Naples , FL
The Island Of Man
Kicking Bear Productions
Painting - Acrylic On Canvas
"The Isand Of Man" was created by Native American artist Kicking Bear Barry in reflection of the sacred ways of man. The prayer warriors in full meditations. The canoe empty represents the vessel moving through the pulse of all life.
Artist: Barry K. Byers
Midnight blush with a flowers breath lingering upon my lips.
An elixir created from nature fell from heavens attic pouring sweet madness from an Angels pointed horn...I sipped from her navel the nectar of everl...asting light. Suddenly, here in the hallow of my tree, I hear the Kings golden trumpets as the battle is cleared from the sky. Rising with an oceans eclipse, I know more of the war will come first light of morning. Looking to the metal of my broad sword I sit back down. The buffalo robe wrapped around my bones is kind and sleep follows. Years pass, moments come and go but, lifetimes fade to dust. I am ageless for the healing of the forest; I am now an artful song of day and night. I see you as an Angel smiling, dancing sweet and bright. You find a sacred path and follow it to an opening in the wild brush of the forest where the sounds of thunder stir the suckling roots of all growing things. A place of gardens for Kings. You arrive free and brave.
I picked you Tulips flirting. Heart beats are riding trails of lightening.
Spring flowers are waving at the sight of feathered embraces near sky born angels. I wanted to kneel down in respect as we prayed in heavenly places. You must have known when I asked you to close my eyes for me with wings spread wide apart.
I watched you smiling forever.
I awoke inside the mystic illusion filled with a bright light even that very night.
You smiled. I cried.
There was a holy veil captured by heavens lingering soldiers of flight.
They were kind and showed it to me.
I suddenly felt untamed rage reaching out in shades of blue.
I had lost the sight of you.
In the mask of stillness, I felt my eyes still asking.
I chanted as a wounded child, whispering inside the Eagles dream.
Four winds never sleeping, slipped in like a knife where I once had been weeping. Falling into the body, I felt the beat of an aching heart. On the shore of all existence, I felt anchored and swayed like a burning star to hold my hand out for you. I saw you start to cry in your heart far reaching...I watched Hope lay gently in the blanket of your eye's. You spoke up to the voices of many skies. They heard your words of many tongues. Enchanted I laid back down. Did I make a sound of a kissing butterfly in the sweetness of honeysuckle? Rising clouds fell across my chest and lifted me high into the heart of many mountains where I was instantly hovering, sweating tears, lingering above all shadows below. It was whispered that I was a clay form from the mystic works of ancient dust. That my world was war torn in heavy metal made to rust. That creatures lived there of hurt and lust. I felt sadness in the murmurs of sky warriors deep inside the ranks above. They looked over the great brave hearts of love.
The Angels were looking over at me again.
Ghosts in kissing clouds seemed blue, yet never blinded and they never strayed too far away.
Again like rain drops in spring I was suddenly falling.
Snow feel upon my shoulders.
a warm finger pressed into my pulse to lighten my spirit.
Each part of me moved in droplets certain of the fountain of youth as I held my gaze searching for the rivers flow.
My shield of sounds fell with bloody talons diving with my hope climbing farther into Eagle dreams.
Someone in silver winged halo's was calling, pointing to the stubborn climb; She was immortal in view.
I felt tired and laid down in colored pillows created of milk white clouds.
The rainbows became my bed; an enchanted garden filled in many colorful rings poured upon golden circles throned in white light.
A smiling lady wearing many crowns called for me...she spoke in every tongue
I was not ready and stayed in the garden cover so comforting.
I suddenly found her perfume in my hand so I poured it.
The edge of silence was certain to guide my folding claws to provoke another time.
As a beggar for more, I was never cold, but trembling, I began rubbing my good morning eye's, I found a fallen feather on the floor by my bed.
Sitting up, I shook my still weary head.
Smiling at the window of light, the night now dead.
This sleeping breath was not my dream.
It was an Eagles dream deep within the artful dance of a heavenly carnival; painted by my soul and I was deeply moved beyond the reason for Earth and skies.
I was the adventurer awakened; kept from any nightmares; always protected far beyond all others sight; yet, somehow I drifted as a pioneer into the sky warriors sacred place in flight, inside the Angels breath of midnight...
Copyright 2010 All Rights Reserved
Creations by: Barry K. Byers
The Eccentric Poet
Protecting Wild Things
November 12th, 2010
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