Seagulls Hover, Floating on the Wind

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Seagulls hover, floating on the wind  mostly white wings,

dipped in black

ignoring the shadows of the coming storm

I turn to My Love and her eyes are closed,

as she whispers a prayer

and I realize, perhaps comprehend 

the peace of the waves,

and the healing

of a blue sky

yet remaining…

       

Poem, and Image, Copyright © 2020 ancient skies

Ocean Wind

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There are times when the wind from the ocean is malicious, yet on this day he noticed the wind was carrying a particulate peace from the depths,

moving beyond the weight and heaviness below the surface, instead moving determined, up and over,

towards the shore, and through the pines trees, winnowing. Finally swirling around his face, around his being,

whispering words, that lifted his spirit in an unknown language, sort of like music. So in a deep breath, he let it all go…..

How is it that the wind seeks us, until we are encouraged?

Poetry and Image, Copyright © 2020 ancient skies

Breathe Deeply

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And in my dream I was drawn to the surface of the ocean, as if coming alive again,

or hearing for the first time, with My Love whispering, “Breathe deeply” and she said….

“you will find your significance, the freedom of your spirit….if you will only open…”

It was then my lungs filled, taking in….the purest of air.

      

Poem, and Image, Copyright © 2020 ancient skies

Memories in the Waves

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Sunlight on the waves, and seagulls declaring their glory remind me of so many summers ago.

Of rafting in the ocean, and fishing in the twilight. Of swimming in the waves, ducking under

and the 14 year old me, being liked by the brown haired girl. I wished I had asked her name.

Of Dad and I walking the boardwalk. Of fried chicken dinners, and so many shadows of him

still living here, as I walk barefoot in the wet sand.

Lord God, I do miss him, but thank you for my Dad.

Happy Father’s Day.

 

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

Our Spirits Will Still Speak to Us

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In this age where beauty and revelation are wounded

from disease and fear,

our spirits will still speak to us,

as if oceans still lived in our frames,

and as strength filters back into us

we will be confident once again,

standing tall

even in the mist and the ruins.

       

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies