She noticed that in the wind swept valleys, poetry was waiting
some recovery words, a healing stream with phrases
even after the darkness fell, wind would pull her
through as light caught her wing, the good one,
she was never surprised really of how good
it was to come into the light again, or stand
on top of the mountain.
Poetry and Image Copyright © 2022 rivers renewed
In the healing of the mountains a lone eagle gave me courage,
suddenly being able to see now, with visions
replacing shadows
canyons were no longer dark places
and the sky,
we love the freedom of the sky
don’t we?
was so much closer,
I felt I could almost
touch the center
of where
I wanted to be.
Poetry and Image Copyright © 2022 rivers renewed
P.S. Due to having some health issues I need share some previous work for a few days.
In the starkness of the grey dawn, within the shadows of her heart, Emma hovered above the stone walls in the strength and immensity of her own wings. Palermo was such an ancient city, filled with mysteries.
She was searching for the one, the one who said he would love her, a promise made.
Yet something told her…..to wait.
And there…..he was running in the courtyard……chasing a rabbit? He quickly began changing unaware she was watching, and became more and more of jaw, and fangs and fur. A wildness took over his eyes. And then…..she looked away devastated. Sensing the pain.
She had seen it all and decided she would never know the strength of his thighs, the sweetness of his breath. He would never touch her. He had told her he was not violent, and he lied.
He was nothing but horror and blood. Part wolf she could understand, but a liar? A killer? Never.
She quickly summoned more of the grey clouds to hide her escape. Calling forth the wind and the rain, thinking they would cleanse her of what she had seen and her stupidity for trusting him. She drew herself in, with the comfort of her wings. She aimed for Milan.
He never knew she found out his secret, only that there was something strange in the wind that day, and in the rain…..
Writing and Image Copyright © 2021 rivers renewed
On some days there are prayer poems dancing, maneuvering within my being,
and I can only hold them until the midday sun, giving them wings,
letting them go, watching them spin ascending
into that space between earth and sky
into the air unfettered
they fly.
Poetry and Image Copyright © 2021 rivers renewed
The space between our wounds, was always meant for the peace descending,
in the form of light.
Wholeness
in our spirit wings.
Poetry and Image Copyright © 2021 rivers renewed
I have alot of new readers lately and many of you are international, so I just wanted to say, welcome to my blog!
I’m so glad you’re here! Unless you’re a bully. No bullies allowed!
I have more than 2,600 posts here, mostly I write poetry now. I do write some minifiction.
I love combining the ideas of nature, spirit, wholeness, healing, and how words can encourage us.
Hope is one of my biggest themes! Here is a small sample of the way I write:
Winter peace speaks to me,
within my spirit
in the silence
of the falling snow.
Welcome to Ancient Skies!
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies
The strength of our wing, the power
of our words
always depends
on the heart,
the freedom
within.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
With wings outstretched, tilting my head, then banking to the left I break the pattern, the shell encasing my sky,
refusing the bonds or to live in the darkness of being discouraged… hope begins to fill my eyes,
with new life until finally the horizon comes into view, and I am free.
Amen.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
A solitary golden feather is lifted as the wind moves over the hawk’s shoulder.
Chipmunks are breathless as the mountains bask in the sunlight.
Yet the hawk spins his head towards a murmuring sound close by. A lone figure, praying in the shadows of the mountain.
Peace is seldom easy, so the hawk kept silent, honoring his descendants.
Weren’t humans descended from birds of prey?
Note: Influenced by Native American creation stories.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
My light, ignited by the colors of autumn,
spirit wings extended,
and the poems?
They simply write,
themselves
having learned how to fly.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
Rivers Renewed 