The Weeping Willow Tree

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Branches and leaves from the weeping willow tree bending

yet, still holding the sun in place

filtering

light, randomly sprinkled

on the surface of the water,

my spirit was lifting

in the beautiful silence

hovering over the river,

I could see through it

when I realized I did have a line

to write, was it a poem?

or a prayer?

I will have to ask the river

once again.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

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Every Walk Will Bring You Treasure

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Every walk will bring you treasure, heart ascending

to the clouds, every step will slow 

your breathing,

as your mind unfolds

your dreams lifting

beyond the pine trees and over

the mountains.

No prophet ever saw such beauty,

the mystery of

your soul.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, and 2018, ancient skies

Originally posted March 2016 as, “Walking in the Woods”. Revised 2018

 

Fig Leaves Brushed My Cheek

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Fig leaves brushed my cheek as I made my way

to the river,

having seen the invitation,

I found a oneness

in the sun.

A poem was clearly calling

my name, so I pursued

the words into a meadow –

capturing them, with my pen.

There wasn’t a fight really,

only a surrender.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

It Was Spring Now

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She walked in the green fields now remembering the curves

of her hand in his, and those times he gave her

a wildflower to tuck

behind her ear,

with the smell of trees

and the beautiful deluge

of robin song,

it was spring now

and she dreamt

of smelling his neck

and the protection

of his umbrella

as they discovered the earth

all over again,

walking in the park.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

In His Reflection by the Creek

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Snow and ice crunching under his boots, and a strange gray reflection

rippling across the creek, with deer tracks on the other side.

He paused, zipping up his coat a little further,

watching the trees bend.

He remembered traveling through time

hunting for visions with bows

wearing buckskin

and an occasional feather,

but it was long ago

on horseback,

so instead, in his reflection

by the creek,

he took some pictures.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies