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.

Drops of Color/ The Poor Man

Drops of Color
(A Pilgrimage Journal Entry/Camino St. Francis September 2019)

The Poor Man~~~
the beggar man from Assisi—
is that you?

The winds whispered through the trees—
the leaves clapped their hands.
“ALL Praise and Glory” sang through
a tiny pink flower on the side of
the trail~~~

Yes, now I know it is You.

A painted blue sky…a picturesque sea
washing itself above my head—
while the sun holds it center and
I feel myself revolving with you
Brother Francis, poor man,
beggar man~~~Lover of Creation.

Walking toward Assisi
the dust rises like incense with my
every step.
Small stones, large stones, lie in the
valley…an uncharted path giving way
to mountains dipped in soft clouds.

You’re near poor man, beggar man~~~
the Lord’s Troubadour.
You sang creation’s love song
and Praised creation’s Lord.

Your story Blessed Francis
lives on.
Sister Death came for you~~~
You welcomed her.

You’re here poor man,
beggar man from Assisi.

The Christ in You
is the Moon’s Fullness…
the Light, the Darkness—
Your friends.

How powerful ‘we’ SEE more clearly
in the dark solitude of 
our beings
when we view only a small speck of
our shadow—that IS the True Self.
“No? Yes?”
Does the False self come out in the Light?
Is it the illusion we pretend to be?
Wish to be?  Hope to be?

Poor man…
Beggar man…
You lived the journey simply—
it was yours.

I live mine
through your words.
“Who am I?  Who are you, Lord?”
Some days, I feel further from the discovery
of the answer to these questions
AND my being “Rejoices.”

In some ways, my prayer so small—
Pray, “I NEVER know.”
So like you
Poor man
beggar man from Assisi…
I walk on like you till
Sister Death takes my hand.

Francis, One day I’ll walk beside
you in the stars…

For now…I’ll simply bow
in Holy Wonder.

Feast Of Francis —October 4th

Drops of Color/ Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Drops of Color

Ruth Bader Ginsburg
March 15, 1933 —September 18, 2020

May the rays
which extend
through her shadow’s passing,
ignite within us a passion
—to bring truth to light,
—to forge peace,
—to live justly,
and to humbly walk with
the ‘Source’ of life
seen in ‘countless’ faces,
cast from a host of traditions
stretching beyond horizons unseen
trusting that LIBERTY 
is meant for ALL.

Drops of Color/ A Treasured Map

Drops of Color

A Treasured Map

I have sought a treasure—
a hid-den gem
unseen and, yet, visible
—so I’m told.

I’ve spanned countless miles on foot…
Endless terrain.

I’ve followed endless maps.
I’ve utilized devices
pointing the way.

Did I find the treasure
you ask?

Well…
Here is what I can tell you~~~

When I have set out
and stepped ‘off’ the map,

I have found
the pearl of great price.

I did not bring it back with me.
Others are searching for it.
I know them when I see them
(The Ones who’ve discovered the pearl)
and they know me.

Yes, once you find it—
it’s within.

Keep it there—
‘stay’ off the map.

Trust the direction guiding you

—it’s your course to journey.

 

Drops of Color/ Please, Please, Please…

Drops of Color

In Memory of Daniel Prude, 41
Died March 30, 2020

Please, Please, Please…

This poem can 
barely      write        words
 to          breathe.

I pray the image
holds a ‘human being’
without a bag over 
his head.

Please, please, please
let us come together
in the Oneness we
already are.

Amen

Drops of Color/ Stuffed Bear

Drops of Color

Stuffed Bear

I remember a time
you were the one
who was always there
—always near.

I held you ever so closely.
As the years passed,
your stuffing started
coming out.

You never said anything.
Your eyes looked into
mine and the two of us cuddled closer.

There were those long nights
when I didn’t feel so ‘good.’
You didn’t correct my grammar—
You just soaked in my tears.

When I was up and running,
you stayed right in that
‘spot’ awaiting my return.
I knew you needed a hug
after a long day of my
being away.

Who was I kidding?
I needed to feel
your matted down fur.

You heard every story I 
shared with you—
those written and those 
I simply lived…

and You stayed beside me.

I’m sitting here writing
about you as if—
well, now that I’m older,
I no longer need my
furry ole’ friend.

Truth is,
sometimes I need you
more than ever

to help remind me
there’s that child inside
that needs that
‘make’ believe friend.

The one that sits quietly—
paws wide open.
Still filled with enough fluff
to squeeze tightly when a tear falls

or when I start laughing
for no reason at all.

This poem is about
a little girl
and her stuffed bear—

A bear who listened
to every prayer the little girl
whispered

Believing some One
was listening

and still IS.

Drops of Color/ What Matters

Drops of Color

What Matters

The earth rolled itself—
a small marble
gliding in infinite space.

From my perch,
the sun began to greet
a new dawn.

I held the rays spanning
beyond directions until
the inferno of flame
ignited the sky.

Staring into the sun,
my pupils engulfed in wonder—

I closed my eyes.
Inwardly, the flames
set fire to my soul.

Then, some-thing
EXPLODED

Bang        BANG       Bang
       BANG
Bang       Bang
       BANG

I fell to the brown earth.

I held Jacob Blake’s body—
I held his three small children.
Their memories will always hear
the sound of the explosion
as their father fell.

The ‘sun’ within Jacob
still rises.

His father’s prayer,
a sung lament.

His mother’s voice,
a hymn calling for 
unity…A United Nation!

Broken brown people
calling people to peace—
praying for those whose
‘shots’ created this scene.

We do not have ‘all’
the words to fill in this story.

How can we begin
writing a new story
—what will fill the blank pages?

New suns are out there
beyond our sites
extending the depths
that cannot be measured.

Let us leap from the ships
of certainty we have
been riding.

Let us swim in a sea
and discover how
we can all stay afloat.

What profit if we gain the world
and my brother goes hungry?
My sister has no clothes?
Children have no place to call home?
We build more walls—
and a virus spreads inside
what we attempt to contain?
We shoot and then raise the Bible
and fail to see the blood
spilling from within that book,
that Holy Book.
Its final pages reveal a man
denouncing violence
who chose death
instead of lifting a sword!

I cannot stop staring into
the sun.
It has blinded my ability to see
these words I write
yet, ink splashes upon the page.

Black words…

From the sun’s flames
exploding within my heart,

All I can see:

BLACK LIVES MATTER

Drops of color/ Lady in Blue

Drops of Color

Lady in Blue

I never knew you,
yet you showed yourself
to me on the street…in a far off land.

You were painted in chalk.
Your eyes sparkled—captivating me.
Still…I had NO idea
just Who was gazing into me.

I sketched an image of you
to place within these words of mine

AND

a wise Soul
wrote back, “The Lady in Blue.”
I paused, I held my breath.
There was something about
THIS Lady—

Her story…
her story it is told
—she never left her homeland
of Spain.

Yet, she appeared…

Appeared in far off lands.
Her DREAM—to Preach Good News.

The Lady in Blue appeared to
indigenous people,

AND

I cannot put into
words how she
revealed herself to me
at THIS time.

Woman

Lady in Blue
it is my heart in your hands.

Drops of Color/ A City on A Hill

Drops of Color
A City on A Hill

There is a city
at rest upon a hill.

Persons come from
all directions to visit
this place.

When they look out,
they can SEE a vastness
beyond words.

Many purposely come to 
visit the two Basilicas
dwelling in this city.

One Basilica enhances
the Sacred Masculine—
the Other, the beauty of
the Divine Feminine.

The two individuals 
for whom these Basilicas
were named
would NEVER had wished
these ‘glorious’ artifacts of
artistry to be in
their names.

What they would have desired,
is that when One visits this
lowly city upon this
glorious hill,

they would LOOK
outward and behold
inward the manifestation

of the Source of all
LIFE
residing everywhere.

