You and I on the Ridgetop

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On the ridgetop you and I could see why prophets weep over the valley,

and the strength of rivers reaching

into and beyond the dry bones.

Even today the tribes still seek

the safety of stone

a sacred space

to keep all their prayers.

You cried a little

when you finally saw it.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

I Often Think of Hawks

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When I walk this trail, as so many generations did before,

through the shadows of the pines,

over the large rocks and small,

I often think of hawks,

and shadows of wings

covering the earth

and of a people

who roamed free.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Earth Would Bring Healing

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She squinted through the snowfall, her determination burning once again, in spite of the howling wind.

She had followed the wings of the hawk, and now….was that a cave? They had been led here for sure….”C’mon my love!” she yelled to him, who struggled with each step.

He had saved her so many times, now it was her turn. They knew this was not the time for dying.

Once they collapsed inside the cave, they found it warm and safe. They had survived the ruination, the last of all wars, led by the spirit hawk, surely it was a sign.

The Earth would bring healing. There would be a spring, and hope…..was about to be born.

From the Apocalyptic Journal.

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

He Was Canyons of Rivers Raging

apache-dancer-harley-upton-jr-diego-james-robles-from-indiancountrytodaymedianetworkIn the dance for his people, feet pounding twirling, left shoulder down, feathers jerking, he was the heartbeat of the earth,

head tilted to the left then the right, leaning in, spinning with blurred vision

he became red rocks, he became canyons of rivers raging, with ancient memories,

with power in his feathers, he remembered when they protected

the women and children, from dog faced soldiers hiding spears,

until the sun broke through the great trouble.

He was more than the dance,

he had blended

with the spirit of his people.

     

Poetry © Copyright 2019, ancient skies, image  of Apache dancer from indiancountrytodaymedianetwork

The Survivors – Part II

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“You mean you built this place by yourself?” he asked, then realized it was a stupid question. Brie looked at him with steel in her narrowed eyes. But then the baby (a girl) at her breast adjusted herself and Brie softened immediately.

He was always amazed at how children changed women, adding a softness deep within. And the beauty of their bonding……well it was beyond words. He was convinced, it went beyond the deep exhaustion, and squarely into the realm of the supernatural.

Still covered in sweat, her blond hair somewhat matted, Brie cleared her throat and began, “Well I learned lodge building from the Mandan, I grew up in a town within their territory.” “Normally they don’t share the skills and ceremonies with outsiders….but they knew me, and then the wars started and the diseases..…..”

It had only been a couple of hours after the birth, but Brie needed to sleep. She handed the baby to him, which was surprising because she still had the large hunting knife next to her. She trusted him enough though, to hold the little one.

“What shall we name you little one?” he asked the baby not expecting a response. Brie had insisted he name the child, because he had removed the cord from around the child’s neck during childbirth. “You saved her life…..so you name her….”

He thought of Cheyanne but that name seemed too common among the survivors. “How about “Lakota”? It seemed to fit somehow. Brie stirred when she heard the name. With one eye open she said, “Lakota is the perfect name…..our…… Lakota…..” “Ours??” he asked out loud.

Narrator: And so begins the story, of how the Northern Peoples began again. A new hope was born. It was all part of the healing of the Earth, and her people.

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Ghosts Will Reappear

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Within the deep fog of the final days, ghosts will reappear with the smell of buckskin

and burning wood in the air, showing us how to make lodges, and the sacred art

of bow making, giving us the wisdom of medicine, and the harmony

of all things will flow in our veins once again,

so that the deep fog will no longer

need to hide us, anymore.

                                                                                                       

Note: This is part of the Apocalyptic Journal.

   

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Day When Thunder Was Born

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Back in the day when thunder was born and lightning let go of the shaking,

we did run with the wolves shoulder to shoulder,

through the forest bending

while the Earth felt our ascending.

Until that day – when violence

entered the world causing

our separation.

Yet some wolves still howl today

lamenting, longing

for their human brothers running.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies