Call of the Woods

He was a boy when he first rejected confederate flags, shotguns, and red Ford pickup trucks, the way the men talked about black people at the barber shop. He knew he was different, having sensed the call of the woods.

Some force he couldn’t see, beckoning. By 18 he could read trail signs, and knew where the crows nested and their favorite corn field…where the rabbits hid when the hawk flew by.

He did follow rivers, knew the deer as friends, more importantly he felt God’s presence in the snow falling…..with a love for the unknown, that he could not see.

Heart Song from the woods.

Poetry and Image Copyright © 2021 rivers renewed

Sweet Summer Memories

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In those waves where light seems to glitter,

ride memories

of a boy on a raft,

of body surfing, and wipe outs

and dreaming

of being old enough

to drive,

a Chevy of course

old enough to take Marianne

on a date……

would she want to dance?

Suddenly a seagull woke the old man….

squawking again

for a piece of bread.

He reached into the bag

and threw some crumbs in the air…..

longing for more

of his sweet summer memories.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Opening Up the Sky

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When I was a boy, my bow was only made of plastic, but I could fire those arrows way up, so far, so far

into the blue that you could not see them anymore, lost

in the clouds until they descended suddenly

deep into the Earth as if an offering

received. Nobody knew

but I was a Crow warrior back then

simply opening up

the sky.

More beginnings.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies