Sharon L. Petek

Beulah, Colorado

Sharon has been writing poetry since she was 7 years old. She was a Rural Mail Carrier for 20 years and is now retired with disability. Being injured has left her somewhat less mobile, but she is a voracious reader, especially of Eastern Philosophies and Metaphysical-Spiritual Philosophies. She enjoys Astrology and is a member of the American Federation of Astrologers. Besides reading, she enjoys crocheting, playing the piano, writing poetry and being the Mother of four, Grandmother of seven and Great-Grandmother of two. Her poetry has been published through various Anthologies by the Pueblo Poetry Project, a published collection of poems "I'll Face The Morning Standing", magazines and newspapers and The National Library of Poets. She is listed in ISP's The Best Poems of 1997 and is a lifetime member of ISP. Sharon says, "Everyone is a poet expressing their poems through many diverse and unique rhythms within the Dance of Life".

SILVER THREADS

The fall of snow glistens in white
Like silver threads in a tapestry;
It weaves a winter's tale of old,
With it's silent imagery.

The fence-posts guard it's fortress bare,
Stoic sentenials woven in
Portraying some ancient nordic march
Of heroic deeds and men.

A shaft of gold cuts through the pines
Illumining the barren day;
It's crystal clarity dispels
My tapestry away.

My field is once more only a field,
Covered with snow so deep,
And it must be some illusive wind
When I hear distant, marching feet.

FIRST CAUSE OF MOTION

All that exists in Time of Space
Is as real or unreal as you think;
For the Unmoved Mover does not waste,
Divine Energy hurled towards the brink.

Where earthquakes tremble and waters range,
Or Men die a conscious death;
The Unmoved Mover does not change
One motion, one word, nor a breath.

Man scurries hither to and from,
Succumbing daily to fear and pain.
The Unmoved Mover does not come
For either a loss or a gain.

Impartial, from within us deep,
There is no judgement, guilt or blame;
The Unmoved Mover we ignore, yet keep,
Silently observes the Play of Life's Game.

THE BRIDGE OF SOULS

Of its three colors, the middle is red.
Being Fire, it consumes any unwary soul,
Daring to venture to Valhalla.

Man called it a Rainbow;
This alchemical, sun-gold,
Moonsilvered passage, that

Connected Odin's Soul
From Earth's plane,
Into Eternal Life.

Dancing around the Wheel,
Surrendering to the rhythm;
The Spirit-Keepers, as Above, so Below.

Lead The People,
In Ceremonial Circles of Continuity,
Towards the Sacred Space

Of Waken-Tanka
Through The Path of Souls,
Over the Rainbow Bridge.