poetry, fiction, nature, culture, compassion, love
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
In the splendor of the Earth, and all that was made, within brown and white tones
of hawk feathers, we find ourselves in awe really
of creation, both its beauty and strength, and we wonder
of the power of wings, the sharpness of the eyes
the shape of talons, curious
of where we belong,
and our place within the sky.
Poetry © Copyright 2019, ancient skies, image from Audubon
Sagebrush as I walk through the tall grass
my fingertips reaching,
a feather falls from the sky
and the hawk yells,
“Good morning, my brother!”
his shadow covers me
as I lift my eyes,
searching the sky.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
It’s not that his soul was lost, he simply refused
to back down
when the hawks began to stare,
as he allowed his spirit
to take off,
through the pine trees.
To this day,
songs can be heard
in the distance
floating
in the western wind.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
Within the dream I was healed by the wings of a hawk
flying far above the war for men’s souls,
it really was your courage My Love,
that strengthened me.
And now I’m able to see
far beyond
the rivers within.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
As the forest drew me closer, a hawk landed
on a tree branch close to me,
turning his head he said,
“Walk tall my brother,
feel God’s strength in your bones today,
and His light in your spirit.”
And with those words I breathed in the strength,
of the One who made me.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
A quiet storm, as snow clouds roll down from the mountains
drifting over the valley carrying a few small flakes
meandering, swirling here
and there, and as I look beyond
the grey and white, I can see the shape
of hawk wings, his wings cutting the air,
his strength bringing
larger flakes, I quietly wish him,
“Good hunting my brother……”
as I zip up my jacket further,
and continue walking, now covered
in a deluge
of white.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
