Everything has a beginning

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

 

 

I’ll miss you when you’re gone. (Draft)

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?

 

2001

The warmth holds me close… (Draft)

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.

2009

How do you tell a person… (draft)

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’

Oh, No.

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
A piece,
Ever so slight –
something to ponder–
Before you hand it back,

And smile.

Here.
Now.
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.

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.

Poem – Enough. (Draft, 2018)

Enough.
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
Expectations and
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
At 18—
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
Sinister meaning.
War can sneak up on you, now.
The game has changed.
Life moved forward, though.
A different, less comfortable life,
But we adapted,
Secured, and
Moved on.
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,
Goes quiet,
Extinguished in an instant.
The veil of blissful ignorance and security ripped away.
The silence as the protests and outcries
Are ignored
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,
“ENOUGH!”
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?
Enough.
Before the voices are silenced.
Again.
-G. S. Skye 14 March,2018

On writing poetry…

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.
It didn’t.
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.
-Galen

Poem- Wish I Could Say (Draft, 2018)

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

Promise Kept

Promise kept
A single stem lay in my palm,
The bloom vibrant in this unsettling calm.
Storms begin to brew.
Determination drives my will
To pluck apart these petals few.
My tribute to you at last.
For you, these petals lay upon the sand,
Waiting for the water to rinse the shores of land.
Footsteps echo from the past.
Slowly each petal flows out to sea;
Each taking with it a part of me.
Lightening flashes in the sky.
Electric currents pull me to
Water’s edge and remind of you;
Your will as strong as thunder.
As the last petal to the horizon rides,
Upon waves that come in with the tides,
I free your soul again.
Laughter dances in memory’s air,
As the petals finally disappear.
And with them the ache lessens.
Promises kept, and so you see,
I have kept within the better part of me
My favorite parts of you.
– a draft

Poem: 1992 – Together, a hope… a dream…

Together, a hope… a dream…
I long to love you
And let you love me.
To have you so close… so near…
To wake up with you beside me
When dawn starts to appear.
The time has come, though,
Where night draws near.
And with the fading shadows
I think of you and my past
Haunts me…
My hope for us runs thin.
I won’t give up that small glimmer
That says we will be together
To share our hopes and dreams again.
I want us to again to weep,
To cry, to rail, and to laugh together.
I wish for this
Because life means nothing
Without love together with
A hope
And
A Dream…
*excerpt of longer 1989 version, revised 12/1992
 

Poem: 1993 – I hold the petal of soft velvet…

I hold the petal of soft velvet
Between my fingers.
It possesses a fragrance that
Stands still in time;
Taking me back to my childhood
With memories of my grandmother’s perfume
Or forward to a walk along the paths
Of a rose garden at a grand estate.
Such a simple thing of beauty alone
Becomes magical when
Given by a new love;
Almost as enchanting
As the feelings that bloom between two souls.
 
2/16/1993 (BM)
(edited 8/4/2017)