Tag: love

Poem – When Love Blossoms

Poem – When Love Blossoms

When love blooms

A blossom, the soft petals opening,
beaconing like the
welcome arms
that enfolded me
in warmth and safety.

His arms, into which I run,
give me such peace
within the chaotic world…

and….

within me.

2/16/1993

Poem – A blush

Poem – A blush

A blush…
Hands glide over silken skin
As eyes touch
With the knowledge of
Ancient souls
Meeting their mate for the
First time.

A kiss…
The slow passion that
Merges one person
With another
Along a tempestuous
Journey of the heart
And mind.

A breath…
Leaving the body
In reminder that
Once the physical
Bonds are broken
So much more
Shall remain…

–13-Nov-2000
(27 years old)

Poem - A Blush - by Galen Skye
Poem – In and Out

Poem – In and Out

In and out…

Your soft breath tickles my faces
As I lay here listening.
Each quiet breath a joy
In its simple necessity,
Just laying here in the dark.
In and out,
And with each breath
The love in my heart expands.
I lay here and marvel in it,
Take solace in it–
Find peace.
And you, my sweet boy,
All warm with sleep,
Just breathe.

GSS May 2020 – Draft

Poem: Words (draft, 2006/2018)

Poem: Words (draft, 2006/2018)

Words are such a strange thing.
What is in a word that gives it
Such power…

How can one such thing hold
The meaning of a kiss
In its outreaching hand, just a breath
From your lips, and yet,
In the next moment, be once again
A simple word
Filled with innocent effervescence.

We wield words with abandon;
Tossing them about here and there
Giving them freely with little
Acknowledgement or even awareness of the

Consequences,

Repercussions,

Power,

That they can wield.

And as always more words to follow.

Want
Wield
Wait
Watch
Will
Wander
Wonder
Wish

Words.

G. S. Skye, 2006/2018

Everything has a beginning

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)

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 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

 Warmth holds me close - by Galen Skye
My own true Guenevere charging forward (draft)

My own true Guenevere charging forward (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.

My own true Guenevere charging forward
Poem – Enough. (Draft, 2018)

Poem – Enough. (Draft, 2018)

Enough.

I remember the protests of Vietnam.
Barely, but they resonated
in the conversations around me,
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 hometown
protesting the Gulf War.
I was 18—
Straddling that life moment between
childhood and adulthood.

I remember the flash of cameras, the
press of bodies,
people shouting rhythmic rally cries, and I
remember feeling self-conscious
as words or protest left my own lips.

When the pushing and shoving started,
I let the movement propel me to the
fringe of the crowd and asked
“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,
it left it bleeding away on the
the foundation of our country.
War took a more terrorizing and
sinister meaning than before.

The game has changed.
Life moved forward, though.
A different, less comfortable life,
But we adapted,
Secured ourselves with the mantle of power
And moved on.

And then, my world stopped.

Everything paused.

The pedestal of hope and security cracked.

Thirty-two lives gone,
One, gone, oh god—
There’s that bittersweet
memory of a past love,
shattered. The place in your mind that
past loved ones live, where you know they are safe,
goes quiet–
extinguished in an instant with
the sharp repeat of the gun echoing in the air.

The veil of security, that belief that
‘it couldn’t, wouldn’t happen’ to anyone you know
ripped away.
And all along with it, the echoes continue.
You can’t speak, for fear you might scream
and never stop.

The silence as the protests and outcries
are ignored slowly engulfs you.

And then more, and more, and so many more.

Children are dying.
Young lives cut to the ground
Before they ever had a chance to become–
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 must fight it, give me the enemy.”

And yet the world just kept turning
as the dust settled on the desks and in the
empty halls.

My son was born, and I let the love
of him wrap around me in a cocoon
of family and newness.
For a time, that sense of security returned.
And then it was time for him to go to school.

We have had wars and conflicts. We
proclaim to fight a never-ending
War on Drugs.  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.

It protects our “freedom”, more than it protects our lives.

It protects the guns, more than our children.

We have to fight this internal
War of indifference.
As war is a battle between different powers,
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 exist and
why compromise is king only when
progress is made

Again, hearts bleed on the day when it
Should be candy and flowers scattered across the floor,
not the crimson stains of horror and despair.

This time, the children are rising and calling for
change, because no one was listening.

Why is no one listening?
They keep dying and no one is
Heeding their screams.
They keep asking us for help,
to keep them safe, and
No one is heeding their call.
They keep praying and
no one is hearing their prayers over the
“Ching, ching” of political favors.

The children in Parkland stood up, though, 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?

And today, when nineteen more perish,
trapped in a room, no way out,
suddenly silenced.

Do you hear them?
Do you understand their sacrifice?
Can you continue to stomach your inaction?

Is it enough, yet?

Before more gentle voices are silenced…

Again.

-G. S. Skye 14 March,2018

Edited 26 July 2021 and 24 May 2022

On writing poetry…

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