be said,
but, lift the latch—

ENTER

it is open for all.

It may be a bit
narrow.
Everyone can pass through.

Drops of Color/ Solitary

Drops of Color

Solitary

The sea is
relatively calm—
white caps were making
their way before the
horizon’s line.

A solitary boat
rested along the edge
of the rising tide.

Stepping into the boat,
I cast off,
thrusting the oars
over the edge.

The winds rose
as did the vessel.

Carried into uncharted waters,
I reached, but there was
nothing to hold.

I let-go.
How do you let-go of nothing?

I heard a splash,
then another.
Dolphins were gliding alongside
this wooden boat.

A seagull landed
on the bow.
It let-go of the wind
long enough to hold
this present place.

Where am I?
This place?
Where are the waves
carrying me?

The sun has set.
The only visible direction
—an ocean of stars.

The rocking
has cradled me enough
that I closed my eyes.
Did I sleep?

The moon rises
from hid-den galaxies.

I am not alone.
Invisible oars lap the water.

I am destined for
the Unknown.

I know you’ll greet
me when I arrive.

Whom am I kidding?
You are the Vessel
I AM within.

Drops of Color/ Seven Hanging Pots…

I share this poem through tears…

My eyes swollen, I can barely read my own words…

NOW…
—Let us maintain kindness
—No matter how broken
     may we act peacefully
—May LOVE transform
     what at present remains unseen!

May we ‘see’ beyond the chaos all that is GOOD!

Drops of Color
Seven Hanging Pots
(In the Beginning)

Seven pots hung upon a 
wall beneath a window
hid-den behind a pair of shutters.

The sun was shining.
The first pot began unfolding its petals
and a voice was heard just inside the shutters
—“This is GOOD.”

Suddenly, an enormous cloud strolled across
the sky shading the light.
The second pot said, “I feel drops of water”
and the same voice whispered
—“This is GOOD.”

The third pot could barely hold back its refrain…
“my soil is so rich & fertile, look, look, see
all my seeds coming to fruition.”
The voice chimed in, “this IS all so very Good.”

The fourth pot shared with the others
an epiphany, “we are growing, changing.
At night, we seem to close.  During the day
we are so fresh and vibrant.  We have hung
here for some time and look what we have
weathered and continue to become.”
The voice said, “Ah, yes…very Good.”

The fifth pot giggled as little birds
and insects played in its gentle space.
The sixth pot noticed creatures
on the street below
and laughed along with the fifth pot
as the voice again softly uttered,
‘This is Good.’

Then, the seventh pot called
for silence.
The shutters opened.
A man and woman appeared in the window.
They gazed out at the lovely pots.
“We promise to tend to you.
Thank you for sharing your splendor
and beauty with all.”

The voice, like a song said,
“Alleluia, this is Good”
and took time to rest.

Drops of Color/ In Our Hands

 

In Our Hands
A painted ceiling 
began its formation.

In this year’s beginning,
here’s a simple reminder

Drops of Colors
splattered with ease…
Images ‘ran’—one into the
next…the ceiling draped
like a curtain.

Without notice, the curtain
became engulfed in flames—
yet, the ceiling’s images
were not consumed.

Instead,
the paint burned with
crisper colors.

How could color become
more vibrant than 
it already is?

Pools formed and I 
dipped my pen.

Faces, millions of faces…
Young, old and in between—
Furry faces, long beaks,
slender gills.

What was being painted?

In Our Hands…images.

Images of teachers coordinating
parades…children with parents—
a line of cars.  Neighbors
outside, keeping a social distance
holding signs,
“I LOVE YOU, ‘Ms. TEACHER’…
I MISS YOU, ‘Mr. TEACHER’…

Stuffed animals littered the dashboards
of vehicles.  Window sills
and doorways held hearts.

Simple words written, “Thank you.”

Ordinary classrooms linked via 
Zoom…extraordinary!

iPads were given to those without
proper tools.  Many
simply wanted to learn…(so many unable).

My paint dried for a moment
until another pool drenched me.
I witnessed truckers delivering food, grocery store
attendants ringing-up customers—
our Seniors first.

Our wise guides, needing
our care—they the most
susceptible/vulnerable to this
invisible predator.

What hovers knows nothing
of religion, race or creed…
gender, sexual orientation or
political affiliation.  It cares less about
borders, boundaries and 
surpasses the length of the sea.

A pandemic is what spread
and so, too, Drops of Color.

First responders…EMT’s,
Fire Fighters, Police
were out to Protect & Serve.

To Nursing Homes, Hospitals
 the CARE providers came…
gloved, masked,
 gowned. 

Doctors, Nurses, Mechanics, Dietary Aids
reported for shifts that never
seemed to end.

People were talking— others were
listening.

Stars were visible on clear nights
and animals walked the forests
where traffic once stood
bumper to bumper.

Again, my colors dried—
the number of persons
taken by this virus still grows.

Tears became a pool—
A lament painting itself.

From a distance, ‘WE’ touch
—a love-making in motion
—an intimacy
     unfolding, yet far from revealed.

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you
for ‘looking’ at THIS ceiling…

it is far from over
in fact, it has just begun.

What will lay itself out,
I cannot begin to know.

The Source I call upon,
the Divine essence
that guides ‘this’ hand,

does not say much at all.

INSTEAD,

An Invitation…
‘It is in Your Hands’
 to go into the World to
Love, Serve, Create,
Hope, Inspire,
Shed a tear,
Laugh until your heart breaks.

Let nothing divide.
Let communion be shared with ALL.

May we SEE in each other
The Sun
and realize we are all One.

                                   —The Painter of Ceilings

Drops of Color/ The Night of Christmas

Drops of Color
The Night of Christmas

Twas’ the night of Christmas
and I lay covered in bed.
Thoughts of this day
wrapped the gift it had been.

It began beneath
stars made manifest
in the dark and the chill
of winter’s wonders
glistened upon branches
and homes
dressed in lights.

I walked into a 7-Eleven
to purchase the news of
this day and I was
greeted by a gentleman.
“Merry Christmas” and I wished
that were the headline for the day.  
Before I reached
what I’d come for, I looked
at this man…
I asked him what tradition
was his on this day.
He quickly responded, “I’m Buddhist.”
I bowed as I spoke “Namaste”
and we hugged in the aisle.

Off in my sleigh,
I took off in the night
to a Starbuck’s for tea.
Again, to my joy-filled 
surprise…a choir of angels
shouted with glee, “Merry Christmas”
and I ordered my hot cup of
Earl Grey.

Then at the window,
a young man stood.
His name was Muhammed
and morning greetings ensued.

I asked if he celebrated this day.
He told me he was Muslim and will
celebrate come Spring.
I thanked him and said, “We share
the same sky…” he gazed out the 
window, looking up at the stars.
He spoke, “That’s beautiful” and 
again my sleigh pressed on.

I held the hot liquid
close to my lips.
Before I could drink,
I had to swallow my tears.

The Incarnation
of this day
is NOT only THIS day
it’s each and EVERY day…

The birthing mystery
broken open
IS for all.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah,
Blessed Kwanza, Happy Holidays

and to each and everyone

A Good Night.

Drops of Color/ Glory & Wonder

Drops of Color
Glory & Wonder

In a lowly valley,
stood a towering pine.

Lofty needles
formed its lengthy arms
lifting toward the sky’s ceiling.

A whisper from the tree
rose like the sound
of a hand sweeping across
a harp’s strings.

“Oh, glorious stars,
you illuminate this silent night.
To you, I raise my branches
in endless waves of gratitude.”

A pregnant pause
was heard.
The stars seemed to 
‘glow’ in splendor.

Like a host of angels,
they gathered their sparkles of wonder.
 One star hovered softly
floating effortlessly
adorning the top of the pine.

In harmony, a voice,
its face blinded by the brilliance of light made manifest…
Beckoned.

“To you beautiful tree…
WE give thanks.
Together, let us reveal
the Glory & Wonder
of Creation.”

Drops of Color/ The Stockings were Hung…

Drops of Color

The Stockings were Hung…

with affection and care

in hope that this year
would invite us to prayer.

Yes, the stockings were hung
with so much love and ‘wear’

—miles walked in so much unknown
—persons held in place…isolated
—faces guarded by masks
—the virus spread
—still, hosts of angels went in
…it was about LIFE
   and ministering in death.

I believe incarnation slipped in
between cracks.
Yes, suffering happened and still LOVE
was the thread.

These stockings were
hung with affection & care—
the greatest gift found

—in the Love
     of a world broken,
    yet, for a first time—FOUND!

Drops of Color/ Lived

Drops of Color
Lived

The tables are set—
the silverware placed.

The chairs are set
for countless persons,
yet an emptiness remains.

