Ghosts Will Reappear

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Within the deep fog of the final days, ghosts will reappear with the smell of buckskin

and burning wood in the air, showing us how to make lodges, and the sacred art

of bow making, giving us the wisdom of medicine, and the harmony

of all things will flow in our veins once again,

so that the deep fog will no longer

need to hide us, anymore.

                                                                                                       

Note: This is part of the Apocalyptic Journal.

   

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

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Happy Easter, Happy Passover

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To all those celebrating Easter today – Happy Easter!

And I have a number of Jewish friends so – Happy Passover!

May you be wonderfully blessed during this very special time of year.

And if you don’t celebrate either day, may you also be blessed this spring,

as we all behold the beauty of the earth reborn. May hope live in our hearts.

By the way, did you know that the Last Supper was actually a Passover Seder? It’s true!

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

I Love the Wildness in the Wind

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I love the wildness in the wind, buffeting

as it roars

through the pine trees,

threatening us with snowflakes swirling,

moving the branches of the oak trees

as if to say winter never left

us at all.

I simply smile remembering

the flowers, and the light rain

that washes us,

and the brightness

of the sun that embraces us,

the new life born again, after

the wildness in the wind.

   

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

It Was Spring Now

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She walked in the green fields now remembering the curves

of her hand in his, and those times he gave her

a wildflower to tuck

behind her ear,

with the smell of trees

and the beautiful deluge

of robin song,

it was spring now

and she dreamt

of smelling his neck

and the protection

of his umbrella

as they discovered the earth

all over again,

walking in the park.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

In the Year 2154

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If we are still alive, will it be any better? or will the earth groan under the weight

of our hostility? When the soil is depleted, our food will come from the sea,

 where millions will seek to be washed of their anger, and to return

with a sense of the beginning – to return to being human

once again. Perhaps it is not too late

to start over. At least

we hope and pray so.

       

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, Ancient Skies