Yes…even upon this
City on A Hill.

 

Drops of Color/ I See

Drops of Color

I See

Legs dipping under
then quickly—reach up, and outward.

Higher and higher
the wind attempting to catch-up.

I breathe~~~ ‘in.’

My feet caress the soft grass
as I cascade above its
feathery green blades.

I breathe~~~ ‘out’
closing my eyes.

In between breaths,
the silent gap.

My eyes
wide open…
NOW

I SEE.

Drops of Color/ Who Are You?

Drops of Color

Who Are You?

Interesting,
you gaze at yourself
through a shattered piece of glass.

Now, that’s telling!

But what is being ‘acted?’

Are you putting on colors
or whipping them off?

Who did you make yourself
out to be?
Certainly, the world loves a clown.

Underneath,
there is still you.

I think you love the you that
the crowd does not know.
Who are you once the mask,
the make-up removed?

You conveniently mingle through
the crowd and no one shouts,
“Hey, that’s the clown who had us
rolling in the aisles—”
the one who gently touched the child
on chemo and the little one smiled…

The parents cried—
it was an expression of Joy.

Then with arms spread wide you
embraced a senior citizen
all alone in a nursing home.
She raised her hand touching your face…
her first movement in God knows how
long—you could hear a pin drop.

I read about a person
who ‘touched’ the crowds
and would say, “Don’t tell
anyone what I’ve done…

go show yourself to the
priests…that will suffice.”

No one listened.
They broadcast the 
acts from town to town.

There was hardly a 
place the person
could go—

‘Unrecognized.’

Hey, Who Are You?

Are you that
same person?

Your show lives on…

I still see the
world smiling.

Your nose still has
red paint on it.

Drops of Color/ Kneeling

Drops of Color

Kneeling

Kneeling earnestly in silence
beside a bed.

Listening…
No words flow.

Something seems to have lifted
a latch to a gate
and a gentle stream rushes through.

I hear the roar of a river
gripping the rapids.
White caps drench me
as I hold ‘in’ stillness.

A calm ensues
glazing the water’s surface.
I move and still my being
hovers as if held by wings.

Again…
No phrases break from
my lips.

My ears pick up the sound
of One beside me.

Audible sentences
I do not take in.

Yet, a knowing
‘echoes’
all around me.

Reaching into the 
intimate chambers of
my beating heart,
my knees long
to remain
alongside this bed.

Only a little longer—please.

And, then…the day Begins—

although it already began
along side You.

Drops of Color/ Finding a Balance

Drops of Color

Finding a Balance

The sun held
the blue ceiling
laced in rays.

The soft green
strands of hair
rooted in earth
stood as if their
performance was
on-going.

Center stage
a pink feathered
actor
dipped, tucked,
and stood eloquently
balanced on one leg.

The sun
began its bow
westward
illuminating
the light
long enough
for the artist
to see the curtain closed,

and then flying silently
to the standing
ovation—creation.

An encore
written
yet, not in words.

Wings unfurled.

Drops of Color/ Black Velvet

Drops of Color

Black Velvet

For too long

persons have split darkness
from light.

Shadows have been painted
at times, as evil.

Yet, when one is ‘blinded’
by the light, no one
speaks ill.

A galloping silhouette
casts from a beam
radiating a golden glow.

Unseen hoofs—beat.

A black velvet mane
hovers in the wind.

Light opens the path
as a tail
glazes a dawning
welcomed by night’s
departure. 

 

Drops of Color/ The Wheel

Drops of Color

The Wheel

Like the Seasons,
the wheel circles

—dipping down
—drawing in
    the endless drops
    that fill the spring.

A sudden rush~~~ water swirling

—spinning the wheel
—holding barrels
   of sustenance
    for only so long.

NOW, the wheel spills like a waterfall

releasing its content
refilling once more.

The circle
—round and round it goes
    empty, full, pouring itself out…

Simple, to discover the Divine

—in a wheel
—in the water
—in the wood
     that holds long enough
     to let go
     over and over again.