Grasping with one last stronghold weathered,
now swarthy, once supple and verdant,

then golden to russet, now brittle,
her breath chides me to release my grip,

wisdom’s tumble down to earth.  Yet by my side
I am twin, identical or kin we twist

and turn through seasons’ favors
to shade or gift pure expiration.

Within my veins his words still
flow. I am parchment left behind.

I will loosen, take her ride,
crumble to dust leaving bare

a fashioned branch refined
for spring’s incumbent arrival.





Author’s Note:

I was recently introduced to The Gospel of Thomas among other writings that did not “make it” into the canonical gospels. Sharon Taylor, a spiritual director at the Church of the Holy Family, ECC, gave me a taste of these sayings of Jesus at a workshop. I am so very surprised to hear these words, many of which are used in the New Testament. These are transformative words. They open my eyes and heart to help me discover who I am.

I also now realize how writing helps me process and understand, and then explain my learning. So my new project plan is to write a poem based on each of the sayings of my study of the Thomas gospel and the sharing within our study group.

The above poem is a similar take, “twin” seems appropriate here, on one of my earlier poems in October, Marl. Must be the season.

Here is Logion I from the Gospel of Thomas that I used as part of my prompt. This translation is from the Gnostic Society Library by Thomas O. Lambdin:

These are the secret sayings which the living Jesus spoke and which Didymos Judas Thomas wrote down.
(1) And he said, “Whoever finds the interpretation of these sayings will not experience death.”

Green Man, A Poesy to September Storms

Photo by Sharon Taylor

Photo by Sharon Taylor

Past midnight in wee dark hours of the half-shaded moon
our first snow fell early, unlike the late summer storms

that came as earth was cracked, pastures bare,
harvest slow, if ever, to ripen. Green Man stayed

too long on holiday while we awaited his raindrops.
He kept our hope of emerald shoots and gleanings

at bay. Green George stayed away too long from us.
But upon his return torrents announced his arrival.

Maddened currents plowed barren fields in exultation.
The deluge roared over and under our houses.

Boulders traveled down the rush until clouds departed
east and there was stillness once more as if

Green Man never left and returned too late.
Last evening’s winter chill made a hasty call and his

tender greencoaties burrowed into slumber deep.
In the penumbral hours near the first of fall,

Green George grins under flakes of silver
powder resting upon his brow.





Author’s Note:

A friend of mine, Sharon Taylor, shared a lovely photo she took of her Green Man after our first snow. It was early this year, the snow. We usually count on snow for Halloween or a bit later. But weather patterns are different this year. Very little rain. Drought. Fires. And then came the September storms that washed much of Colorado away. I didn’t know that this is where the Green Man would take me.



My window fills with golden light.
Leaves illumined in sun twist,

pirouette and shimmy
in the breath of the invisible,

gyrate in sudden squalls
ready to release their grasp.

Then tumble back to earth and, like
bones weathered in sun,

crumble into morsels mixed with
marl. Substance of the nucleus.

Nourishment for the whole.
In praise of the infinite.

Author’s Note.

I cannot yet move on to the next theme from this Sunday’s homily at my sweet Church of the Holy Family, ECC. Sharon Taylor gave us a beautiful insight into quiet and the importance of meditation. However, I feel the need to continue a little while longer exploring the theme of gratitude.

If I am grateful, it is not because I simply recognize the gifts I am given.

I can only be truly grateful when I use those gifts, release my grip of my expectations, my needs and wants.

My gratitude shines when I learn to love myself, the beautiful gift I’ve been given.

My gratitude glows when I use those gifts and not hide them in fear of, well, in fear of all those things I fear. I cannot worry about what has happened or what will happen. I cannot be anxious about what people will think or say about me. I must live in the present, in the moment.

Well, ta da! Here I arrive at Sharon’s suggestion of working quiet and meditation into our lives, something that grounds me into the present moment. It has been through my practice this past year of Passage Meditation with Kathleen Gorman and the amazing people who make up our small group satsang at my church, that I am coming to understand the importance of meditation in my life.

Trust, release, love, and sharing awakens gratitude. Learning to be present in the moment of life is the inroad.

Enjoy this moment, it is our gift.


A basket rests, flat bottomed
gentle curves held tight with a

braided necklace grasped by
a sturdy handle, intelligent design.

A textured cradle, colored from earth
welcomes harvest’s bounty,

each season fills with desires, brims
with abundance, urges use, legacy freely given.

Left unnoticed, abstaining dispersion,
rot and mold deflate precious gems,

invader hands claim ownership, steal perfection
in the eye of the tempest, hostile mouths

pronounce poison, the basket sits unwanted.
In time its weave loosens, cracked curling ends

yield gaps and edges dangerous to ripe flesh,
if abandoned, left unused.

Yet each season brings harvest anew,
if the weaver be brave, a gamble to renovate,

change the pedestal, alter the space,
move the basket into new light,

the giver sees through new eyes that
shine from within, hears words, not from those

oft’ spoken with false voices chiming
warnings, but finds the gentle one who

understands, knows the light within. Rest your
basket there, fear no more to share.

Author’s Note:


This is the theme for my lovely, little church this new season. As our new year begins, the Church of the Holy Family, ECC, embraces gratitude.

I am grateful to have found this light. The fear of breaking away from the old held me much too long. I am grateful to my dear friend, Dorothea, for taking me under her wing and leading me through those doors. Even though she isn’t a member, my staunch Lutheran friend, somehow she knew it would be a perfect fit for me.

I am grateful to have found voices that no longer claim to be compassionate, but loving voices that are genuine. I never really understood the word inclusive. Come with me some time and you will understand, too.

I am grateful for the tiny storefront, gracious and beautiful with people who accept everyone for who they are. There are clergy who see inside you and know brokeness, because they have been broken. There is space open to the artist. It is not just art of song, poetry, and dance. There is art in the gifts each being brings without being asked. There is love, because there was no love in lives once upon a time. But now there is abundance.

There is gratitude because gifts are shared without restraint.

And not because something is needed. No. Gifts are shared because there are eyes who see gifts that have been hidden, forgotten, unused for many seasons. And even if the gifts do not seem to the giver as important or holy, the giver is assured that God our Father and Mother does not bequeath barren gifts to creation.

Thank you, Fr. Scott, Reverend Kathleen, Deacons David and Mike, and all those who walk through the doors and give hugs with abandon. You are special and I am blessed to have you all in my life.