Even in the cold grey dawn, poets will often search
the shoreline, looking for a glimpse of wordflow, in the silence listening
releasing any bitterness to receive it as a soft rain begins washing their spirits,
stunned here and there, at the beauty of a simple phrase……or a line.
And somewhere in the wind…..there’s a story.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies
I was listening to NPR (National Public Radio) one day and the guest being interviewed was a Zen Buddhist teacher.
She is also African American and gay. I do enjoy much of the wisdom and philosophy of Buddhism even though I’m not Buddhist.
And this teacher said some things that registered with me. Such as overcoming suffering by an internal change,
by sitting and quieting our spirits, and by love, understanding who we are in the space we’ve been given.
And the change needs to be collective to impact our world.
In my younger days of being a super conservative person of faith, I would have condemned this teacher
and never even listened to her simply because of who she is, but instead I learned some things that day.
My point is we need to listen to people, accept our differences and learn from one another.
Diversity brings growth.
Amen.
Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
Note: The teacher is Angel Kyodo Williams
As my walk goes deeper into the forest, the silence calls to me.
Cooler air envelops the trees
covered by the shade, I turn suddenly when a sparrow leaves her nest.
Noticing the sunlight is diffused now
looking with my heart filled,
I bow my head
as a lone crow ruffles his feathers
disturbed by my sense
of quiet.
We do make peace and then…..
I let the words flow,
but is it really a prayer?
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
You didn’t really hear me when I spoke but I was aiming more for the sky instead of your ear,
hoping the words would ascend floating
around in the heavens replaying
in the form of a song,
encouraging us
again and again. You looked up
and feathers began falling reminding us of snow,
it was some sort of sign I’m sure
we stood there
knowing we were the prayer
our heart song riding……
on the wind now.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
I turn towards the light, spinning some words, singing a phrase
expecting the revelation, instead water falls on me
but I am cleansed mostly
fig leaves never hiding me
or the words I’ve been carrying for so long,
waiting to write. So I begin again….
We all have a story.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
As victory courses through our veins, yet hidden within
we can grasp a few lines,
discovering our light
and even a piece of hope
realizing
scars really can lose their power,
loosing control, or any influence at all
over who we are now.
Each of us river,
in our own right.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
The mystery of a poem dwells within our hearts,
as we connect and flow,
turning over words
until
we are a river
from the sacred mountains.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
Having rejected the blood of kings, and thrones, and swords called devils, he had always embraced the wind.
So he stood there, on top of the mountain with his arms outstretched and a mist in his eyes, remembering
the light he’d been given. And that his heart really could soar, in spite of the violence….. of our world.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
In the warmth and softness of the April sky,
clouds gently move sometimes
covering the sun
as shadows descend
covering the cherry trees,
but only for a moment.
Poetry and All Images © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
In the soft blue of a winter morning, the wind shifts
and snowflakes fall quietly, from tree branches.
Honoring the peace, I breathe in prayers
from the earth, a most ancient ritual
of healing the spirit.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
Rivers Renewed 