Drops of Color/ Purposeful Knots

Drops of Color
Purposeful Knots

My vessel of a being
mooring itself to a shore.

The sea offered countless
and, for a while,
I needed to rest.

Strands of rope
~~~woven chords
aided in holding
the vessel.

Secure knots looped once,
tucked in, and under


The waves splashed alongside
the stern, some leaped
into the hull.

The ropes,
fashioned in creative knots
artistic designs
allowing the vessel to rock in place.

The gulls call—
it is almost
time to loosen
the tightened strands.

The waves call~~~


Setting Sail for another shore!
Trusting a wave to carry me…

Back when the tide returns…

Drops of Color/ Daybreak

Drops of Color

The braided forest
parts its branches.

Making a way
through the mist
knit within
his woven sea of fur
—a blanket of waves
cresting over and over.

Lifting his nose,
nostrils breathe in
the vast solemn liturgy.
Breathing out,
the emptiness carries
a silent refrain.

Each ‘hoof’ touching
the dampened ground
—a ‘note.’

Listening to the song,
he steps into the pond
—the mist dips in.

The night packed its
tool box,
stars turned down their radiance,
and the Milky Way
handed the baton to Daybreak.

Bathing himself,
the cool waters
—baptize him.

He rises,
uttering a soft refrain
—his melody echoes
into a timeless landscape.

along a pathway
carrying no cross
—freely the breaking of day
illuminates his presence.

He steps back into
the forest from which
he came.

His Gospel
a welcome
to daybreak.

Drops of Color/ Hallowed Abbey

Drops of Color
Hallowed Abbey

In the meadow,
a hallowed abbey.

Steeples adorned the
drizzled with a million flakes
of snow fall.

The ceilings, a painting as if by

Is that him?!

The clouds, an image of the Artist
lying on his 
Each stroke of the brush changing
the patterns overhead.
Sitting in a pew,
nibbling on morsels of sweet communion

the only sound
‘her breath, her chomp, her breath, her chomp’

—silence tucked between blades of

Each viable shoot
a candle
holding a dewdrop
sparkling with the reflection
of the sun’s light.

She could not be moved from
this abbey…
she sat alongside its maker.

She understands
the mystery of Presence.

Taking another bite…
She’s One
with all that is

…here in this hallowed abbey.

No Matter

Drops of Color
No Matter

It was early.

The sun phantoms beneath the horizon’s line.

A penetrating canvas
knitted the night.
Galaxies of starlight
illuminated the dome overhead.

In a tiny wooden house,
the sounds of scratching heard.
Small steps made atop scattered straw.

Then a noise
~~~a crowing,
“Cock~a doodle~do.”

Moments of silence~~~gripped in wonder,
“Cock~a doodle~do.”

Soft clucking heard
in between 
the bellow of the Trumpeter,

“Cock~a doodle~do.”

Tears, one after another,
liquid vapors washing my face.
My eyes~~~pools
filled to the rim
dripping over the sides.


These tears were not because of any betrayal,
any failed remembrance~~~while hearing the cocks crow.

The moist mist
revealing my breath
in the crisp air
was the realization:

No matter the past

No matter the cares, worries, wounds,
the endless thoughts of what needs to
be completed, losses never to be found…endings.

I am reminded, by a feathered friend,
before the light even close to 
announcing a NEW day


The rooster ‘sings’

the LIGHT will soon be here.

Sing…what IS your song!

Sing, “Cock~a doodle~do”

Drops of Color/ Birds and Feathers…

Drops of Color
Birds and Feathers

fly instinctively.

Inviting others,
they soar in patterns

Wide is their berth
—carried by winds
—refreshed by waters
—the ground, a feeding place.

Trees, a haven.

New beginnings blossom
igniting fall leaves.

Numerous, the varied sounds

—they call, these ‘musings’
and believe in their silence.

hid~den Angels
draped in wings.

Perched in the monastery of life
they lead the refrain.

Lifting the sun,
their feathers
layered like candles
burning the sky with waxy
hues of light.

Do they stick together,
birds and feathers?
Or do they call us
to find the sun
and spread ourselves
touching the sky.

Drops of Color/ A Lion’s Cry

Drops of Color
A Lion’s cry

What happens when a Lion cries?

What is it like when the beast’s
roar is a lasting, enduring whimper?

What does it mean when the sharp
claws used for thrashing
remain curled within its massive paws?

What if its teeth, distinct razors,
do not bite or shred or grind?

What…when the Lion
lays itself down
refusing to shed blood
no matter how many times
it be inflicted?

