The fog hovered low that evening as he stood silently in the sand listening to the waves. The rhythm washing every scar of the day

until he needed to zip up his jacket a little higher. Rocks made smoothe though. He relit his pipe, and as he walked home he watched the sand

surround his boots and give way again and again. He pulled his hat down further due the chill, and he thought of the lamps he left on in his cottage,

and quilts hanging over chairs, and a steaming, hot cup of tea.


Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies



We don’t hear much from God anymore, do we? too busy arguing

tweeting angry words


we are right,

and obviously

someone else,

is too blame.

We don’t hear much from God anymore, do we?


Note: This is not about a person, it’s about our culture.

Poetry © Copyright 2017, ancient skies