On the Edge of Autumn

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On the edge of autumn, where winter borders the mountains

a clouded sky,

muted light

bring a softness to the silence

and I can see my breath,

as I gently shape

another prayer

to the sky.

        

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

As the Wind Moves Over the Hawk’s Shoulder

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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

As Snow Clouds Roll Down from the Mountains

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A quiet storm, as snow clouds roll down from the mountains

drifting over the valley carrying a few small flakes

meandering, swirling here

and there, and as I look beyond

the grey and white, I can see the shape

of hawk wings, his wings cutting the air,

his strength bringing

larger flakes, I quietly wish him,

“Good hunting my brother……”

as I zip up my jacket further,

and continue walking, now covered

in a deluge

of white.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

When Poets Climb Another Mountain

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When poets climb another mountain in order to set themselves free,

to be moved, to be filled with the words again,

there is always the danger we will not see

the meaning of the streams, the beauty,

the wonder of what was made.

May we seek to be refreshed

with a strong spirit of peace

before we start giving

the words away.

      

The words are only a gift, from the treasures

we’ve been given.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

The Creation Will Heal Us

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May the strength of our autumn flowers, and the beauty of the mountains

lift us beyond the words of hate and insanity. The creation tells us

of the greater plan, a stronger peace, that will carry

our spirits beyond the sins of the political.

Creation will heal us when

we simply

breathe it in.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, Ancient Skies