The Lion weeps—
The Lion cries—
its long flowing mane now carpets
the ground.

“Forgive us…we know not what
we do.”

Drops of Color/ Horse

Drops of Color
(Inspired by Geraldine Brooks book: Horse)


A book
came galloping into
the meadow of my being.

Swiftly, attempting to keep pace,
I turned page after page after page.

Trotting through paragraphs,
black letters took on new meaning.

I dropped the reins on the white

I heard a soft whinny.
My eyes filling with tears
blinded me until
I saw the book for what
it was…

A message,
historical grains of truth.

The race is never over
until we all have
moved beyond the finish

leaving no one behind.

Drops of Color/ Pickin’ Cotton…

Drops of Color
Pickin’ Cotton

From the bowels
of wooden vessels
draping the ocean
carried against their will
taken from their native land
ripped from mothers’ arms

they sang

Their groans
were hymns rising above
the clanking shackles
chaining them, one to another
hid-den below deck

they sang

When they reached a new shore,
paraded they were
like livestock.
They were forced to learn
—NEW ways
—another language
—an understanding that 
they were being ‘offered’
a better way

they sang

In the fields,
 the sun blazing
the ‘felt’ strike of a whip
on their backs
—hungry, thirsty
they worked, served

they sang
while pickin’ cotton…

Beneath the starlight,
they gazed upon
heaven’s dome trusting
the eyes of loved ones
past and present 
looking upon them
(I am because you are)

they sang

their song echoing 
through pages
of recorded history
and sung
note, after note,
after note

they sang.


Celebrating Black History Month


Three Chairs

Drops of Color
Three Chairs

‘Hold still,’ the first chair to the right
said to the middle chair.

But, my leg, one of them ‘any One’ seems
stuck in a crack and I’m   ___________

Before finishing the statement, the chair
to the left said,

‘If you can lean toward me, together
perhaps we can set you upright.’

So, they tried.  Even the chair
to the left, tried to push its seat to
offer aide.

Finally, the kneeler spoke:

“Each of you is just right
for whoever finds themselves
seated in your ‘place’


I hope they’ll see me a moment
bend on knees
long enough to offer thanks.”

Drops of Color/ Look up…but behold what lies below

Drops of Color
Look up…but behold what lies below

I have held my gaze
—above stain-glass windows
calling for the sun
to illuminate artistic expressions.

A lofty bell,
every strike marking the hours
of the echo vibrating into heaven’s dome
unleashing the winged angels
tucked into the bricked arches.

Countless persons
enter, exit, enter for long moments,
exit retuning again and again.

Beneath the bridge,
water flows under an arch—
trucks and buses move along
holding the view of the steeple.

the color in the water
—broken shards of tents.

Those who dwell here know not
the chorus of angels
lifting a golden chalice.

Wait, perhaps these persons
are Angels
knowing the riches of heaven.

They are unseen,
often unnoticed,
and they move as the church bells sound
so only those who are able
recognize their presence~~~

shattered fragments
of the truths of a 
hid-den Gospel foretold.



Drops of Color/ Windows

Drops of Color

The Window

Sitting beside a window,
I suddenly noticed
the reflected glass ‘gazing’ out
into my Soul.

How might this be?

I nudged closer to its sill,
and I heard a sound
drawing me closer and closer.

I perched myself upon the
window pane and there it was
that sound, a familiar song,

“I see trees of green
red roses, too,
I see them bloom
for me and you
and I think to myself…”

I was waiting for the glass to shatter.
Would the window see my Soul in
shattered pieces?  Even, if so,
each fragment part of the story.

I closed my eyes.
The window did not break.
A soft breath released itself,
from my being.

The window, yes, the very window
‘opened,’ continuing its refrain

“…What a wonderful world.”


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Drops of Color/ Sometimes

Drops of Color

in prayer…

A hand creates a fist,
clenching the sorrows, the lament,
the senseless inability to embrace 


Words crushed in tears,


my other hand appears

as if attached a first time
and cradles my braced knuckles,
softening my fingertips,
applying balm to my palm

so the anger, the pain in me
might soften

so these hands,
this Sanctuary that is

OPEN to and for all.


Drops of Color/ Fragments of a Self

Drops of Color
Fragments of a Self

Each piece
a story.

Every ‘frayed’ edge
holds a glimmer
of light
discovering in pools of deep
darkness vast avenues
rising to the surface
becoming whole.

Missing pieces, searched for,
lost until found.

Were they deliberate, these missing pieces?

Perhaps…the ‘timing’ absolute
to see the significance of the ‘absence’
longing to be addressed.

The wound, a fragment of a Self
beholden to its beauty.

Just who am I?  

A fragment of a Self where You reside.  Not only in a 
jagged ‘piece’…

You reside in EVERY segment.
You are the Life in me
endlessly becoming
a ‘work’ 
created in awe.

Drops of Color/ Dwellings

Drops of Color

Side by side, by side.

Bricks, mortar.
Stones, clay rooftops,
windows, shutters,
porches, balconies.


One and many.
All comprising this community
growing out of the sea
connecting every living neighborhood.

Countless stories written here.
Some lives, well, the chapters
ended as we understand how
some paragraphs close unfinished.

Others are writing sonnets
without recognizing the patterns
—they’re living the pages.

Many have just arrived
—no dust has settled on their covers.’

Uniquely different,
each ‘being’

in this dwelling place.

Thoughts, beliefs,
some shared, others explore signs
off a map 
while itinerant wanderers step
where no human prints dared trod.

We, you and I
—sharers in the wider
dwelling place of Gaia.

Received by all—
She, ‘Mother Earth’
welcomes us.

May we care for our common
dwelling place
and allow each story
to write itself home.

Drops of Color/ It’s beginning to look a lot…

Drops of Color

It’s beginning to look  a lot like…

Two small people.
More than likely.

They’re comfortable
beside one another.

He is mesmerized by
her ability to
weave, create a loop
and wait!

She loves him at her
hip…like they are two 
peas sharing the same

A gift being given—
a blanket to be received.

It’s beginning to look
a lot like—
how simple love can be!

A lot like love IS!

Drops of Color/ Living the Seasons

Drops of Color

Living the Seasons

The Season sets
itself for the fading light.

Darkness, a beacon
—camps itself allowing the
glistening of stars to dip
into the black sea

—an endless, colorless matte.

Hidden, though the images be
—in restfulness appear ‘pictures,’
‘paintings’ once thought unseen.

In the splashes of shadows
—mysteries lie


The frozen landscape
—crystal snowflakes.
A white layered comforter
blankets the earth
—birthing beyond what the Spring Season
lets loose.

Within each of us, in this Season
of unknown

what is becoming inside us?

‘Wait’…be still long enough
to allow the darkness
‘its Season.’

We awaken and ripen
when we settle into
the flow of Living the Season.

