poetry, fiction, nature, culture, compassion, love
As victory courses through our veins, yet hidden within
we can grasp a few lines,
discovering our light
and even a piece of hope
realizing
scars really can lose their power,
loosing control, or any influence at all
over who we are now.
Each of us river,
in our own right.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
Well I admit it, I’ve been holding back. After all we’ve been through within the past two years with this president, I think we’re all burned out, trying to just survive our battle fatigue.
And that’s the biggest danger, that we will not care anymore. It doesn’t really matter does it, that he’s lied so much, that he hides his money, that he does seem to have obstructed justice a number of times, that he just wants to look good,
that the AG spun the report in a positive way, causing conservatives to do the happy dance, when in fact the report isn’t positive at all.
Another protector blocking attempts to find the truth simply because, he’s “conservative”.
But it does matter when people do wrong and try to get other people to do wrong too.
Did you know you don’t have to commit a crime to be impeached?
Yes eating chicken during a hearing is stupid, and inappropriate, but we need to protect our democracy,
not a politician who believes he is above the law, and that he should be able to do whatever he wants. Nah, we don’t need that.
Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
For some reason he could not open his eyes. It was the tug on his chest that woke him though. Someone or something was pulling on his left bicep.
“Hold still!” A woman’s voice pushed him back down again when he tried to sit up. He forced one eye open, but his head hurt so badly he passed out again. She must have pulled him away from the wolves, and she was stitching him up.
When he did awake he was inside the earth……wait no……he was in an earthen lodge. The wind outside told him they were in the middle of a tenacious storm. She offered him a bowl of something warm. All she said was, “Drink.” He did, and it was smooth warmth going down. He tasted honey among other things.
She looked at him with a knife in her hands. “I know you’re immune from the last disease unleashed, otherwise you wouldn’t be here….my name is Brie, and I think we should help each other…..but if you ever hurt me……you will be a dead man.” She meant it and he knew it. He tried to say he would never do such a thing…….
He noticed a youngster, maybe 3 years old playing behind her. She said, “His name is Jared, named after his father – long since passed away…..” So that was it, she was alone in the wilderness. And she was pregnant again. He did ask, and she was due in a couple of days. He shook his head that he understood.
“The drink will help you sleep……I’ll need your help in a few days, delivering.” He fell into a deep sleep……thinking that she was attractive, but he was worried about the knife……. at least he did know how a child is born……
from the Apocalyptic Journal
Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
It was snowing that night the wall was completed, not many noticed, tired of the fight.
Yet some conservatives rejoiced in their victory, believing the Enemy was defeated and that they could rest in their holiness once again.
However, the angels in Texas, bowed their heads with tears in their eyes,
began praying for all those stuck inside the Fortress, for those believing that somehow,
in some way, they were righteous, and so having turned their backs
on the poor.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
I remember weeping when you told me your dream of having hair again,
looking at old photographs telling the story
but now it’s Christmas, My Love
and the beauty of the season
is still healing us.
As the grief dissipates
we can dream new dreams
as as we embrace the future
nose to nose,
smiling, walking within the lights
as we hold each others hand.
Note: I share this as a matter of personal experience, of how love sees us through the difficult times, not out of any sense of self pity.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
You probably know that he was a prisoner of war in Vietnam. But did you know that he was in that prison for more than 5 years, and that he could have left sooner but he didn’t?
You see, his family secured his release after 2 years but he said no, he would not leave until the rest of the prisoners were also set free with him.
He was beaten and tortured so badly his arms were permanently damaged. For the rest of his life he could not raise them above his head. Yet it was here that he became a strong person of faith, often singing with other prisoners, quoting Bible verses they could remember, especially around Christmas time.
Eventually though, he not only survived but became a U.S. Senator for more than 30 years. He fought hard here too. He was tough, but he epitomized a leader that would work with the other side. He respected the opinions of others, and leaders that had different views.
He always put country first rather than party politics, even if it made him unpopular. And that’s what made him so different.
Perhaps we mourn for more than the hero
for what our country could be
for what it once was
before madness
made us lose our way.
A warrior, a fighter to the end. A true American hero. Rest in peace John McCain.
Poetry and Commentary © Copyright 2018, ancient skies, photo from today
When our trauma turns our view, slanting
the sky, releasing the grey within
cracked vessels, we often listen
to the darker rain, as if
there is a deliverance
in the mist.
And yet
having survived the false prophecy,
the breakage of our story
the empty dictators
of self speak,
we discover the desire
for a simple light
and for a sky
that speaks to us,
of a new story
not quite so broken.
Poetry © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
