earth – Ancient Skies

The Soft Voice of Leaves

The soft voice of leaves rustling in the wind

bringing changes in the air,

sighs escaping

autumn drawing my heart,

into a silent prayer.

Grateful.

Seeking the Mountains

Loving peace, we often seek the mountains,

the perfect blend

of earth and blue sky,

not hearing the angels,

yet we become grounded

and hopeful,

finding the strength

to believe again.

The Silence of Trees

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Faded eagle dreams and faded jeans, combing grey hair, boots laced and a light weight camera,

the trails call, moving my spirit beyond crows, rejecting dark wings…I become the silence of trees, and wildflowers holding bees,

where light flickers through the canopy, I seek to know, as anyone could know, the Lord God,

like I did as a young man….

in a place that peace

calls home….

Where the Oak Leaves Whisper

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On the trail that day, in the wind, where the oak leaves whisper, shadows of wings covered him, from the sky…

yet he was never afraid, even with the distant sounds of singing, of chanting and drums, he noticed shadows shifting,

so he stopped with a poem nearing its creation. Sitting on a large rock with prayer beginning as a spring,

light flickered and when he opened his eyes he found…..

he was the river, after all.

A Poem Tapped Me on My Shoulder

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A poem snuck up on me today, tapped me on my shoulder,

whispered in my ear,

as if hawk’s breath

would made it stronger,

I felt the shifting,

the surprise of a small piece

of light,

the shaping of words and phrases

from my heartflow,

the mystical creation

of poetry.

Note: My break is working! I will post 2-3 times a week for now. Thank you so much for reading!

In My Love’s Eyes

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I find the universe in My Love’s eyes,

the earth,

the oceans

and skies.

Silver Threads

20180930_123823 Silver threads of the lake at dawn,

with whispers of deliverance

to awaken,

to transform the grey

to a startling blue,

and the beginning

of birdsong.

Whispers of Lakota Song

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Perhaps it was the Lakota Song drifting over him, whispering in the middle of the night, when he was a child, a sound of singing,

blessing his dreams, from the tall grass…..that soul filling call, to touch the clouds, whispering in his ear, in his heart, the core of who he was.

He could always write the river, so maybe that’s why he was born loving the colors of our earth, with prayer feathers,

and wild horses running strong. It was poetry, after all.

Note: I was born in the desert, not far from the Rocky Mountains.

We were too far south though, to hear the Lakota Song.

Wildflowers Calling Forth the Sun

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We are made from many streams, aren’t we? pieces of a larger river twisting

through open fields, our lives as a meadow thirsting, for nourishment, with wildflowers….

calling forth the sun, to the mud on the shoreline, we sense, we learn our direction,

becoming the very grain we dream about, and allowing the wind to gently move

through us, in the fields.

Note: This may sound mystical but it’s actually about our hearts and whatever faith life we have.

Pages from My Journal

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And I felt those words as I turned the pages,

the same as when I stood on the mountain

gazing,

what flows in my spirit

like the wind messing up my hair?

I do think if I was Native American

or First Nations my name would be,

Standing on the Mountain,

and I would be there often

shaping words

into poems and prayers.

Category: earth