“To go in the dark with a light is to
know the light.
To know the dark, go dark.  Go
without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms
and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark

~~~Wendell Berry


Blessed Winter Solstice



Drops of Color/ Over the Bridge

Drops of Color
Over the Bridge

Life sets before us
encounters with bridges.

We choose, decide
if we shall cross
or remain on a side
we believe the grasses
to be greener.

There comes a point:
a bridge before us
NO choice
—we shall cross.

On the other side,
we have all heard
different accounts, stories
of heavens beyond
the twinkling of our sparkling eyes.

Alas, when the lids cover our pupils,
we will SEE
as if a first time

What IS…

Over the bridge,

every step taken
worth THIS journey.

Drops of Color/ What have we done with God?

Drops of Color
What have we done with God?

I keep picking up
one after another


why?  Why am I seeking bushels?

where there is despair
let me fill bushels of Hope
and carry them
no matter how heavy
to those in need.

Where there is darkness
let me fill the bushels with Light
and pour its abundance
until ‘we’ all SEE.

Where there is death
let me use the bushels to
bury sacred remains
in Mother Earth’s holy womb

so that as the dying
we know they are not lost


then we will rediscover the God who
lives in EVERYTHING.


“The Great Religions are the 
Poets the life
Every sane person I know has jumped
That is good for business
Isn’t it

Drops of Color/ Many Shelves

Drops of Color
Many Shelves…

a few items
delicately placed.

In this house,
there are ‘many’
extraordinary shelves.

‘If it were not so,’
this sketch, these words,
would not have been
created or written.

What lies on these shelves
—meant to set a 
table, a dining room
ready for a feast,
and all are welcome.

Everyone who eats
is no longer hungry.

Everyone who is hungry
is welcome & fed.

These shelves,
even when empty
are FULL.

“One thing is becoming increasingly clear to me:
that You cannot help us, that we must help You  
to help ourselves.  And that is all we can manage
these days and also all that really matters: that we
safeguard that little piece of You, God, in ourselves.
And perhaps in others as well.”

                                                         ~~~Etty Hillesum


Drops of Color/ 4 Elements

Drops of Color
4 Elements

Earth, Wind, Water and Fire.

In the center of these elements…Love.

A swirling Universal tapestry
begun before any eye ever bore witness.

Fire…unleashed itself in a cosmos
—timeless, always changing,
following a pattern designed,
revolving through seasons, changing the tide

It ripples
winds lift the lofty steeple
—the grandest cathedral not designed
by humankind.

baptism—the serenity of ocean depths,
flowing rivers, fluid streams and
ponds evaporating under a Sun
—dazzling a planet.

Earth…surrounded by a cascading
starry array
—a painted milky way
—black holes whose depths
cannot be filled
and have never been explored.

Four elements, and at the center
a heart~~~Beating.


You can hear the Divine
breathing in all.

Listen…each breath lives in you!

Drops of Color/ Table for Two

Drops of Color
Table for Two

Reservations made…

The guests were moments away
adorned in ‘garments’ for
the occasion.

Napkins, silverware laced the table tops,
glasses longing for sweet juices
to swirl along their edges.

Chairs held the cobble stones in place.
Standing their ground, expectant
—longing to ‘hold’ the partakers
of the Feast.

The aroma of fresh breads seeped
beneath opened windows.
Drizzled through the streets
—the scents of savory meats
garnished in spices.

Platters of cheeses, multi-colored
vegetables, crisp crackers
—lingered just within the door’s entrance.

They arrived, but unbeknownst…
they’d been followed.
They were spotted because of their dress.
Those who saw, took notice, and ran to
their homes to put on ‘their’ garments.

Was this the time?  Had it arrived?
Would they be welcomed?

The couple arrived…they did not
take their seats.
He rang a bell and did not stop
…the sweet sound of its chime, a song
—all came.

Two lowly Souls, one without a shirt,
the other, no shoes on her feet
—stood at a distance.

The bell stopped…everyone paused.

The couple stepped out…she removed
her shoes
—it was a perfect fit for the woman.

The man removed his jacket
calling out,
‘put your right arm through this hole
—now the same with the left arm.’

They brought the couple to 
a table
—more chairs were brought out
—there was room ‘enough’
for everyone.

The food was lasting
but, no one took a bite,
until after the couple.

New shoes on her feet,
and a jacket that fit him
—they bowed their heads.

Everyone said,

The time…is now
and forever more.

Drops of Color/ The Night

Drops of Color
The Night

The night is over~~~

the colors have dimmed.

Shadows are dawning~~~
the sun soon shall appear.

Please, trust me when I say,
‘There is no need to fear
the darkness.
If you dare to dwell in
the unseen what appears invisible
begins to reveal itself anew.

Black & white become like
spectrums of color
piercing the unfamiliar
and creating things new.

Whoever has told you to fear
the night, perhaps you
might ask them what
exactly is it that causes them
to hide?

Blow out the candles,
click the light switch

and wait…

Your eyes~~~
they are beginning to see
what you thought was unclear.’

Oh, wondrous night.
You move like a river, your white caps,
are stars,
rolling across a galaxy
studded with darkness
—satin drops
pooling until day
finds its way.

Drops of Color/ A Million Feathers

Drops of Color
A Million Feathers

like strands of pearls
beside the shore.

Strung on rocks, dainty legs
balancing upon the water.

A million feathers
adorned by sea birds.

Casting bills
into the surf,
engulfing fresh morsels,
invisible delicacies,
snapped up in a blink of an eye.

The softness of feathers
spread wide
embracing the salt air.
Feathers, so dapper
so intricately woven
—offer warmth
—propel flight
—bring solace
as young sleep
beneath a wing’s cover.

A brood of chicks
knows the comfort of Home.

A million feathers
prepare to set off
for a not so distant place.

some will.
Others will migrate to lasting places.

Feathers left behind.
Traces of loved ones
never truly gone
fly with millions of feathers
not so far away.

Drops of Color/ …the sound of the bell

Drops of Color
…the sound of the bell

…the sound of the bell.

Wait, the sound of Bells.

The night sky fading—
a sliver of stars
returning to their quiver.

A purple blue softness magnifies
the horizon in the West
and subtle pinks and oranges
—a field of marigolds in the sky
—intermingle and prepare for
the Liturgy already begun.

We have made our way, one by one,
side by side from our straw mangers.

Now, we graze, we chomp and chew,
and stomp toward verdant pastures
—we ring bells.

Bells draped around our necks
—we herald a song
—raising antiphons and psalms.

Lyrics are written by passers-by
who stop, who listen, who genuflect 
at the Glory of Creation.

The sound of the bell
—the service never ends.

Listen…let us go ‘together’ in peace.

Drops of Color/Shining like the sun…

Drops of Color
Shining like the Sun

“It is a glorious destiny to be a 
member of the human race, though
it is a race dedicated to many
absurdities and one which makes
many terrible mistakes; yet, with all
that, [God] gloried in
becoming a member of the human race!
To think that such a commonplace
realization should suddenly seem
like news that one holds the winning
ticket in a cosmic sweepstake.
I have the immense joy of being a
member of a race in which
[God] became incarnate. As if 
the sorrows and stupidities of the
human condition could overwhelm
me, now I realize what we all are.
And if only everybody could realize
this!  But it cannot be explained.
There is no way of telling people that
they are all walking around shining
like the sun.”

~~~Thomas Merton

Drops of Color/ Another Harvest

Drops of Color
Another H

Here it is,
the ripened red fruit

Falling into the hands
—picked with ease
—plucked from leafy branches
waving fare-well.

The laborers are plenty.
An abundance of bushels

The succulence of juicy, delicious
apples waiting to be consumed.

By whom, you ask?

Trucks pull in,
other transport vehicles arrive.
Boats, planes, trains, bicycles,
walkers, runners.

Into the highways and byways they go,
carrying the delicate delights
into small cities, rural neighborhoods,
desert places, enormous bustling cities,
deep into the heart of the bush,
into mansions—tables of plenty,
tables without
—awaiting a ‘core’ of edible arrangements


all are fed.

This harvest,
‘imagine’ the field.

Endless persons serve as 
all are fed.

Left overs fill the baskets..

Drops of Color/ Inside the Edge

Drops of Color

(Sketch re-created from an Unknown Artist’s Original)

Inside the Edge

One by one they came,
no sequential order.

Four corners of the Universe
unfolding like stars.

From in between spaces,
unknown, yet collectively,
they were People
walking with a Promise.

Straw once used for bricks
was braided into baskets.

Young, old, leaving their pasts
behind in Search of a Home.

They had little but their worth was
not measured in possessions.

Freedom, an uncharted path
—fruits gathered for the day
trusting tomorrow would take
care of itself.

From an ‘edge’ inside, i view…
from a privileged place i bend on both knees.

i carry, yes, even now, a weighted pack
of my own making.

Still, ‘we,’ One people,
both/AND weaving straw
into baskets
~~~gathering to share
~~~to break bread in as many
pieces as possible
~~~so all can Taste and be fed.

Each distinct color made welcome
~~~a rainbow ignites the sky.

All religions, plunged into a Sea
~~~salt erasing the formality of rules
inviting the ‘vessels’ we are
to sail beside one another.

The wind does not
decide who is or is
not worthy.





Drops of Color/ The Artist

Drops of Color
The Artist

The artist began.

A gentle brush stroke.

A dab of water.

Dipping into pools of color…
each a sacrament
—a portrayal
—a sign.

Slowly, the image
becoming clear.

Lifting from the matte,
breathed into life
a living human being.

Trees clapped their branches.

The sky sank, for a moment
beneath the sun,
bowing in reverence.

Birds anointed the easel
with their savory swipe of feathers.

The human looked upon
the Artist

and simply  said,

‘One day, I hope to be like You!’


Drops of Color

The earth ‘shaking.’

At the top of a ridge,
a magnanimous display.

Millions of droplets thrust
from an edge.

The direction—
No time to waste
‘casting lots.’

Speckles of moisture
spew every which way.

Fierce, elegant,
Powerful, grace in full motion.
Tantalizing, soothing,
Life altering, washed away
hidden pools—
tiny creatures bathe.

The sound
—spill a box of pins,
you will not hear a single

rapid, swift, breathtaking.

A force, always changing,
wondrous to behold—
earth shattering, if you attempt
to defy its way.

Beauty, wonder
witnessed from a distance.

Shoes off—
standing upon ‘holy’ ground…

Drenched by ‘I Am.’

Humbly stepping on…

trusting life’s flow.

Drops of Color/ A Genuine Gaze

Drops of Color
A Genuine Gaze

No words necessary.
Countless couples.
My eyes privileged to behold.

I cherish the moments
—like framed photos.

Love unfolded in
a nod of a head
—flesh touching
—a gentle swipe
—skin to skin
—a glance
—a soft whinny.

—love revealing itself
in the ordinary
and most extraordinary

How genuine…Love is.

Drops of Color/ Sky’s Landscape

Drops of Color
Sky’s Landscape

The sky,
a ‘land’scape,

splashing its image upon a body
of water.

Clouds weave into the scenery
magnifying the mirrored
scene overhead.

The sky began to laugh,
or was it the wind?
A strong gust rippled the waters
sending onto the shore
a million drops.
The landscape,
carried in tiny beaded pools.

Pausing, I realized
I was soaked.
A thousand drops
dripped from my brow,
my shirt, trousers

My boots drenched,
immersed in the sky’scape.’
I began to laugh,
the sky ‘tucked’ within me.

Hovering…each cloud
reflected back
an endless view.

The sky’s landscape.

Drops of Color/ Questions

Drops of Color

Is there a rainbow
stitched into a waterfall?

Is it a waterfall
illuminated in the cusp
of a rainbow?

How do we live the questions?

Maybe, in the moments
that expand our vision
—we become
the rainbow
—we encompass every drop
of the waterfall.

We understand the questions
need no answers.

Living the questions is
the ‘breath of life’
transforming us

making all things NEW.
‘Seek the wisdom that will untie your knot.
Seek the path that demands your whole being.’

Drops of Color/ So Simple

Drops of Color
So Simple

For a moment,
the view, as if

held, entwined
in a frame.

Sheer and utter elegance,
mere words lack the luster
in describing you.

You are an entranceway
—a door of sorts into
a valley
fashioned like the walls of a uterus
inviting the traveler to enter.

Many seeds planted here
—by birds of the air
—animals excrement
—wind and storms.

Nothing is trimmed or hedged,
cut or tilled.

In fact, in this subtle garden,
it is so simple to dwell.

Drops of Color/ Promised Lands

Drops of Color

Promised Lands

One rolled in
upon another.

Straw, the mortar
as an Exodus begun.
The Exile,
a bridge,
exposing a gap
that no longer
would give way to division.

Stone upon stone upon stone,
not a single one ‘thrown.’

Each rock, boulder, pebble
set in place,
like a dinner table prepared
to serve countless guests.

And, so, this bridge
a path
laced in stone.
Both directions.

Promised Lands—
beginning with the One 
stone first
rolling in

