The Rhythm of the Waves

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I love how the ocean listens to our prayers,

sometimes shaping the words

in the rolling of up

and down, flowing almost

as a liturgy.

And somehow we listen too

going deeper and farther

in our hearts, 

with the rhythm

of the waves, carrying us.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Ghosts Often Keep Silent

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In the mist, in the density of fog, ghosts often keep silent

taking away even the joy

of birds chirping

preferring a silent forest,

yet keeping their presence

their shadows as they

blip

in and out, waiting

saving the scare

for tourists with too much cologne

and clean,

expensive tennis shoes.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Prayer Stone

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In search of the prayer stone this morning, there were no ancient sages whispering mystical words from the dark corners of the forest.

And the sun was dull at times, as clouds ceased the calling of flowers, even their strength was diminished. Shadows prevailed.

I closed my eyes, waiting…..and then a glimpse of a word. So I decided to write a poem today…..after all.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Opening Up the Sky

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When I was a boy, my bow was only made of plastic, but I could fire those arrows way up, so far, so far

into the blue that you could not see them anymore, lost

in the clouds until they descended suddenly

deep into the Earth as if an offering

received. Nobody knew

but I was a Crow warrior back then

simply opening up

the sky.

More beginnings.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Day When Thunder Was Born

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Back in the day when thunder was born and lightning let go of the shaking,

we did run with the wolves shoulder to shoulder,

through the forest bending

while the Earth felt our ascending.

Until that day – when violence

entered the world causing

our separation.

Yet some wolves still howl today

lamenting, longing

for their human brothers running.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

Coyote

Mister Coyote

In the pre-dawn light of deep blue, Coyote slithered through,

quietly making his way through the underbrush. When he saw the strange human on top of the ridge,

the human was bathed in the first rays of light, Coyote decided to hold his piece, to stay quiet knowing the sky would soon be open

and heaven would be poured out. Because this human had his arms outstretched

face tilted towards the sky, singing, praying, talking to God

all at the same time. Yes, Coyote did slink away back to his burrow.

And when the sky did open, pouring down the rain, Coyote heard the strange human singing

even louder, so Coyote closed eyes and went back to sleep. He knew heaven

was not something to be trifled with.

       

Poetry © Copyright 2018, ancient skies, Image from Vermont Public Radio