Within our survival, our wordflow can shift and change,
leaving us with a thin layer of grey,
yet the colors will speak to us….
calling forth that ancient mystery,
of poets pulling down inspiration,
from the sky.
Hope brightens
with the morning sun.
Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies
In our grey of isolation green plants and blue skies
become our relatable, our tangible treasure
so that these frames of ours
these empty shells we live in,
can be filled
with who we really are
and the beauty
from the earth and sky.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies
As ice releases its grip on the trees, bands of gold slice
through the forest, quicker than knives thrown,
it is a wonder how hawks can see
in the brilliance of the dawn,
and how the first flowers
can be so brave.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies
When the green things grow, our vision is expanded,
recalling our victories instead
of scars, as forests
are born again,
and each flower
fills us
with a sense of hope
and strength.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies
A mystical mist of cold air and warm, of thin ice,
and reflections of snow maidens floating
freezing the air,
the river goes solid, surrendering.
And we behold the glory
of winter
unrelenting.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies
In the grey dawn, in this time of in between,
in the silent barreness
of our woods underground
bumble bees draw close,
and chipmunks remain silent,
praying for a blanket
of snow, and to remember
where their acorns
lay hidden.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
In every season there is joy, waiting to be found,
carried on the wind
as the sun gently warms
our faces,
bringing a sense of wholeness
to who we are.
I’m having a wonderful time with writing, and photography. Thank you for reading!
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
