Softer than Jade

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Softer than jade and much more alive, oak leaves became his treasure that day, as a mystical wind

blew quietly through the trees, and sparrow song created a sacred space,

speaking…through the trees, of emerald poems and diamonds embedded…

in his prayers.

      

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

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.

          

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

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

In These Woods

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What words can I shape, to tell that in these woods

I am made strong?

That hope runs deep here,

through the veins of oak

and pine, and maple trees,

through the earth

lives the permanence 

the assurance of oneness 

where there are no shadows

to be afraid of,

how can I ever express Lord God

that I am never alone,

covered in the warmth

of the blue sky.

      

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

Into the Rain

20180930_123817I’m dusting off my leather bound journal, finding my favorite pen, and I’ve put together a small stack of poetry books,

on the kitchen table, including one called, Hope in the Morning……and later a walk into the rain, down by the lake,

if it’s not too cold. I love how rain drops fall, on the water singing their own special music.

Right now though it’s time for some cheesy eggs and toast, dipping in my tea bag into a steaming cup

making English Breakfast tea. I love these rainy mornings……

I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but been taking one day a week to recharge. I work alot

so I find it essential, and maybe we were made this way, but I didn’t pick a particular day, it just kind of happened.

So on late Friday afternoons until sometime on Saturday I’ll disappear, but only a little. I have preplanned a couple of posts.

Thank you so much for reading!

Peace.

      

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies.

Happy Mother’s Day

20200407_134902This year perhaps more than any other, we need to honor and thank our Mothers.

Thanking them for who they are, and how much they mean to us. She not only carried you in her body,

but in most cases she has loved you as only a Mother could. She has carried you, in her heart.

You will always be her child.

And this year there are even more Moms out there as warriors, fighting a pandemic, many on the frontlines,

trying to provide for their families, some without benefits, many without the wealth, or luxury to stay at home

behind a computer. Make sure you thank them for their service including…

the grocery and retail store workers. And there are so many more…..Maybe give them some flowers if you can find some.

Happy Mothers Day everyone!

And thank you to all the Moms. We are all in this together!

      

Writing and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

Up on the Ridge

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When I went up on the ridge that day I had my raincoat on, the one with the hood,

and checked for my mask in the ziploc. Seeking my rock, my thinking rock, my prayer

and meditation rock, there was comfort when I found it and I sat down silently, even in the rain

I could sense the quiet of the forest. I closed my eyes and quieted my spirit…..realizing I didn’t need to find some new deep revelation,

or write a poem producing lightning on a page, some awe inspiring lines, one poem

out doing another, until the lines faded. That was all nonsense. I could just be who I was,

and write quietly of healing and nature, and peace. Praying on a rock up high, sitting in the rain.

     

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

How it All Began

20190427_101241He was just 17 when he first started searching for his spirit, deep in the cool darkness of the woods.

With light streaming occasionally, he always found the shadows of wings in the stillness,

not quite a ghost. And water falling through rocks brought calm, balm for his soul,

until a crow bursted with noise, offended by his presence. He could sit for hours on the large rock,

by the rope swing, especially in winter listening to the silence of the snowfall….

that’s really how it all began. Soon he would study the tribes, including the Lakota and Cheyenne.

     

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

The Forgotten Wing

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A forgotten wing was her redemption that day, riding the line, too close to despair. She needed the mountains.

She pulled the car over, got out and lifted her hand, wanting to split open the sky….

to see all the stars and suns of the night, to discover the unknown, the whirl

of the earth’s rotation. And maybe even find that lost soul of who she was before.

“Not strong enough just yet.” she said out loud……While she pulled the clouds away, unable to open the blue.

That forgotten wing did encourage her though, and she decided one day she would know who she was,

and she would dance in the galaxies, even in the middle of the day…..

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies