Riverside Park

Some days,

my eyes drift down like leaves

falling to the ground

they do not fight the wind

they say, “Thank you,” and move on.

 

Others,

they cry–

and don’t even know why–

it doesn’t feel like rain

it just feels like a mess I have made.

 

Listen as I run.

 

Footsteps left behind

they will fade with time

the sunset is the only direction I am headed in,

no matter the feeling

I keep moving

for life is about flowing with the storm,

even when it’s in your mind.

 

May 1, 2016

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You Are My River

Ancient Skies

Mountains and Rivers 362

When we first met, infinity didn’t know

we were just hanging on, trying to comprehend

the temperament of madmen, their screaming

but something happened between us

and inside of us, that turned us to the sun

even from the first date, it was your eyes

it was our heartbeats telling us to live

and move on, that there is a sense of self,

a calling to fit into this world

and that love does change even the numbness.

Our love became the mountain we both needed

and the fountain of life, flowing freely

healing every negative.

Yes I have faith

and call to the heavens

but most people know now

you are my river.

       

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

“When we love people, we give them hope.”

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A Poem

Sometimes,

it’s not enough

to write a poem.

……………………………………….

“Feel it on your back,”

she told me

from the church cellar.

 

“Know it by name,”

he whispered

through the garden;

he chased the snake

but only I could tell.

 

“Let it loose,”

she sang,

leading the students to the edge,

bird cage in hand,

lowering her fingers to the door.

 

Sometimes,

it’s not enough

to listen to a poem.

…………………………………………
“Jump into the sea!”

he screams to me,

head rolling with a laughter

children know at dawn,

no midnight mass approaching.

 

“Hold onto your hat!”

she begs of me

on the local F train,

subway cars dashing past

and claiming my wear with it.

 

“Don’t open your eyes!”

states the man

sitting on his box, NW side,

poking the sidewalk

with a stick,

just as he has

every Wednesday I have seen him,

handed him a banana and ran.

 
Sometimes,

being the poem

is not enough.

……………………………………..
“Open the box

dear-

and, of course,

open your eyes…”

 

October 3, 2015

Flow

A simple life

a solo life

is not a life off-course,

.

We must teach

our sails to turn

to a new wind

.

I want to learn

what it is like

to be accepted by my own skin,

.

I want to feel

what it is like

to pull the oars and steer

.

What it is like

to let hatred eat up

your skull

.

Only evil would know,

not I, not you, my sister,

we’re Love

.

Love the simple,

Love the brave,

Love the everything will stay the same

.

Now change

because even that facade will fade away,

the impermanence of all holds meaning

.

More than my hands around a cross,

Now I’ll get lost

in the mind that identifies too much with itself 

.

We are body,

We are mind,

We are soul,

.

Flowing

in one place,

together.

.

July 12, 2015

To clarify, I am and grew up Catholic, and I DO believe that the cross is meaningful.  I believe that Christian spirituality holds many basic truths as do belief systems such as Buddhism.  They overlap more than we may realize at the surface.  What I take away from both systems is that we are all connected to a Divine source (whatever It may be), that we are all connected, and that we must live in the “now” to access It.