~~~A Corner Stone

Drops of Color/ ‘body of creativity’

Drops of Color
‘body of creativity’

A broken branch
—the whittler began to carve.

A variety of paints
—the artist fashioned faces
—expressions of love.

A pattern of material
—the seamstress stitched

Extraordinary characters
put in the hands of
those with ‘no-thing’
and, for a first time, they
had a make believe friend
but, was it really make-believe?

In a Quantum Universe,
these creators joined in the collective
‘body of creativity.’

The success story
it took a community
to make a difference.

Not one, not two, but many
are there—YOU are in the midst.

Prayer sometimes disguises itself
in the simplest treasures
a child always remembers.

Drops of Color/ If only these walls could talk…

Drops of Color

If only these walls could talk…

An empty table…
Minutes ago, others stood around…
No chairs were necessary.
In a minute or so, MORE will 
come.  They will stand long enough to 

Stories, yes, that is what they shall
hear.  It is why they have arrived
here, at this table, before this

You can see the portraits of persons…
travelers.  They, being displaced,
withstood the test of time.

With courage, with hope, with faith,
they made their way.  Some would not
live, but their stories live—on…

They, the memories, told around this table
—bread broken, shared…
wine tasted and passed to another
to drink—from a simple cup.

They are coming, the next pilgrims,
to gather beside this table, this wall.

They will listen…long enough to understand
the message…”Go forth and serve.”

Yes, even the walls talk.

Drops of Color/ Come ‘play’ me

Drops of Color/ Come ‘play’ me
Come ‘play’ me…

the luring sound of the stringed
mandolin with a robust belly

—casting a spell
like a bee dipping into
the honey jar.

Sweetly, the vibration
of strings
—like melted sugar over
a red juicy apple.

One bite.
One succulent encounter.

Eyes closed—
the exquisite sounds.

Why even the sculpted statues
can be heard…

Come ‘play’ me.

Drops of Color/ Hid-den Saints

Drops of Color
Hid-den Saints…

they’re among us.


When the sun is at its zenith,
you attempt to stare
into its jetting rays,
but, cannot  for one moment,
capture a glance.

The Saints, they’re in the ‘unseen’ places.

In the deepest,
darkest depths of the sea,
where the reality of  ‘any’ light
appears skewed,
the Hid-den Saints

yet, present.

Their needs are simple,
and go beyond
any forms of success or 

These hid-den saints have a
single purpose:
To manifest Love in all things,
in all circumstances,
in every situation.

I hear one singing right now.
Painting by Artist: Sam Bates aka SMUG


Drops of Color/ A Poet

Drops of Color
A Poet

A Poet
meandering along 
a forest path
arrived at the foot of a
wooden Bridge.

