In the Wild Streams

Will our children enjoy the depths of the wild streams when the end of all things is completed? Yes, as the ravens guard the river flow, and as wild geese fly over.

Having been washed by the great trouble we can see now, when our tribulation will end. As cities descend into ruins, the Earth will be healed, and cover over what used to be.

And we will not only bathe in the wild streams, but a new rotation will bring a cooling, and plants will no longer be burned. Our future generations of survivors will feel safe, within their deliverance.

Note: From the Apocalyptic Journal

    

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

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Winter Still Speaks

It was in the winter when I first began walking,

seeking the journey of a quiet spirit,

the healing of silence in the woods,

the wholeness of a snowfall

in the purity of cold air.

And still today

the wisdom of a young man’s heart

can defend, provide a light

for this old guy to follow.

Winter still speaks.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Ghosts Will Reappear

Within the deep fog of the final days, ghosts will reappear with the smell of buckskin

and burning wood in the air, showing us how to make lodges, and the sacred art

of bow making, giving us the wisdom of medicine, and the harmony

of all things will flow in our veins once again,

so that the deep fog will no longer

need to hide us, anymore.

                                                                                                       

Note: This is part of the Apocalyptic Journal.

   

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Evergreens

Evergreens, standing tall in the blue twilight

of the winter sky,

centurians of fir, spruce and pine trees 

lingering in a scent of Christmas

guarding, watching over

the silence

of the snow covered forest.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Last Fish

Note: This is about a Bird of Prey hunting and may disturb some people.

His wings burned as he turned, into the sky fire apocalypse

but it was the only way to make it, to the lake

he dove head down, down with wings enfolded

a bullet from the heavens

until crashing, breaking

the surface of the water, talons extended

he was all talons flailing

until he caught it

the last fish on planet Earth.

As he slowly flapped now

to his favorite rock,

he did pray for God

to do a miracle, to create

a new Earth once again,

as he devoured fish flesh

for the last time.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Apocalyptic Journal

 

I’ve started writing a new series of very short stories, and poetry with an apocalyptic or post – apocalyptic setting. The Last Fish was one of these. I have written in this vein before and really enjoy it.

In these poems – stories you will always see something positive in spite of the end of all things taking place, or having taken place. And you will see some influences from historical Native American – First Nations stories.

Let me know what you think. They will not always be centered on beauty and nature which are ideas I’m known for I guess. They are absolutely an experiment though. They are not always related, but some I think would make a fine novel!

Thanks for reading, and let me know!

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

A Tangible Presence

As the sun sets, after the storm

something similar to hope

can be born,

a tangible presence

in the winter sky.

   

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies