People in My Neighborhood #2

Named for the Blessed Mother, you can still see her sitting on her front porch on warm days

a small wave, a big smile, does she remember my name? It doesn’t matter.

She also tends her flowers in the yard, even though her husband

is gone now, never alone she still holds onto God,

with her soft voice lifting prayers,

a gentle spirit,

and a cornerstone

of our community.

Even….in her nineties.

Poetry and Image Copyright © 2021 rivers renewed

As Wind Song Moves Through the Pine Trees

As wind song moves through the pine trees, I can hear hawk wings descending

out of the clouds, and I finally let go of those phrases

I carried as a prayer, shifting and shaping them,

will it be a poem?

as another feather drifts,

to the Earth

from the blue sky.

Poetry and Image Copyright © 2021 rivers renewed

Winter Vision Quest

It was winter when he left the reservation. No one sought a vision in the winter, but he did, he needed to. Maybe vision wasn’t the right word, but he was searching for cleansing……some type of hope, anything really. Despair and vodka had taken their toll. It was good to be in the mountains again, even with the snow. And he smiled noticing how slow his mule was.

He had everything he needed, the mule, a good rifle, his bow (that he had made years ago from the finest oak), and a small lodge with blankets. He knew he was also carrying grief for his people, the poverty and sickness slowly killing them…. yes a vision is what they all needed.

Days later, with a fire going….. the vision came in the smoke and flames. He saw his people being reborn. It was spring and everything was blooming. The people were strong and happy…. not sick at all.

He knew he must take this vision back to his people, to encourage each one. The end of all things…. was not quite not yet.

They would all live again.

Writing Copyright © 2015, revised 2020 rivers renewed, image from Pinterest, Crow Scout taken 1908

Note: This was not written initially about the virus, but I think it applies today.

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.

      

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies.

In the Poet’s Heart

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In the poet’s heart we hold the light dancing with colors

filling our phrases shaping,

guiding, directing the surge of words

through us

the intensity into our pens,

confident.

And in our decreasing

we seek a river

or an ocean

dolphins playing in the waves

to fill us

once again.

     

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2016, revised 2020, ancient skies