poetry, fiction, nature, culture, compassion, love
Memories of our most sacred moments will often find their way,
drifting,
into our hearts
with our void seeking,
as if sunlight sparkles
on the surface of the ocean,
filtering
through the deep.
I wonder
if we are more than waves
rolling towards the shore,
curling
into a magnificent spirit,
crashing
then washing the Earth.
It is the light isn’t it?
That moves us beyond
the pain,
into the new hope shifting
taking shape
within us.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
Even in the last days of winter,
in an early spring snow,
the forest will hold on to
our sacred space
a place of meditation
and prayer,
so that our spirits can embrace
the silence,
and be strengthened.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
As I get older Lord God, I am more amazed at how good You are to me
and my family. I know this earthly life is but a mist, rolling in
from the ocean, and soon this frame of mine will be
taken away, only to be given a more beautiful presence.
May I always be worthy of being with You,
and may I always be – the man
You have called me to be.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
The beauty of nature often moves our spirits
beyond words
into the realm of prayer,
and meditation
even into the quiet
beyond
what we can see.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
“Love is the only reality and it is not mere sentiment.
It is the ultimate truth that lies at the heart of creation.”
Rabindranath Tagore
Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
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.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
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
