That injured wing, still filled with the wind and lifted her,
even with pain and dried blood she was carried
soaring into the clouds, aiming for the sun
not exactly refreshed but it was working
both wings were part of her now
looking down, she refused
any sense
of despair.
Poetry and Image Copyright © 2022 rivers renewed
I drew down my hat a little further, and noticed the snowstorm was both beautiful and raging,
my own heartbeats were in my ears in the excitement of the wind,
and I took another step…..grateful
I was still standing.
The storm
gave me strength.
Poetry and Image Copyright © 2022 rivers renewed
When every tribe, language, ethnic group and nation,
begins to learn
to respect one another
harming no one,
the Earth will embrace
our survival, teaching us
to be gentle
and the essence
of life. Amen.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
I was surprised when you produced such a clean set of daggars, even after I told you I was hurting……
but you didn’t care, even thinking it was funny, and yes your death blows were devastating……
but each one cracking, opening up a space for light, to seep through and slowly…..
I could see more clearly. Yes I died every day, but eventually I figured out how to pull my shape back together quickly……..
the fragments, the frozen pieces, and I began refusing your kingdom of abandonment and strangulation……
and I walked away, never running, because to be honest, I’m not scared of you anymore.
Note: I’m fine, and my wife and I are fine. We all go through tragedies of some type, dont we? These feelings are expressing pieces of what it feels like……to survive.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
A storm rolled through the valley today,
as I listened, to the thunder speaking
I was grateful
for the peace yet remaining
in the mountains.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
She squinted through the snowfall, her determination burning once again, in spite of the howling wind.
She had followed the wings of the hawk, and now….was that a cave? They had been led here for sure….”C’mon my love!” she yelled to him, who struggled with each step.
He had saved her so many times, now it was her turn. They knew this was not the time for dying.
Once they collapsed inside the cave, they found it warm and safe. They had survived the ruination, the last of all wars, led by the spirit hawk, surely it was a sign.
The Earth would bring healing. There would be a spring, and hope…..was about to be born.
From the Apocalyptic Journal.
Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
Walk on spirit, walk on, past the shadows lingering
from our political ashes
beyond the rhetorical chains
walk on, and run into the safety
of earth and sky, where oceans release
our humanity, and poetry sings
a sweet melody,
into the center of our hearts,
where love is remembered
pulled out, rescued
from the lifeless
museum.
Walk on spirit, walk on.
Poetry and All Images © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
The darkest parts of the forest offer a refuge to the wounded
but only long enough to recover, until we are ready for the light.
And our kingdoms will rise again, banners waving,
carrying mercy to those still in the fight.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
A hawk shifts slightly on one of the highest branches, as he listens
to a mouse below burrowing, through last year’s leaves.
A chipmunk jumps here and there, bolder today
due to the density of the fog,
laughing at the hawk, because
all of the creatures know
there will be no hunting
in the forest, today.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
I was attracted to her red, and lived in her brown, but we didn’t stay there
our spirits quickly took over, with the honoring of each other, we soared
into the blue, embracing the white clouds and beyond. We traded
the golden rings and were bonded. Children, and our lives
were always blessed by the sun. I enjoyed cutting the grass,
living in the green, planting seeds.
Grey began creeping in, and there was a decided attack of black,
the darkest of black. She managed to hold her head above
it, surviving in the grey, thinking I was her rock,
but I was only a shaking leaf, it wasn’t me
it was nothing but mercy that pulled
her out. We lived for a long time
fighting in the grey, sometimes
seeing patches of blue,
and feeling the warmth
of the sun.
And now I enjoy the green again,
cutting the grass, seeing her
spirit soar, even though
some may mock
our trauma.
It doesn’t matter anymore, as we stare
into each other’s eyes, remembering
the golden rings, we traded
so long ago.
The journey – of loving each other.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“When we love people, we give them hope.”
Rivers Renewed 