The Spreading of Wings Extended

The spreading of wings extended, the spreading of leaves

through tree limbs stretching,

I walk and breathe and move,

yet I am spirit too,

in the knowing.

Moving even closer

to a sense of quiet in my spirit,

I lift my heart

in silent prayer.

Poem, and Image, Copyright © 2020 ancient skies

Where the Oak Leaves Whisper

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On the trail that day, in the wind, where the oak leaves whisper, shadows of wings covered him, from the sky…

yet he was never afraid, even with the distant sounds of singing, of chanting and drums, he noticed shadows shifting,

so he stopped with a poem nearing its creation. Sitting on a large rock with prayer beginning as a spring,

light flickered and when he opened his eyes he found…..

he was the river, after all.

     

Poem, and Image, Copyright © 2020 ancient skies

How I Feel About My Wings

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Well I do believe that I am lifted, and encouraged by having wings and yet in these times of smoke and ruins,

they’re actually essential for our very survival….not the dark wings of course, formed in fire,

and the storms of our scars, but the wings shaped from the earth, and sky and oceans, blended…

so beautifully with our heartsongs.

Some say rivers are more powerful, but I’m not sure that’s true. Both can run through us and within us

bringing us hope in supernatural ways……

Ain’t that amazing??

     

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

Writer’s Wings

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Even when I’m folding my wings I’m very aware

of the wordflow waiting…

phrases seeking

another river,

another poem

from within my heart.

      

I’m grieving like many of you over the deadly racism in the United States.

Do we have a right to criticize other nations? It’s a sin really from our very beginning.

And I also grieve for how the far-right is ripping us apart. Caring more for their assault rifles than they do for people.

Closer to home my wife needs further treatments for cancer. The last round was not enough.

There will be more aggressive, more invasive treatments and that means more horrible side effects.

And we had a cousin die recently…..from cancer. This was the cousin that had the big family gatherings every year…

for Thanksgiving and Christmas. We’ve eaten at their home many times. He was in his forties, married with children.

I’ve shared these things because I’ve had the wind knocked out of me like I wrote in yesterday’s poem.

No, I don’t feel a need to stop blogging. I still have plenty of wordflow…….somewhere, but I’m grieving.

I just need some restoration, with my wings folded.

     

Poetry, Writing and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

The Sacred Feather

100_1051It wasn’t until he was near the top of the ridge that he distinctly heard a set of wings, it was unmistakable…

so he looked up into the brightness of the sun. He saw nothing…but felt the presence of wings.

Was it an eagle’s spirit, or an angel? He couldn’t tell. And then one single white feather, tinged with grey came floating down,

landing on his shoulder, and for some reason he felt….well protected. Then he remembered,

that feathers could be held as sacred…..he carried that feather in his hand to the top of the mountain,

then he closed his eyes, whispering a prayer. He didn’t know it then, but a very large shadow of wings covered him……

so completely.

      

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

Messenger in the Woods

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I was in prayer, walking deep into the woods that day, when I caught a glimpse of light out of the corner of my eye.

I stopped and noticed a shape fading in and out, a man dressed in the clothing of the First People.

Sea shells and talons hung dangling from his shoulders. Two feathers were tucked in his head,

tilted a certain way, which told me he was both a warrior and a messenger.

Was that a bird in his hands? When he raised his hands a set of wings was released, as he chanted blessings to the sky.

A strong wind began blowing through my hair, when I knew a strong peace had filled me, from the most ancient of times.

He was gone in a peel of thunder…..and I knew the Creator had spoken,

in a way

I could understand.

      

Writing and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

As the Wind Moves Over the Hawk’s Shoulder

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A solitary 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 turns his head, to listen to a murmuring sound close by.

A lone figure praying in the shadows, near the top of the mountain.

Peace is seldom easy, so the hawk kept silent, honoring his descendants, he turned away. 

Weren’t humans descended from birds of prey?

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, 2020, ancient skies   

Influenced by Native American stories of creation.