When I held a brush for the first time

When I held a brush
for the very first time,
a warm glow in a dizzying rush,
defined my new paradigm.

It was talking to me
in some language that
I spiritually sensed,
and could somehow understand.
Putting thoughts in my head
of people, places and events,
and a feeling
that I had it all planned.

Dipping deep into
colors that seemed endless;
flourishing in a sea of
tint, hue, shade light and tone.
Dancing its drip on a canvas,
my own story was told.
Patterns were revealed
the more I would surrender
and yield,
for as if by magic,
the contents they traced,
emerged from the invisible fabric
hidden within the empty space.

Recognizable forms,
were self-shaping
from some power
I couldn’t see,
although there
was certainly no mistaking
that this power
was coming from me.

Then I scribbled
some words upon a page,
writing in a tongue,
not of mind, but of a heart
that was soulfully engaged
in a song to be sung.

And so it was,
that he rediscovered
what he had known, long ago,
that his art,
was to free his love heard
from within his head,
down to his tippy-toe.

Mother’s Day is EveryDAY!

I will;
build you a home,
birth you in that bed,
defend against
any dangers sown,
and keep you safe,
warm, and fed.
I will;
love you,
teach you all I know,
prepare you for
the road ahead,
as I watch you grow.
And when all
is done and said,
set you free,
when you are ready to go.

Path of least resistance

I was walking along
a path in the woods
and noticed it’s natural
contours, and curves
and how it wound around
trees and stones,
like rivers and streams.
I saw doubtless evidence
that the most natural path,
is that of least resistance.

I came to rest,
closed my eyes,
and then a darkness
overtook the forest.
When I opened my eyes
there, was a girl,
in the black of night.

I saw how easily
she sent her subtle light
to dance in the flowers,
and how she
brought them to life,
animating a glow,
as one of her powers.
She didn’t lend
any effort to enter,
save for the surrender to a flow,
from her inner center.

Then I realized that,
it was me,
I am giving life to that scene,
and everything I was seeing
was of the many worlds in-between.

Birth of a songstress

Birth of a songstress

In a drowsy haze,
she plainly heard,
what sounded to her
like a songbird.

That melodic cadence
broke the singularity of time,
while her attendant thoughts
offered a paradigm.

The sound was ringing
all inside of her head,
so she just started singing
what she heard instead.

“I must sing.
I gotta sing
what I heard in my head,
from that little songbird”
she melodically said.

#songbird #poetry #painting #spiritual #love

I’m not making this up

There’s magic,
mysteriously blooming
in everything,
but I only become aware,
when I tell the tale
that makes the cut,
cause no matter how unbelievable,
every now and then,
a truth will prevail,
that I’m not making this up,
I’m making it happen.

Its not hocus-pocus

Its not hocus-pocus

deeply focused,
on nothing at all.
follows desire,
its not hocus-pocus,
in imagination’s recall,
whose vision takes shape
and in my mind,
plays a first person
movie tape,
with sound
and form,
color and smell
I can feel
the cool-warm,
and everything
needed to experience
the story tell.

And when I do,
I know that its true.

vein of kindness

after all this time,
he understood.
That vein of kindness
running through his life,
was a grace.

However else
it turned outside,
his inner world
is eternal sacred space.

gently rocking
the sleeper awake.
Made aware of the folly,
he rejects the fodder
and ignores the fake.

And now,
the signs he sees
have changed
in order and meaning,
they do not
precede and portend
what’s yet to come,
but rather, they follow
and evidence their
arrival from,
a spiritually-sensed place,
where the mind
in surrendered embrace,
all that the heart
gives and receives.

animating power

She saw it,
as it lay,
sadly shrinking,
on the ground.
Bending down
to pick it up,
her teardrops fell
on the head
of the dead

It glowed luminous,
as she lifted it
in her hand.
Her loving gaze effects
an animating power,
that instantly resurrects
at her command.

And when she
opened her eyes,
the flower was
stirring and alive,
bursting with all the
colors and fragrance
her teardrops can revive.

The elephant in the room

The elephant in the room.

There were
choices made
when he was young,
and learning to be afraid.

Round and round,
swept him up
on a Ferris wheel,
forged by family
and surroundings,
into societal norms,
And at his altar
of lost foundlings.
dreams were sacrificed,
through deadly conforms.

He died,
with regrets,
long great sorrows,
unpaid spiritual debts,
and no more tomorrows.

A true forgiveness
is a complete forgetting ,
as if it never was,
Its not aiding and abetting,
operating in the laws
of spiritual cause.

So after all these years,
I simply forgot,
and not a moment too soon.

I finally bought,
the pearl of great price,
and the Sun, the Stars and the Moon.


#art #poetry #spiritual #forgiveness #love #painting



And as
time came to pass,
he understood
at long last,
that its up to him,
no one else,
and its always been,
all him.

Its his story,
his damnation
and/or his glory,
through his
secret foundation,

So he set out
to refashion himself
from the inside,
into the image
of his ideals
and without debate,
a wholeness create,
not in appearance or
for the moment only,
but by becoming
his desired state.

Some people watching,
might just call it fate,
as he went about
the business of living,
but then, their life
couldn’t be anywhere near
as divinely forgiving.