greater will


Childe Hassam

I wonder in color,
dream in vivid hue.
count blessings on hands and feet,
awaken amid waxing blue

The days ever so bitter,
the time ever so lost.
all safely tucked away now,
forgotten tattered and tossed.

Optism is the brighter way,
joy is better still.
when hope and trust in greater things,
are resting in Father’s will.

(c) 2018 Rick Stassi


a loving respect


I sat often in the backseat
of my papa’s 1953 Buick –
a beautiful machine,
always driven with precision.
It had a smooth sound
and was comfortable in the
expansive back seat, all mine.
My grandmother was a special co-pilot –
opening the garage and closing it.
I sat on driver side of the backseat
and looked at the wrinkles
in the back of his neck.
Several deep horizontal lines,
like rows and rows of grape vines.
Wrinkles created from farming –
planting, pruning and nurturing in the field.
The vines grow in the vineyard from
a wild-rooted base.
Grafted into a life of
fruitful growth.
The graft brought lineage and freedom
from disease to its host.
These memories are deeply rooted
in my life, shaping future from the past.
I long for and cherish such parts of life
where God shows Hs masterful
hand in our lives
so we will always know
He is there.


Winter Rest



a flight from sensibility
a rapid demise of reason
departure from my many ways
that leave me this stark this season

upon landscape in tarnished brown
settles winter’s quiet way
soon the nadir of sunlit journey
the peaceful shortest day

where do I in my mind go
a quest of contented bliss
greet in joy O wintertime
a time for somber remiss

days soon depart from winter’s hold
as springtime taps on door
and resting now in candle light
God’s love certain evermore.

(c) 2017 Rick Stassi



Pablo Picasso

Lost often in days I’ve wrought,
trembling and bound in veiled knot.
The morning relieves a dreadful night,
as warming comes in hopeful light.

Should I in weakness stride anew?
Or pity failing in harboring dew.
This lack that wreaks on endless walk,
grasping for more than fruitless talk.

I dislike my downturn from certain way,
to languish as some restless prey.
The peace that comes on dove’s soft wing,
is the peace I seek in everything.

(c) rick stassi


van_goghO, those ways of drawing
curious and inquisitive
thoughts from deep
within my hopeful mind;
I cower in the forward
and steep in the grace
of the backward.
Where is now and how
do I anchor this
vessel on present moorings
to really see life in
three phases:
with tomorrow
hovering and yesterday’s
covering and today
marking step in steady
pace for true solace.