Drops of Color/ She Ran

Drops of Color

She Ran

She ran…
then she picked up her pace.
The sounds of bloodhounds in the distance
—in pursuit.
She quickened her strides
—they were after her.

There was no path—
briers covered her garments
branches slashed her ankles.
At night, mosquitoes would draw
her blood
still~~~She ran.

In the evening,
the North star pointed the way.
By day, she covered the banks
along side the river.

She fell to her knees
when her captors drew near…
“Show me God”…”You brought me this far.”
She walked into the water…
She never swam a stroke in her life.

The waters rose
—to her knees
—to her hips
—to her shoulders.

She trusted
and she crossed.

The visions she had—
Were they from the blows to her head
She ‘saw’ what was yet to come—
She was haunted by the memories of her
family being carried off, sold…
Why?  Because of the color of their
skin?

She ran…
making her way to freedom.
BUT, she was shackled within
knowing her people were enslaved.

Back she went…
When she was told she should NOT
because it was too dangerous,
she refused to listen.

She listened to the voice speaking to her…
Her God said, “Go, FREE my people.”

She fled ‘back’ into
a villainous landscape
where persons used/misused the Scriptures
to ‘possess’ lives.
Her God would not hold ‘kin’ to that~~~
THAT way would NOT lead ALL to the 
Promised Land.

Her God led all people, all things,
all seasons to lands flowing
with Milk & Honey.

Yet, history has a way of
repeating itself.

We are all One…
MANY believe this true.

Yet,
there are still systems at work
religions intertwined
‘laying’ down the voice of
the gods they see themselves to be.

The same voices that passed
(Fugitive Slave Act, 1850)
the law allowing slave owners to return
and reclaim their run-away property.

Again—she ran.
Others ran beside her.
She went back for the sake of OTHERS…
For the freedom of others…
this was her ONLY reason…
her greatest gain.

Segregated still—
she gathered her people like a 
mother hen.

She led them into battle,
to fight for freedom.

Violence was NOT her nature—
The scars of slavery, like roots,
thread through her people’s skin.
She would NOT allow tomorrow’s
children and their children
to carry those stripes.

Harriet—
in which direction do we run
today?

Spirit calling Harriet—
lead the way
Woman, daughter, sister of God.

Drops of Color/ The Window

Drops of Color

The Window

Standing on the sidewalk…

I SEE the window.
I know what is ‘inside.’
Metaphorically, I was
born between the pews.

At a young age,
I was always drawn to
the window—
the light from ‘outside’
stained the glass
in colors
not a single word
could convey.

I cannot give you
a day, an hour
when it happened
but, somehow
the glass shattered
and I climbed out
from ‘inside.’

I let go of everything
except what I carried
within—beating aloud.

Now, now that I am out
I see someone has
repaired the window…
better yet, it has been
replaced.

Wouldn’t want anyone
sayin,’ “Another Gone.”

So, here I am
on this sidewalk—

So many beside me.

Maybe ‘we’ are the 
broken pieces the
light shines through

because from out here
we are ‘in’ the 
dwelling place
where not a 
‘single’ One
left out or
restrained.

I have found heaven…
it has been here all
along.

Drops of Color/ The Bell-Tower

Drops of Color
The Bell-Tower

The outline of the bell-tower
held in shadow.

As the first chime
begins to clang~~~
the coloring of the dawn
‘high-lights’ the sound.

A sweet caress of a 
face born anew.

 

Drops of Color/ Sometimes

Drops of Color
Sometimes

Sometimes I can
sit for hours
and the only words
that caress the paper—
the point of
a pen…
the rest
‘paint’ a picture…

Drops of Color/Puffin

Drops of Color/ Puffin

erfect

      U nexpected

       F  athomless

ierce

      I   ntimate

N  oble

 

Drops of Color/Night~Fall

Drops of Color

Night-Fall

You have held the day
casting light
chasing away shadows.

You begin your descent
giving way to the
night.

The sounds of the ocean
loud and fierce—
I can no longer SEE the curl
of the wave into the shore.
Yet, I hear it crash.

Closing my eyes,
I am lulled to sleep
sweet dreams of light
comforted like a blanket

in night’s fall.

Drops of Color…The Ceiling

 

The Ceiling

The scaffolding—
a wooden floor.

Splinters—soft,
hay-like as I lie on my back
nestled in.

Over my head—
a matte.

From a quilted tip
a simple line flows—
another follows.

In my memory—
traces of masterpieces a hundred years and
beyond filled a ceiling.

NOW—I AM ‘re-creating.’

A space between—
stories, divine revelations…
meaning, understanding, lasting
impressions.

All GOOD, even with dark shadows
casting sides un-frightened to be
exposed.

The artist long ago…
A Soul bleeding colors
unstoppable

so, too, I.

The ceiling—
the one above my being
rumbles then quakes…

I am being MOVED—
I slide across wooden floor boards.

Jabbed—my hands, my feet
my side

I am bleeding.

The ceiling ‘cracks’—

I cannot leave
the colors 
seeping from within me.

Drops of Color
Conscious
re-creations forming.

A tree holds 
the center—
Roots spread infinitely in an
expansive Universe.

For a moment…
I stand

I will be back—
simply going for
MORE colors.

The ceiling,
THIS matte,
a Dome of Transformation.