God The Artist

I wonder if God is an artist.

I don’t know the reason why

but I wake up every morning...excited

to see his new painting

in the sky.


I wonder how he mixes his colors.

How he gets the yellow of the sun so bright

and on a wintry morning

how does he paint the snow...so white.


How does she make the oceans shimmer?

I’d like her to explain.

How she makes each flower so beautiful?

How doe she paint the rain?


As he sees the evening approaching

does he turn on the moon’s light

to help him see a little better

as he paints us all the night?


But then I think...I don’t need to know

the principles of what she’s designed,

I only need to marvel each day


at what her brush has left behind.

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The Wind

I asked nature about the wind...
Where does it get it’s strength to blow?
Were does it originate,
and when it passes...
where’s it go?

I asked nature about the trees
How is it they can grow?
Why is it they stand so tall
yet undulate to and fro?

I asked nature about the ocean
How does its water flow?
Why in the early sunlight
does its surface seem to glow?

Nature’s answer is always the same...
when nature chooses to speak...
“Love..” she says...”It’s Love...”
“Love is the answer that you seek.”

I’ve asked nature many questions
yet love is the only answer I’ve ever heard
(I’m beginning to wonder if nature’s vocabulary
is limited to one word!)

But when you stop to think about it...
perhaps love is nature’s creed
And she’s trying hard to tell us
It’s the only word we’ll ever need.

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“I am the smartest, most powerful being in the Universe!” the human said.
“For I have the most developed brain.”
The Universe chuckled at the human’s arrogance,
“If that is so...then make it rain.”

“Make the sun rise, direct the wind,
create a moonbeam, an snowfall...a whale.
Guide the tides across the ocean
Stop the song of the nightingale.”

The Universe touched the shoulder of the human
She was compassionate yet stern.
“It’s true you might be smart,” she smiled
“But you have a lot to learn.”


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Night Music

When the sun has finally slipped away
and the sky is devoid of light
I love to sit and listen
to the music of the night.

The concert begins under the stars
there is no stage
no tickets
no doors
as the ocean keeps a rhythmic beat
and crashes its cymbals on the shore.

As the crickets play their violins
and the nightingales sing,
you never know what melodies
the wind this night will bring.

For that is the wistful beauty of night music...
it touches your heart...
your soul...
and then...
you know, once the concert is concluded
you’ll never hear that song again.

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It's Just A Tree

Grandpa pointed to it on my 7th birthday and said,
“There is your gift from me.”
Not seeing any presents I said, 
“Grandpa, it’s just a tree.”

“Some may say it’s just a tree.” he said,
“that only offers shade,
but when I was young it was a mighty fortress
and it’s leaves were made of jade.”

“When I began to climb this tree
insects would bow and birds would sing
and every branch would lift me higher
for they knew
I was their king.”

“And when I climbed to the very top.
I was no longer in a tree.
I was in the crows nest of a pirate ship
sailing the seven seas....”

And he was right...
I spent years climbing it...
and it was anything I imagined it to be...
It was everything I ever wanted
and it was never...just a tree.

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You Can Hear The Flowers Sing

When you walk in silence in the morning...
you hear the wind whisper to the trees...
As the syncopation of the crickets
Floats upon the breeze.

Soon the nightingale, the blackbird,
the owl...and the chickadee
Begin to sing, as if rehearsed...
their morning melody.

Flowers hear the singing
and, to me at least, it seems
The music wakes them gently
From wherever flowers dream.

Perhaps that’s why throughout the year
and primarily in Spring...
If you listen to them closely
You can hear the flowers sing.