The Breath of the Forest

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I sometimes forget to walk within my healing,

boundaries not withstanding 

often preferring

the purity of winter,

the breath of the forest,

and hawk wings balancing

on my shoulders.

Scars?

What scars?

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

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Our Prayers from their Wings

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Even the hawks know, as they launch our prayers from their wings,

rivers run deep, in the lowest valleys,

running faster, and more beautiful

than ever before. And still waters

run a deeper quiet, bringing us

closer, awakening our spirits

to seek the river, and a hawk

to lift our prayers

from the earth to the sky.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

Sweet Dreams

In our dreams, our minds begin their journeys,

bringing us to castles, and hawks

and light drifting, flickering

down empty corridors of stone

and perhaps a lover’s breath

on our cheek

to hide us from the dragon’s wrath,

as our spirits learn to rest

we breathe easier.

Sweet dreams.

   

Poetry © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

 

Laughing at the Hawk

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A hawk shifts slightly on one of the highest branches, as he listens

to a mouse below burrowing, through last year’s leaves.

A chipmunk jumps here and there, bolder today

due to the density of the fog,

laughing at the hawk, because

all of the creatures know

there will be no hunting

in the forest, today.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

The Rider

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There was no saddle, as he gently nudged the horse forward – his favorite, the black and white, long mane so graceful. He shifted slightly, as he looked up and in one magnificent motion, they lunged – attacking the hill, the horse snorting his approval.

They aimed for the ridge, passing the pine trees and spruce. The smell overcame his leather. Higher and higher they climbed, with the muscles of the horse rippling, straining, hooves digging into the earth and rock.

And then they were at the top, where the large oak was on fire with yellow and red. And the eagle waited patiently in the oak, as he had promised. But it was the hawk that gently landed on his  shoulder, that encouraged him the most.

It was then that the poet knew, he was home again.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, Ancient Skies

Perhaps We Are Two Hawks

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In the hawk’s wings I realized I was a writer, perhaps just a few lines,

having been healed, having seen what love can do,

and your courage My Love, strengthened

me. Perhaps we are two hawks

lifting each other.

      

Do you know how much I love you?

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

“When we love people, we give them hope.”

Our Wings

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My Love and I, were leaning back in our chairs

looking up at the sky, drifting, barely awake

when we saw the wings, the power

of a hawk startling us, against

the blue.

    

It was over too quickly, as tiny blackbirds chased him

away from their nest, never relenting until

he disappeared. My Love and I joined

our hands, praying for the hawk

vowing never to forget

the power of

our own wings.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

“When we love people, we give them hope.”