writing poetry – Ancient Skies

Where Poetry is Born

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In our spirits, the very core of our beings,

lives a special place, a sacred space,

moving us beyond

our tears, our fears,

into the quiet side

of our hearts

where poetry is born.

In the Morning Fog

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He picks up his pen a little slower now,

recognizing the brokenness

contains a poem

not so jagged,

and that his light

is easily defused

in the morning fog.

The Hope of Spring

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In the springtime we are redeemed, aren’t we? Within the warm air

a flower teaches us rebirth, and a light rain

washes us, lifting our spirits

hopeful, we look forward

to the earth infusing

our poetry,

and art.

Mustangs

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Our poems will wait to speak to us, as we hide ourselves away

confident, in luxury condominiums setting up our safety.

But in our living through the storm,

up on the ridge, with our breath taking us

into the wildness of words, where mustangs

fill our minds, and pine trees

are tossed by the wind,

with blizzards that shake loose

our hesitation

blowing through

the fragments

of our hearts,

we become confident

of our survival,

in a place where

our pens run free

and the poetry paints

the wildness

of our spirits.

I will be posting here once in a while. Thank you for reading!

The Quiet Still Held by Winter

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With our spirits gently drifting within and through

the snowfall,

our words will give shape

to our meditation,

even a poem worthy

of silent reflection,

in the quiet

still held by winter.

Opening Our Sails

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Dreams of poetry are often a matter of opening our sails

allowing the wind to fill us, embracing the strength

of the unlimited ocean.

The Light of Our Eyes

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If the light of our spirits is in our eyes, what visions do we see

when we read our poems?

are there any feathers

is there any power

from our wings

lifting off

from our pages?

Category: writing poetry