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What is it we search for within the waves?
Is it simply the rhythm
of the earth washing our spirits,
or maybe a reflection
pulling from our memories within?
Mostly I think, we become……
at peace with ourselves.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
A strong summer breeze moved through the trees of the mountain,
inviting the sun to wash over us
bathing the forest
while a crow fled the light
seeking darker shadows
to sleep in.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
A perfect union of earth and sky, drawing me in,
calling forth who I once was
before the ruins descended.
I take a knee,
remembering
letting go now of the prayer
I’ve been carrying
for so long, eyes closed
my back lurches and my wings extend,
unfolding
as my spirit reaches
into the clouds.
Note: Is he human or is he hawk? It’s hard to tell sometimes.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
When I walk this trail, as so many generations did before,
through the shadows of the pines,
over the large rocks and small,
I often think of hawks,
and shadows of wings
covering the earth
and of a people
who roamed free.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
As the wind moves through the tall grass of the mountain
with a soft voice, a whisper really
reminding
we are of the earth carrying
fragments of soil in our veins,
pieces of clay in our bones
and an echo of the divine
in our skies.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, 2019, ancient skies
And the sins of the fathers are being visited on us their children,
while the Earth continues to be ripped and torn,
I can’t help but think of the people lost,
swept away by storms,
from the changes in our air,
as dark clouds still gather
while ignorant bullies hide
their head in the sand,
lacking even a speck
of empathy.
How many more people
will be lost?
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
In the dance for his people, feet pounding twirling, left shoulder down, feathers jerking, he was the heartbeat of the earth,
head tilted to the left then the right, leaning in, spinning with blurred vision
he became red rocks, he became canyons of rivers raging, with ancient memories,
with power in his feathers, he remembered when they protected
the women and children, from dog faced soldiers hiding spears,
until the sun broke through the great trouble.
He was more than the dance,
he had blended
with the spirit of his people.
Poetry © Copyright 2019, ancient skies, image of Apache dancer from indiancountrytodaymedianetwork
