I am here Though you may not notice Above the trees I soar High within the clouds Looking down upon the earth. And so I guard you. The wind lifts my wings, I Coast down, my eyes closing As I sniff the warm Spring air. Tilting my head, I come to land My hooves clicking softly on the stone path. Though you can not see This glad is my home Far beyond the veil of knowing Into a land where my like reside Mystic in our presence Forgotten with time And yet we wait Folding my wings along my back I walk along the steams edge. My silken mane falls forward As I bend to drink; Crystalline liquid there to quench my thirst. And for a moment, I exist. With a great bellow I toss my Head back and rear up. Muscles stretch as I announce myself To the world, knowing none could hear me Yet wishing, just once, for some imagination. And then she was there. A wee thing. Golden hair falling to waist Smiling as she look directly at me. Seeing me. And enjoying the majesty of it. A wee thing, smiling.. She clapped her hands for me. Laughter floated toward me Upon the breeze, spurning me forward With great pride I raced on the wind Wings spread as it lifted me up. I danced in the sky as she watched me fly I am here And so I guard you. Though you can not see And yet we wait And for a moment, I exist. And then she was there. A wee thing, smiling.. I danced in the sky as she watched me fly
Everyone has a beginning.
On the tree of life we start
As too green leaves
Bright, yet fragile
Sprouting upon wobbly limbs,
Reaching for the sun in the sky.
It is a beginning.
With spring, comes strength.
Buds burst forward.
We are steadier,
As the winds bend us,
Rain revives us, and
The early years melt away.
It is the middle.
Blossoms slowly open
And the days warm—
So do we—Friendships mature
And the paths we’ve taken,
Grow more complex and take many turns.
Roads branch out in too many directions.
The sun beats down upon us and we bask in the freedom of it.
When fall comes, the
Roots of your past conjoin with each other.
They enables and entrap, and
As pages of life fall to the ground,
A multi-colored array of experiences
Scatter to the wind.
This is the wisdom bought and paid for with life.
Winter settles in and wraps
Around you as your roods grow
More and more tangles together
Until by spring again,
They have become one mass,
Showing lifetime of information,
Decisions made and choices taken.
In the beginning, spring
Brought us together with
The subtle beauty of a Cherry tree
From beneath the snow:
Its blooms peeking up
Begging to grow,
And the lifecycle continues
Until the last petal falls.
G Skye 2016/2017
The same dance we’ve always had
In the morning and before going to bed
Each step mapping out a certain choice;
As the time draws near I lose my voice.
Where will we be months from now?
When you have found your new niche, tell me how
To form a different sort of connection, still.
Can you feel the gentle bending of my will?
Will you miss me when you’re gone?
Shall the season pass till it has been too long?
And when memory serves us bittersweet,
Will you fall away leaving us so very incomplete?
And yet, as the path of fate looms before me
I know the changes will bring to me,
Chances I might have never known.
But I still wonder, will you miss me when you’re gone?
The warmth encompasses me and holds me close
Tight within the arms of awareness, and
Humbling in the sincerity of tenderness.
A candle flickers
Bringing within its light your gentleness.
The slight curve of your face,
The edge of your smile,
Draws me in
As you look down at me with sleepy eyes.
Within those eyes I see trust,
And faith in a self I am unsure of.
Yet it is there, that simple truth,
That absolute belief of someone, me,
To achieve a greatness I have only imagined.
Within your arms, the possiblities are endless…
And I can dream.
Growing up we read the fairy tales, and
Dreamt of a lady and lake.
Visions of knights valiant in mail
Charging down a winding path
Excited our imagination
As mists floated at the river’s edge.
Whispers of adventure’s pledge were
So close you could feel it
Swirling around you with poignant destiny.
How does one tell a person
That you admire their very soul?
It is not a dress to say
“Oh how pretty’
It is not even a deep baritone voice
That trembles throughout your very being
As the notes lift your mood to something manageable,
In times of stress and trial.
Though almost like that.
How do you explain that the words spoken
Open a window to that soul,
Touching something so deep within you?
That you feel as though you have been given
Ever so slight –
something to ponder–
Before you hand it back,
Years later when time has faded
All the childhood dreams have turned somewhat jaded
You stand tall, vibrant and true,
So much, like in the fairy tales we once knew.
So, again, how do you
Remind them, that, even with a distance long
And time that moves so fast,
That every day you still are inspired.
The answer, I find,
Is simple and complex and true:
Love of family,
Love of Spirit and Soul.
You have stood strong,
Been bent, but not broken,
Determinedly carving your way
To your own personal destiny.
Love fills my heart to each time I see
My own true Guenevere charging forward
Mighty and ethereal, as the Lady,
Mother, Friend, and Priestess
I have always known you to be.
So obviously, we have moved my site to its own domain and I am really excited about merging my Poetry with my Fiction and Essays. With a poetry book coming out over the summer and two fiction collaborations happening, it just seems like the best time.
Over the past couple of years I have been asked if I could post about BEING a poet along with posting my poems, and so since people have asked, that’s what they will get. I am looking forward to sharing a lifetime of anecdotes on being a poet, even the part where it snuck up on me that I was!
Meanwhile, I have several new poems to post this week, and I hope you enjoy them and that you enjoy some of the essays that I will be posting from years past. They are going to be archived on the site and when we get them up, I’ll let you know!
Mind you, this is going to be a new adventure, but given that I have been recording readings of some of my sonnets (using Original Pronunciation for Shakespeare), I am starting to get a better feel for doing it and a slight better comfort with the entire idea. What it comes down to, is that I even I prefer to sometimes hear a poet read their words, so why should I be surprised that others want that of me, too. Keep an eye out!
Whispers in Twilight
My upcoming book “Whispers in Twilight”, a collection of poems written through out my life time up until now, spanning from 1985 (I was 11) to 2016 should be ready for Launch by August. We had some technical difficulties, but I’m feeling pretty confident that I can get things going now that the sun is shining and the ice has melted away.
As things come together, we will have more information, some promotions and a lot of poetry written on the fly to keep me from loosing my mind!
Have a wonderful day and enjoy Spring (it just got here in Michigan.)
I remember the protests of Vietnam.
Barely, but they resonated
In the conversations around me,
The glimpses of students waving signs
That I couldn’t read.
This, at the beginning of my life.
Democracy apparent as people
Gathered to protest a
War that wasn’t called a war.
What is war, then?
This conflict of words that clashes with
Fences with our vision of a free and
Powerful country seems to ignore
Many of the responsibilities that power entails.
I remember standing at the steps of
City Hall in my home town
Protesting the Gulf War
Straddling that life moment between
Child and adulthood.
I remember the flash of cameras, the
Press of bodies,
People shouting rhythmic rally cries, and I
Remember feeling self-conscious
As those words left my own lips.
When the pushing and shoving started,
I let the movement propel me to the
Fringe of the crowd and asked myself,
“Why am I here?”
“Why do I protest?”
I had no answer,
So, I quietly walked away and
Back to my dorm room.
Sitting on my bed in silence
I pondered my freedom of choice.
When planes dove like birds from the sky,
Their targets not just our people, but
Our sense of national security, too,
Leaving it bleeding away on the
Foundation of our country,
War took a more terrorizing and
War can sneak up on you, now.
The game has changed.
Life moved forward, though.
A different, less comfortable life,
But we adapted,
And then, my world stopped.
Thirty-two lives gone,
One, gone, oh god—
There’s that bittersweet
Memory of a past love,
Shattered; the place in your mind, that
Knows somewhere the people you loved are safe,
Extinguished in an instant.
The veil of blissful ignorance and security ripped away.
The silence as the protests and outcries
Slowly engulfs you.
And then more, and more.
Children are dying.
Young lives unlived–
Just a hook on the wall, where a
Small coat still hangs, never to be worn again.
“Where is the War now?” we asked,
Ready for battle.
We have had wars and conflicts. We
Proclaim to fight a never-ending
War on Drugs, and yet,
We quietly walk away as
War is waged
By our citizens
On our Children.
This is more insidious than war.
This is our children dying
While the government that
Swears to protect us
Brandishes empty promises like a
Sword missing its edge.
We have to fight this internal
War of indifference.
As war is a battle between different powers
And the time to take back the
Power of our country is now.
The power must shift and the
Children of this country should be our first priority.
Our future depends on it.
This is a battle worth fighting.
This is why protests exists and
Why compromise is king only when
Progress is made.
Children are rising up and calling for
Change, because no one was listening.
They keep dying and no one is
Heeding their screams.
They keep praying and
No one is hearing their prayers over the
“Ching, ching” of political favors.
