The Coloured Road

So this is the bright bowl
Of being where all threads
Run and knot to
Loose their dye in the
Water that turns them all
White.

The past, present and
Future exist in this
Moment.  The past is
Linked by colour and its
Chain of being running
Red through all.  The future

Draws me to it, adds
Myself to its potential
As I weave new
Colours into warp and
Weft.  I dip my
Fingers in the clear

Water where my
Thread and dye are one
And ponder the way I have
Come from there to here.
Looking back, I have
Woven bright

Carpets where I stepped.
Here the floors are bare
Ready for new tapestries
New coverings to be
Laid to grace and soften its
Stone.

These days are
Clean things of
Dyeings and makings, of
Weaving the threads
In and through, of
Plucking fibres and

Dipping them in water.
I am a mad weaver
Of rugs I throw
Down, tread on
And leave.  Behind me
Bloom the carpets

I have made like a wide
Road that can be
Walked by those who see
And want to tread and
Follow on.  I have made
Soft places for feet.

I am proud of that
Contribution to the ways, the
Convergences and splittings -
All the crossing threads either
White or red and
Woven sorely.

Stay on the coloured road -
Not of yellow brick but
It blooms like
A thousand flowers,
Petalled and
Fragrant.  Take dream steps

And weave your carpets
Wide and clean.
Keep your bowl of being
Handy for your hands
To dip them in and dye
Your living threads.

Weave your way with care
Weave a road of bright colour
Bright enough to make
Others want to tread there.
Loose your dye in the water
Of your soul and

Bloom like a carpet of living
Flowers forever glowing 
Lily and rose.

previous poem