The Bridge spoke,
for so long I have waited
for your coming.
Step upon my boards
and write me, Poet.”

The Poet took a step,
followed by another.
Then, with her hands,
she held the smooth timber
allowing her the ability to grasp hold
as higher and higher the Poet rose
landing on the boards
laid just so for crossing.

In the Bridge’s center,
the Poet paused.

Choosing to sit down,
words splintered across the pages,
an ‘image’ took shape.

The Bridge swayed in delight.

Moments passed,
time was no longer understood
—seconds mattered not.

The descending sun lifted the Poet
from her perch, a Bridge.

Putting her tablet and pens aside,
the Poet arrived on the other side.

The Poet bowed,
and quietly whispered
a word of thanks.

The Bridge echoed back,

“Thank you Poet.
You reside in each of my steps…
Cross on.”

Drops of Color/ Edelweiss

Drops of Color

As soon as the word
spoken~~~ ‘Edelweiss,’
the song begins.

Each petal a note
alive on a suspending scale—
‘do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti do’
lifting the peaks of the mountains
folding back curtains so the
performance begun!

the morning greeting birthing
the white flowers lying atop beds of
green leaves

—so soft
—so clean
—so bright

They spread themselves like arms
ready to embrace
—so ‘happy’ to SEE thee.

This dainty pod
laced effortlessly
honor & glory
be given to its luminous design.

How simple it could be to pass it by.

Yet, might we carry its tune—Edelweiss

spreading it throughout the world

so the song be sung.

‘Bless the Earth our homeland’~~~forever.

Thankyou, Edelweiss~~~
may your blossoms become
a chorus that is never-ending.

Drops of Color/ A ‘Sweet’ Bed

Drops of Color
A ‘Sweet’ Bed

Often times
a vessel comes to shore…

fastening itself deep ‘into’ the sands.

The floating phoenix rests its feathers
—flowing sails bed themselves down.

Sometimes ‘repairs’ are made
—a gentle wash from the
salty sea, and endless mollusks
that latch themselves on for a ride.

The sun’s rising and setting
—the view, different from this position.
The cradle of the water’s rock
the boat like a newborn babe
—the ‘trust’
—no matter the tide’s ebb & flow
—carried in darkness & light.

Ashore, the laborer rests.
The nets carrying an abundance
of fishes let-go.

So many arrive in this space
for communion.

Fed on the water’s sumptuous delights
—a banquet.

The tide calls from a 
full moon waning on the waters.

Soon, it is time
once again
to set sail.

The sands—a sweet bed—
each speck
a reprieve
drizzling from the vessel
plunging back into the sea.

Drops of Color/ See it?

Drops of Color

See it?


There in the water!

See it?

Can you see…that?

It is so beautiful
—beyond words.

I am uncertain if I have
ever seen anything
so wondrous.

A timely breeze set in
lapping the water,
creating a crackling sound,
as if, melting over the rocks,


I heard
—I listened to the water speaking
—each drop proclaimed,

“Oh, trees,
you have finally discovered


Drops of Color/ On my Way…

Drops of Color
On my Way…

said the Pilgrim to the Mountain.

The Summit packed with snowfall
—countless feet in thickness.

Like goose down feathers
stuffed into a pillowcase…
the mountain stands.

The clouds encompassed her in the
early dawn of the day
but, as light rose
—the clouds moved in unison
like dancers whose performance
leaving the stage.

A Pilgrim traversed a narrow path,
at times the direction unclear.

In those moments,
the mountain spoke to the Pilgrim…

‘On my Way’

Together, they were not two
—they were twin peaks

summiting a World
of abundance beyond words.

Drops of Color/ …brougtht to the Bridge

Drops of Color

…brought to the Bridge

Many ‘things’ I have learned
over the years
and, I, brought all those
‘things’ to the bridge
and tossed them over into
the waters below.

And… as i gazed over the edge,
I saw the reflection of
all those ‘things’…
thoughts, beliefs, understandings, etc.

and I moved on
OVER the bridge
thankful and ready

to trust the flow
and the ‘unknown’
lying ahead.

Drops of Color/ A Simple Flower

Drops of Color
A Simple Flower

I picked a single flower
from a meadow laced
with buttercups.

One vibrant yellow flower—
I placed it in a jar
—for you.

I was going to pluck another
and make it two,
but the scope of the jar’s
circumference became the sun.

The beams of light
‘cupped’ the flower.
The buttercup glowed,

and like a sky of endless stars,
it was my gift of Love
for you.

This flower became each
who loved you
as I love you.

This flower holds love
on a slender stem.

Can you see
all that IS in
a single flower
I have picked for you?

Drops of Color/ Sculpted Swans

Drops of Color
Sculpted Swans

The night sky
was a sea of black twisting licorice
draped with clouds like crepe paper.

A wrinkle formed, another followed,
and the moon revealed itself
—the light within her
beamed from her hid-den craters.

Below, chiseled swans stood
balanced on a bed of green grasses
—slivers of fine threads
—a dazzling quilt.

When the stage lit
by the moon’s orbiting
—glittered swatches of
the stones  began to crumble
from the sculptures.

Feathers fluttered
fanning  the night
—stars drizzled down
and a dance ensued.

As the dawn drew near,
each swan turned
taking a bow.

The stars followed their path
—the crepe clouds
covered the moon.

When morning arrived,
the ground was blanketed with feathers.

The stones cried out,
and sculpted wings
were carried by a 
still small breeze.

Drops of Color/ In Your House…

Drops of Color
In Your House…
(adapted from Psalm 84)

Blessed are they.

In silence, the sound of a match

The flickering candle sets off
the beauty of the flame.

The slits in the wood
allow a soft yellow tapestry
to dwell on the fixed two-by-fours.

A family is gathered around a table
—the turning of a page
then another
before a voice speaks,

“Blessed are they…”

The aroma of baking bread

—a cup of blessing

—enough to taste.

Thanks given

‘In Your House.’



Drops of Color/ Oh, so Grand

Drops of Color
Oh, so Grand

Like a snake,
weaving itself through a 
dry, barren terrain,

its skin blue, shedding itself.
Brown…its milk—embryonic fluid.

A womb—
its cervix walls, solid layers
of rock fashioned, becoming
before a single word of testament
etched in stone.

The canyon…Grand.
Alive, its breaths beholden
to a sky, a ceiling keeping
watch both day and night.

Stars paint the rocks,
and when the sun lifts its
head, it reveals a masterpiece
changing, changing, changing.

To hold one’s gaze on this
tribunal of chapters,
the story line has no beginning nor

Every second look is beyond
the first glimpse.

Its beginning—no one present
to tell.

The Canyon is a Mother
—birthing splendor.
Seekers from all over
sit at her edge,
trek down her paths,
plunge into her waters.

She turns back no one…
Some she holds allowing them
eternal rest.

Many come once,
and are never the same.

In some, she resides.
The dust from her soils
embedded in the marrow
of a being

Oh, so Grand



Drops of Color/ Four-legged Friend

Drops of Color

Four-legged Friend

It was not a chair
placed in some corner
for an unruly Soul.

It was a seat
set in an unknown place
—no on lookers.

The chair was
rickety, wobbly.
The cushion frayed and 
sat upon
innumerable times.

By whom?
It matters not! 

Sitting, the rush of
a million voices heard—
like the sound of a waterfall.

There was I,
—deluged, soaked,
not a crevice dry.

Hanging my head,
every lasting drop
spilled to the floor.

Suddenly, every ‘voice’

Lifting my head
—a light found its way
into the room.

A warmth filled my being.
How I longed to stay.
This four-legged friend
carried me for what felt
like hours.

the empty space
seemed to say
‘you can come here


and it does not have to
be in ‘this’ space.

Wherever you are,
Whatever is happening,
You know this ‘place.’

Find your four-legged 
and sit awhile
—or the earth’s floor is a wonderous
cushioned seat!

No matter what is 
happening in your world,
around the world—
it will not go away.

Yet, the prayerful place
will change the 
Soul forever.



Drops of Color/ Eden

Drops Color

A field 
laid open.
Every direction
unmarked for miles.

A wisp of wind
strummed its way
through the tree
holding a center
like a point of nothingness.

Chimes rang
like a bell-tower
—a rope pulled an invisible
thread by an unnamed ‘Who.’

Each ‘gong’ set off
pairs of hidden wings
draped between the
slender stalks of lush
undisturbed grasses.

The soft scent of earth,
like incense rising,
filled one’s nostrils
—breathing in the landscape
—breathing out the gentle
vapors of a ‘self’
pooling in
the Divine culmination
of the Universe entwined
in a rapturous
never ceasing.

The tree lifted its limbs,
its roots holding

The homily sung
through draping leaves
welcoming the sun
and whispering
‘good night’ to the
slivered moon
slanting into the purple
western sky.

Here in this field,
Eden at play.

The tree stands…

We have never really