A treasured memory ~ this refers to an incident that removed any doubt I might have had in the healing power of the drum.

Healing Power of the Drum

When Ghosts Were Saints

I sat, hidden from sight,

hiding from memories,

observing,

yet something was amiss.

Her eyes still held the glint
of frosted diamonds
from the taiga's frozen night,

but also a pain,

a melancholy mist
that cloaked an emptiness.

Like a champagne flute
whose nectar had spilled
down a thousand
thirsty throats

those sparkles
were just a reflection,

two-dimensional
on the surface
of the vessel.

Lips curled into smiles,
but her eyes revealed
their ghosts.

Echos of laughter
parted their painted petals,
but it was yesterday's joy

and yesterday had become
a lifetime ago,

when the ghosts
were saints and
danced across
my mirror.

A lifetime ago,

or a lifetime too soon.

When Ghosts Were Saints

"It does not require many words to speak the truth" - Chief Joseph


Emotions are the colors that paint an otherwise black and white world. Through these pages its hoped that your day will be painted with a bit more color from my rainbow word-brush.

I was born into a ranching and rodeo family, have lived the life to some degree and while much of my poetry centers around the cowboy lifestyle, I do not consider myself a "Cowboy Poet". I do write about real life - the beauty, the hardships and the laughter.

I am an accountant by trade, and not so redneck as one might stereotype me to be, but I am fiercely proud of my country background and strive to portray the cowboy and others in real life situations and with real life humor and humility.

I have dabbled in poetry for many years. I strive to write on a variety of topics, however, as with most writers, I tend to write on what I know.

I know Nature, and I love to be consumed by her beauty. I know the winds, the mountains and the wide open prairies of home.

I know Cowboys. I was raised by one, grew up idolizing many and have spent enough time on the back of a horse to feel completely connected to the cowboy way of life.

I know Love. First love, lost love, pain and elation.

I know History. I study it, immerse myself in reading it. Particularly the history of the Native Americans.

These are the things that I write on. They are a part of who I am, who I was and what will remain when I am no longer here.

I was influenced at a young age by the writings of Robert Service, Banjo Patterson and Robert Frost, and therefore developed a love for rhyme and rhythm. A lot of my work tends to rhyme, although I do try to write some free verse and prose as well.
 
I am always looking for ways to improve my writing and would appreciate any constructive feedback on my poetry. I promise I won't be offended.

When my time has passed, and my breath has silenced, the mountain winds can carry my ashes over this wonderful land that I call home. I am Canadian by birth, Albertan by choice and a lifelong resident of the Rocky Mountains by destiny.

I hope you enjoy my writing.

Rory

When Ghosts Were Saints

apoeticinjustice

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