75 Arrows

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He shifted slightly in the saddle, letting go gently of the reigns, they both stood there and breathed in the view from the top of the ridge. In his peace, he realized it didn’t matter now.

Even if the government fell tonight, and democracy was swept away, he would still have one of the best trail horses ever made. He loved his Quarter Horse/Belgian mare. And he had his compound bow, but only 75 arrows until he learned how to make his own.

He dismounted and led the mare to the stream. Soon even people would be able to drink from the rivers again, having been cleansed. He was a little uneasy though, about carrying the bow wherever he went. What was it the pastor had said?

“Sometimes we hold onto our weapons, not willing to accept the new being made…..” Yep that was it……he was unwilling to accept the ruins and the new was having a difficult time breaking in. Maybe he just needed more time.

As the mare drank deeply, a noise to his right caught his attention. He swung around the bow, and his right hand instinctively reached back to the quiver……he wondered if the deer knew he was hunting…..

from the Apocalyptic Journal

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Fortress

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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

Survivors

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As I look out over the ocean I do see some dreams just beyond the horizon,

and yet within the storm the reality speaks

we are not always stronger,

all of us, each one of us

are somehow survivors, even

if we don’t know how we got here.

Perhaps the sun on the surface will at least place a smile on our face,

and the sand beneath our feet surging the power of the Earth into us

so that we are able to face the tides once again

with the pushing and pulling

against us,

we continue forward anyway.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

A Slow Fade

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You probably haven’t noticed but many of my readers have done a slow fade. A slow fade is when a reader, is very much involved, but then gradually fades away, never to be seen again. 

Part of this is certainly natural, as our world changes, blogs change, people change. But many have migrated to social media, leaving WordPress far behind.

And unfortunately, I believe my blog is being manipulated in horrible ways. Because of that I’m losing interest. 

The weirdest thing is when someone comes to my site, and then I follow them – many disappear in a flash. What???

Being a very positive person, I have ignored it, and pushed through it for a long time.

I really enjoy writing, and I love where my poems are now, and where they are heading.

Lately though, blogging has not been as much fun. Perhaps I’ve even been depressed, and that’s unusual for me.

My latest poem published, “In the Dakota Winds” is certainly the darkest poem I have ever written. This bothers me a great deal. I don’t want negativity in my spirit.

I write all of this because I am considering doing a slow fade, or retiring altogether.

I ask for your prayers and positive thoughts.

    

Writing and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

Dakota Dream

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In the middle of the battle I often think of the Dakota.

A dream, in the mountains, horses

approach snorting, pawing the ground

feathers dangle, but their war paint is missing.

At the campfire I ask, “How

did you survive, when so many

have perished?”

A pipe is silently passed from one

to another, as I inhale, the answers dawn

without words, smoke

takes our prayers to heaven,

and peace again stills the heart

living

within us.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

We Find Ourselves Connected

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Our tragedies don’t always make us better warriors,

don’t always make us stronger

having our wings singed,

and faith pulled forcibly from our hearts.

But we do become more human

as we see our brothers

our sisters, struggling

somehow

we know the scars

as we find ourselves connected

in the fight.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

 

The Survivor

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She really did feel like the ocean now, expanding, having been washed

on the inside of her body, and free, minus some foam here and there, with

fear lingering, and her hair gone. Her spirit was stronger now than ever,

and her faith lifted her, so she often sang

the Psalms as intended.

      

And he was always there with her, by her side determined to fight

chasing away the grimace of death, they often talked

as two spirits becoming one, healing each other.

and walking now along the beach,

grateful for the waves.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, Ancient Skies