Wearing Many Colors

Sunlight on rain soaked trees,
sounds of the city awakening,
letting go into the new day.
There are always troubles,
ask anyone who’s farmed.
Progress and promotion
are salesmen’s words.
The earth isn’t selling,
she doesn’t profit.
She stores in winter dark
and gives in spring green,
yields to summer sun,
returns with gold in autumn.
See her in the glistening dew
the lilt of first light breezes.
We could be sad or broken
by the ways we suffer
yet four winds are blowing
and the day rises to meet us.
Wearing our many colors
isn’t it time to ride out once more
and give the earth our joy?

 

 


Stained glass by Linda Ethier Studios


 


Brittle Become Green

There’s an empty spot
where you used to be,
brittle as a branch,
longing for touch.
Empty but brittle
that doesn’t make sense
you say with quick wit.
Well this is a poem
and you are a story
and the place you left
is brittle and empty;
I know as I touch it.
I drop your story
into deep water,
watch the tide line
curl around the splash,
dissolving hardness
with the weight of water.
The Earth forgave
so long ago
and now do we,
the empty space filled,
the brittle branch
become soft green
beside the changing sea.

 

 


photograph by Louis MacKenzie


 


Here for a Season

When I’m tired
and aggrieved
I return to the earth
green and vivid.
The life of one petal,
one leaf,
here for a season
then passing.
You had many seasons,
many years my friend.
You brightened the earth,
brought a smile
and sharp wit
with gentleman’s grace.
I will miss you.

 

 

Michael Diamond
friend and colleague


 


The End of the World

Just when we thought
we’d reached the end of the world
the sea rolled over
on a wind driven tide
and a white plumed eagle
dipped into the sea
for a shining silver salmon.
Onyx black whales
traveled beneath the waves,
their arched dorsals raised
as they cut through the water.
Massive clouds fed by the ocean
scattered rain on the thirsty land
while raven sat alone in his high perch
telling tales of what had been
and what was to come.
Gulls careened above the rocks
and from the deep earth
came a thrum of great power.
Reaching the end
we had found the beginning
and in that place of quiet
our new found silence
nursed us back to health.

 

 


 


Once More Today

There is this time and this alone
to see your face and know you
over the years and miles,
the lifetimes we have traveled.
We’re here on Earth,
the bright blue jewel
with ages of torment.
How you’ve suffered again,
how determined you are
to be Bodhisattva.
Perhaps not this lifetime,
maybe the next,
but we know where you’re going.
You shed the skin of others pain,
hold to the light of understanding.
You glow in the dark
a beacon to the far shore.
Once more today
we see each other
and again this day
we know.

 

 


 


She Calls to the World

She calls to the world
with green leaves open,
her voice in the creeks
and rivers running fast.
She calls to the cities
of the proud
and the mind-made
with grief and forgiveness
anchored in stone.
Her voice is eternal
on the parade
of our passing
and while we are here
we yet may listen.

 

 


photograph by Sandy Brown Jensen


 


Turned Once More

From the depths of root and stone
surrendered to air and sunlight,
all that color waiting in the dark
through long months of cold and rain
risen and turned once more
into the green leaves of spring.

 

 


encaustic painting by Eilish Hynes


 


Gates of Eden

The morning, the day,
these times we live in
have their price,
their pain and glory.
Suffer what you must.
Resist the little lies.
The catastrophes
of arrogance
come and go
yet somehow
we survive,
the gates of eden
ready to open
awaiting only
one kind word.

 

 


 


Leave and Take Wing

I reach into the dark for these few words,
humble before the memory
of what we were given.
Now as the leaves of summer
stir in the morning breeze
I recall the soft wet earth
and the rising we once knew.
Hummingbirds green and gold appear,
tracks of deer cross the commons,
in the deep folds of the creek
the sound of insects and young life.
Something will come from the buried ash,
a new birth under clearing skies.
I leave the old garden and take wing
with the bright colored birds,
the gifts and the time of their giving
recorded and left in the ground
to feed what is yet to be born.

 

 


photograph by Louis MacKenzie


 


River of Life

Let the morning come
in unveiled glory,
let darkness speak
and tell of mystery.
Let the day be what it will
as legions of despair
find home in their beliefs
while the river of life
pours on through deserts,
through rock-lined cliffs
and featureless prairies,
through land without end
until pouring through every heart
with the force of the eternal.
The day, the darkness,
despair and the great river,
all come on the tide of morning
with the unblemished faith
of a newborn.