This Beautiful Day Was Not Made For Me

Antibiotics and steroids

This is my routine

October day near eighty

Not for me

 

Take the dogs for a walk

See my skin revolt

Feel my mind shrivel

Lump in my throat

 

I love the fall

It’s usually for me

My energy returns

Not this year

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A White Tail Feather

The still of the lake calms my soul
I wait beneath the willow.
A breeze moves through her branches
lightly touching my face,
sweeping the hair from my eyes.
An Eagle calls in the distance.

My mind races with pictures and words,
adventures and quests of self and we.
Along the horizon lined with dark blue waters
bursts colors of red and orange.
I offer my asemaa.
An Eagle glides above calling my name.

Morning rises as I answer my old friend.
A gentle ripple forms on the lake
as the wind delivers our greetings to the other.
His calls are carried to my open arms.
His words pass through me.
I hear the call of an Eagle leaving with the wind.

He lands on the broken arm of an ash
on the sands of the shore near the willow.
Praising me for walking the path
many have guided me towards for years.
A choice of life destined to be.
My first tracks are laid down.

He lifts his wings and stretches
to a magnificent size of honor and respect
wisdom and truth with humility.
He tells me to listen and be open
to what crosses my path
for this is just the beginning.

Rising with every flap of his powerful wings
he lifts into the blue sky calling his goodbye.
I answer with gratitude and love
as I notice something lying on a rock.
He has left for me a piece of him
a white tail feather.

This poem is for One Shot Wednesday held by One Stop Poetry. To read other peoples works click here

~Two Elements~ revised

The wind collects secrets
as he soars through the lands.
A river gathers answers
as she travels created paths.

Secrets journey distances
whispered to the trees.
Answers roll with currents;
delivered to the waters edge.

Distances haunt a man
that knows of a secret.
Currents draw a woman
troubled by a question.

A man walks among the trees
listening for a whisper.
A woman sits on a waters edge
raking the earth for the answer.

The trees are the doors
to all the many secrets
caught amongst the air
blowing in the winds.

The banks, edges along her path,
are the keepers of the answers
that move with timeless waters

traveling down rivers.

©River 7/10

The poem is written in a  form called  ‘paradelle’.  This poem is a revision of the first ‘Two Elements’.

Windy~ June 16 on the 17th

Worms pink in puddles

Mosquitoes need to eat too

This walk a brisk one

Windy~ June 15 on June 16

Columbine in bloom

Redwing Blackbird fears no man

Lovely walk this eve

Windy~ June 14 (part deux)

See the line of clouds

Feel the wind blow on my heart

The call a whisper

Ziibi~ June 12

Lunar Moth~
Have you been fortunate to spot a Lunar Moth?
There are so few of them any more.
Even when they were plentiful in the forest
Lunar Moths are great at blending
Into their surroundings.

One is lucky to see these magnificent Moths
The size of a small bird
The colors amongst the black of night
The delicate beauty of Nature.

I have seen one I almost missed.

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