Today these Children stood up and said,
Did you hear them?
Did you see them?
Do you understand that this is
The battle you need to fight today?
This is the stand you take?
Before the voices are silenced.
-G. S. Skye 14 March,2018
Yesterday, I posted a poem here and to FB, etc. I deliberately indicated it was a Draft, in part because I wasn’t sure about it. Ironically, the cadence of the poem felt to me much like one that I wrote in 1987 when I was 14 and I worried that it would feel that way to others.
Yesterday my poem reached people in surprising ways, I got contacted by several people (even my own mom) about it and for different reasons.
This is why I publish my poetry. I write poetry because I am compelled to, I publish because every once and a while, it touches people.
I wish i could say
That it will all be okay,
And that the worry and fear
Won’t consume you.
So many years of the ups and downs;
Of trying to handle it all.
Just remember that this time
You are not alone
Oh my love, my heart and joy,
Would that I could
Wish all of these worries away,
And be a balm on your tired soul.
Instead just know, I am here, my love
And here I shall be
Whenever there is the need;
For oh how I love you so.
G. Skye, 2018 – Draft
I get asked this often, and while I am not certain that I have a definitive answer, I’m going to attempt to elucidate how poetry is part of my life and why I write it.
I don’t know that I ever looked forward at the life that I planned for myself and said “I want to be a poet when I grow up.” Astronaut, yes. Doctor or Firefighter, most definitely. I even eventually knew that I wanted to be a WRITER… (with all the teenage drama that idea entailed at the time.) Over the years, I became an Anthropologist and Researcher as that is in my bones, and wrote a lot on the side. I wrote my first poem when I was 8, at least that I remember, and I don’t think I every really stopped writing poetry since. It has always been a way I express myself, a way to get my thoughts down and to release an emotion, memorialize a memory or have a bit of fun.
Several years ago, I helped train students for Poetry Out Loud, a national Poetry reading competition– extemporaneous speaking with poetry. It is possibly one of the most fulfilling experiences with poetry that I have ever been part of and I carry it with me to this day. A few years later a friend casually asked me what it was like being a professional poet. I blinked somewhat idiotically at her and asked her why she thought I was a POET. She laughed at me, rightly, and pointed out that not only have I taught poetry, worked on coaching with Poetry Out Loud, but I also had about 400 poems ‘under my belt’. She then asked me how in the world I could not think of myself as a poet.
So, I of course had to think about this… and when I found myself to compelled to write poem about it, I realize that she might be right.
So, now that I acknowledge myself as a poet, rather late in the poetical game of my life, I have focused more on my poetry and spent time talking about it more to other groups of people. My favorite is when I get to talk to high school kids about poetry. They ask the most wonderful questions. My favorites: Do you need to be educated to be a poet? Does it take discipline to force yourself to write poetry?
These for me are the fundamental things that help me grow in my poetry. I have already said being ‘creative on demand’ has been the hardest job I have ever had. Now that I work full time at home, writing, editing and researching, sitting down at my desk and saying “I’m going to be creative today” can be such a struggle. It is important, however, to do just that. You have to create the habits of sitting down and writing if you want to keep things flowing continuously. While I don’t write poetry everyday or even every week, although I’m challenging myself to try that right now, I do try to write every day in some fashion. The process of writing keeps my mind sharp, it keeps me from loosing my verbal lexicon and allows an easier access to my more philosophical side.
I tend to write my best poetry after I’ve had time to think about what I am writing. I rarely writing in a moment of extreme passion, but rather my poetry is that of reflection. When I do write in ‘the moment’ it is often an extreme situation. Poetry, for me, is an expression of a single moment, and therefore once the poem is written (or sometimes even before it is finished) the moment has ended. When I write reflectively on something, it allows me to look at a situation or moment from more sides than I would when I write in the immediate flush of emotion. Each way is good and produces something wonderful and unique. I’m a happy poet, so there too, I tend to not write when in a bad or maudlin mood.
So, that’s why I write, and how, I suppose. Right now I am challenging myself to use my poetry to address things in our society and culture that need a spotlight pointed on them. I’m also started a new challenge to spend a year writing poems in Iambic Pentameter (Blank Verse). If you want to be a poet, look to those who have gone before you, learn their style and skills. Don’t learn them to copy them, learn them to expand your horizons and give you more skills and ingenuity to work with.