They gathered around the mountain;
the skies, roiling, stirred by the gods.
Cold the wind descended and blew,
the medicine teachers studied the skies.
Drums chanted their rhythmic beat.
Cries from dancers embracing the might,
called out to the skies to reach down
to touch with the hand of god light;
To bless them in their seasons to come.
Darkness fell upon the valley with rumbles.
Unabated, the call to the gods continued.
Glowing reflections dancing in the storm,
drops came in waves riding the winds,
touching upon those gathered in worship.
The light broke through the clouds streaking –
fingers reaching out, the power rising, sizzling.
The storm gathered its muster and roared.
Wind, racing, leaned into the crowds – blustering.
The drums held their rhythm, each beat sharp
as the dancers stuttered their steps and leaps.
Their souls revealed in the trance of their eyes.
Flashes strobe the night, stopping all motion.
It came in a sizzling crash onto the mountain’s dome.
Light, blindingly bright, lit the valley like day.
Everything changed in that moment, cheers rose
unheard beneath the clamor of the strike.
The blessing granted the celebration a success.
The season will be bright, with harvest and hunt.
The ocean waves are tossing the foam down on the beach, as they have for eons and yet to come. The clouds are held suspended across a gilded sky, a copper haze blossoms from the sun. Shadows, growing longer, drawing in the night, darkness flows as daylight ebbs away. Nighttime comes upon me and darkness swallows all, colors fade from pastels to shades of gray.
Deep in meditation to bless all sentient beings a light burns bright alone, in nothingness. Enlightened, seeking solace in the true reality, like a spark, realize the truth and disappear. An ocean of yet becoming, almost but not quite, ebb and flow within, and all around. Blessings ever flapping or spinning round and round cast out upon the whole of that what is. In circles without beginning lives repeat the course- in ignorance and forever they will spin.
The ocean waves are tossing the foam down on the beach, as they have for eons and yet to come. The clouds are held suspended across a gilded sky, a copper haze blossoms from the sun….
Muddy watered river flows,
gently drifting its winding path.
Farms and orchards dip in their toes,
bounded by a margin of grass.
To cast my line into its depths,
watch the ripples grow in size.
Water bugs racing to and fro,
speckled sun - a water color sky.
No need for fish to break the spell
just draw it in and cast again.
Breathe in deep that fresh green smell,
a quiver, a strike; the long pole bends
The battle is on - though fierce it's brief,
a run a pull and reel it on in.
Released back into the river - set free;
prepare the hook, cast it again.
Corn fields shimmer with a gentle breeze
birds sing songs as old as the wind,
the lane nearby long and straight.
Just draw it in and cast again.
When waking from this long suffered dream.
being the old man that I never foresaw,
I am grateful for those days in the sun
where as a child I grew both strong and tall.
By brian francis