Within My Peace

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When readers come to my site what do they expect to see? Poetry mostly, or maybe a short story, but they are not really looking for political commentary. That’s not the way I designed this site.

And yet I feel things deeply, as many of us do, and much of what we see seems so wrong. How do we stop the madness?

Perhaps as artists and writers we are made internally to feel strongly and observe the insanity, so that we can articulate a response in a creative way.

And yet I hold back, firstly because of what I’ve mentioned. And secondly because I could easily spend all my time caught up in the turmoil of the times we live in.

I need freedom of spirit and mind to spread my writing wings. So I don’t need to solve the world’s problems, and especially not here on this site.

And yet you will on occasion see some lines on how I feel, hopefully in a natural way, usually condemning hate. I do think we should take a stand.

And finally, I am a progressive even though I don’t agree with everything they come up with, and that’s ok. I wasn’t always progressive though.

I think I can give a unique perspective because I’ve been on both sides of the aisle.

Within my peace I strive for a clear vision.

I hope you all feel respected and appreciated here. Thank you for listening.

Peace to you.

      

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

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In the Solitude of a Snowy Day

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In the solitude of a snowy day the flow runs so much better,

doesn’t it? An internal flame lit

leading our writing

from the heart,

from the peace

of our spirits.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Late Winter Rain

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Sleepily, before the morning dawn, mist begins the rain.

As I listen in the dark, ice crystals descend here

and there on the roof. Pitter patter,

then, in an opening of the heavens

the snow is washed disappearing,

a silent reminder

of the promise of spring

living in more than

our distant dreams,

as I pull up the covers enfolded

and fall back to sleep.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

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