A hush hovers—
it feels like a bell in
a cathedral whose
clapper has been removed.

The sounds of silence
hardly convey
what is not taking place.

The chefs are home
and so, too, the host
and waiting staff.

Those responsible for setting-up,
taking-down, cleaning
are home, too.

Some places may never open
again, others will create
new venues—that’s who
we are.  We are people
who rise no matter how
difficult the odds.

Many have endured  
the tremendous loss of

family members—
and they could 
not be laid to rest in
the ‘way’ we’ve been accustomed.

New ideas charted
and memories now strained
tucked like a garden in
a soul’s dwelling place.

What will bloom remains to be seen.

One day these tables
will hold feasts,
elegant spreads.

Communion will be broken and shared
—this act never ceased
—food being distributed
     because persons are hungry.

We’re all hungry, especially to gather,
and we will once again.
When ‘everyone’ is invited to the table
to eat, to drink…

when our prayers are
lived out by our actions…

yes, even social distancing.

When we SEE each person as ‘neighbor’
and love one another as we love
ourselves…we BECOME

a humane community…

a Gospel no longer
simply read

but

LIVED.

Drops of Color/ Many Utensils

Drops of Color
“Happy Thanksgiving”
(Belated Thanksgiving greetings to my friends in Canada)

Many Utensils

In this kitchen,
there are many utensils…

Today, I’m handling
the spatula of gratitude.
Stirring again and again
awaiting its gentle boil.

I add touches of spices.
Each added ‘pinch’ descends
into the enormous pot and
an aroma ascends.

This day I prepare
what IS with ‘thanks.’

This soufflé of words
breaks open—

for all who read
it is your ‘giving’ heart
that reaches mine
reminding me of the eternal banquet
from which I daily taste.

Abundant Blessings.

Always Gratitude.

Drops of Color/ Masks

Drops of Color
Masks

I placed one mask
over the naked essence
of my expression
—it fit.

I took it off
and tried the other
—it fit.

Who was I
if both fit?
Either one so simple
to wear.

I have worked
a long time
to hide this me.
Perhaps, from no one more
than myself.

So, who am I?
Who are You?

The masks are me
and they are not me.
They are simple to keep on.
Complicated to take off.

They are a part
of me and
they are nowhere
near close to
whom I’m discovering
myself to be.

My life—
Your life…

Take the stage.
Live your part.

Be the side alive
—living life to the fullest
—bowing when the lights
shine solely upon you

AND

Be the person that
—can weep
—can utter a cry when
the way is lost and forlorn.

It’s easy to wear a 
mask.

It’s even easier to take it off
and be you.

Drops of Color/ Inside

Drops of Color

Inside…

darkness ‘holds’ a space
as it did in ‘The Beginning.’

The cusp of windows
invites light into
hid-den chambers.

Listening ‘in’ silence…
voices~~~many!

They seem to be saying,
“This is Good, this is Good…”

All is quiet.

The blending of two entities
eliciting shadows
and bringing colors to life.

Behold the Oneness.

Drops of Color/ Scraps

Drops of Color

 

Scraps

Each word, she recalled,
as if it were spoken directly to her,
“Even the dogs get the scraps that fall
from their master’s table.”

Many years have passed,
and she can ‘taste’ each syllable
as she has spent her lifetime
‘gathering’ scraps…each a fragment of her faith.

Her prayer beads dangle between
her disjointed fingers, fine instruments,
her hands—still soft, a tad wrinkled,
yet they remain open for the scraps
she shares freely.

Her faith has made her well
and, even as the glowing candle’s wax
of her being melts down,
a faint glimmer remains visible.

It is her faith that takes her into the darkness.
She does not fear…in her unknowing, she
trusts the ‘scraps’ of those who have made their way. 
They leave, for her, soft hues
of penetrating light, places where her
footsteps can tread…a NEW path.
Death is not an end.

I can still see her shadow
as much as I long to ‘cling’ to her hand.
Her cane begins to fall…I have to let it drop.

I only pray to share the scraps of my 
faith as well.

Drops of Color/ Steps…

Drops of ColorSteps…

There’s no specific
way.

Exactly where you
place your foot
and then the other
is where you are meant to be.

Be present—
the place upon which you stand…
centuries old.

The patterns, the colors…
circles, lines—
they flow.

You are 
on a path.

Take a step,
then take another.
Pause awhile—
rest.

You might even
re-peat steps
a second time,
a third time…

things may seem familiar
but each step never
the same as the last.

Now, close your eyes.

The floor you
stand on
awaits your steps.

Drops of Color/ Details

Drops of Color

Details

It all began with an idea
—a vision.

Then, there was a layout
—a blue print.

Numbers of persons
responded from everywhere.

An enormous ‘spattering’
of specialties assembled
—to create.

Everything brought together
—orchestrated.

The finest details
—each a solitary note
—each playing its tune
     on the scale
—a harmonic assembly
     steel, hammer, nuts & bolts,
     rails, beams and human
     ingenuity…innovation
—every’one’ an instrument
     in the design
     ready to play their exact
     rhythm, measure, when
     beckoned by the conductor.

The performance
—gaps creating bridges
—the ability to cross over
    and back to where
    it all first began.

An idea
—a vision.

All the details laid
on parchment
—a scroll
    handed down through time.

Together, we have built
and accomplished
so very much.

Hard working hands
toiled to have a part,
to be a part of the dream.

Every being
wanting a place in the details
so that the dream could be
lived out in all.

Let’s work to make it
happen…
Opportunities for all
down to the last detail.

Only when each note
heard, respected,
given a part in the details,
can we hear
the song as it’s 
meant to be played.

Together,
let our IMAGINATIONS
bring to life the 
REALITY

—‘together we stand
divided we fall…’

It’s really that simple
when we see
in one another
—our unity
—our oneness.

We are the bridges for our children’s
lasting tomorrows.

Let’s get busy on the details.

Drops of Color/ Jonathan Price

Drops of Color

Jonathan Price

This is not ANOTHER sketch of a Black Man.

This is not a statistic of ANOTHER life
taken by the pull of a trigger…
the discharge made by a 
law enforcer, Peace Officer.

This IS an ‘IMAGE’ of a human being—
Created in the likeness of the One
who breathed life into this Universe…
The One who breathed life into the dust
of the brown soils of ‘Mother Earth.’

This is an attempt to ‘bring’ life
back to a life GONE too soon.

Every drop of ink—splashes a prayer
for Jonathan Price, his family, his 
friends, the one who took his life,
and for those who ONLY now have
come to know him because of this
‘senseless’ act.

This is a drawing of
a man whose life MATTERED…
especially because he was black.

You MATTER Jonathan Price.

May we not ‘rest’ until there is
Peace, Equality and Justice for
everyone whose skin
is a beautiful brown.

 

Life asked death, “Why do people
love me but hate you?”
Death responded, “Because you
are a beautiful lie and I am a pain-
ful truth.”
                                    Unknown

Drops of Color/ Only a Dream

Drops of Color
Only a Dream

It was a dream.

Really, only a dream.

In the center of
a lush garden
stood a majestic tree.

The tree reached itself
beyond the sky.

Its leaves
oh, yes, 
countless leaves were a splendor
of cascading colors

AND

the leaves were the shape of hearts.

The wind picked up,
and I thought I heard ‘beating’
—one soft beat
followed by another and another.

Was it the leaves?
But how?

I rushed to the tree—
My heart awakening to the
strumming pattern. 
It, too, was listening.

I wanted to pull down a leaf
—just one.

But, then, right before my eyes,
the tree began to sway—
it moved left
then right.

I was beholden to a dance—
a sort of waltz.
Then, a soft blue leaf
let-go.

It crooned, hovered a while
until it settled itself
in the very palm of my
outstretched hand.

From the distinct time
the leaf ‘touched’ itself
upon me, something inside me changed.

How can I put it into words?

I was so ‘light’…
like the weight of a feather.
Yet, I was full
like a bucket of water
brimming over the edge,
spilling itself without end.

I wanted to pick a few leaves so
that I might send them to

WHY…EVERYONE.

Yet, as I reached,
I was held back.

The tree, THIS season
it seemed to say,
“This is ours to do.”

With that, a gust
swirled like a whip of a tail.

Several leaves let-go
floating on to their destination—
wherever that may be.

The time, the season ahead,
was a time for rest
as well as a time
of renewal.

A transformation of new colors
would be born again
come Spring.

I let-go of the blue leaf in my hand.
It was not a possession
or a keep-sake…
it was a companion, a guide.

I woke from my dream.
I was draped in a brilliant blue.

Wait, am I still dreaming?

No, I was wide awake.
I could hear ‘beating’
—a soft melody.

From my heart to yours.

Grow Brightly
and let-go.