SONG OF THE RIVER

Stamp Falls, Port Alberni, B.C.

Song of the river wild,

Song of the rapids leaping

Through the chiseled rock-walled chasm

Green with weeping,

A plunging torrent

To the ocean seeping

Song of the sea-green foam

Song of the white froth dancing

Sun-dappled baby wave-tops prancing

In the sunshine, all my dreams

Romancing.

Song of the green rock wall,

A vessel for the river's journey,

Guiding the flow along the channel churning

To the ocean and as it's

Returning.

Song of the tall green trees

Rootbound and stoic in the deep crevasses

Rooted in bedrock holding up the mountain,

Sentinels for every year

that passes

Song of the laughing brook

Below the rapids green, swirling and babbling

Huge salmon leap,

Fall back in shallows dabbling,

Plunge forth to lunge again,

Leaping and scrabbling

Song of the river wild,

You sing my tattered soul a new song,

Bless the silver beauty of this new day,

Make me know the path I'm on

Is not wrong.

Song of the seasoned soul

That knows the underlying message

Of the river:

Flow with me,

Not against me as we journey;

Travel lightly,

Not a taker,

But a giver.

for Truedessa's prompt at dVerse Poets Pub: The Song My Paddle Sings. where we are dipping our poetic paddles. Stamp Falls was my favourite place when I lived in Port, the wildest place me and my wolf dog could find. In fall, the salmon gather in the narrows, waiting for their turn to try to leap up the rapids - always amazing to watch.

WEARY WOLF WOMAN

There is a weary old

grizzled wolf-woman

come to live in my heart.

She wishes to speak:

"It has been such

a long hard journey

to reach this peaceful cave

where I can rest.

For years, I was hunted,

brought down many times,

till I managed to flee.

Once a forest burned around me

and, in the cold times,

I slept in snow burrows

and felt ice and hunger

to my very soul.

I have been wounded, and healed,

even trapped, for a time.

Oh, how I railed and flailed

against the bars of that cage,

how I howled for release.

When I escaped,

I pointed my nose firmly

towards freedom.

After that, I always traveled alone.

It was safer that way,

save for the years my black son

padded beside me,

till it was time for him to take

the wolf path away from

my side.

I cannot travel far, now,

and I long for the wild places,

the ocean's roar,

the forests, the wilderness

that sings through

my soul.

Now captive in my body,

and restricted by the end times,

I look out

through your eyes upon

my vanishing world."

As I sit on my porch swing,

Wolf-Woman is sitting here, too.

We rock silently

and survey the grey skies

of today.

We remember the forest trails

that we loved to wander,

wild beaches

stretching to Forever,

where we once joyously

companioned the tides.

We accept our weary

end of the trail

limitations.

But sometimes, at night, 

when the moon is just right,

you can listen

for our howls.

for Susan's prompt at What's Going On: Weariness. Which I feel to my very bones in these troubled and troubling times.

Child

A small child, 
eyes sparkling with joy -
few possessions,
but a heart full of love.

Child,
I am humbled
by your gaze.

for Sumana's prompt at What's Going On -  to write a short poem expressing an image. 

Little Blue Toyota

 

Every time I pointed the nose
of our little blue Toyota
towards Tofino,
you went wild with joy:
barking, leaping from front seat to back,
from back to front,
big tail whapping me upside the face,
me laughing.

Once, after you died,
I parked in front of
the 126 kilometers to Tofino sign
to take a photo,
and when I looked at the picture, after,
I saw your image, clearly outlined,
through the rear window,
big black body, white on your chest.
I had moved after you died.
Perhaps your spirit was inhabiting the car
to stay near me.

When the car died, I felt such a pang,
leaving it at the wrecker's.
It was our chariot to the wild beaches,
your home away from home,
our raucuous rides, me singing, you barking,
all the way
through the mountains.

(Oh, we were wild!)

Each time we left the beach to return to the car,
you, head down in sorrow,
always carried a piece of driftwood
with you, a memento
of our lost wilderness shore.

Were you still in the car
when I left it there that day
and walked away?

Life is so full of painful partings.
Yours and mine was one of the hardest.
But oh! what joy we had
for a time,
when you and I and the world
were young.

Dog of Joy

for Mary's prompt at What's Going On: Through the Windshield

WHEN WOMEN HAD WINGS

source

Far back in the time

when women had wings,

my foremothers flew.

They sat in council, governing,

around the communal fire.

Their eyes flashed; their utterances

were wise, and respected.

In those times, the waters ran clear,

and the land was bountiful.

In the crooning of the wind,

I hear the names this life has given me:

Walks Far Woman,

Woman Who Talks to Trees,

In Love With the Sea Woman, and

Daughter of the Sky.

Part of me has not yet

fully landed in this place.

My DNA still remembers

we come from particles of stars.

Our collective memory recalls those times,

when women had wings,

and our foremothers flew,

when living with the land

is what we knew.

This poem was inspired by reading Sharon Blackie's book If Women Rose Up Rooted. Here is a quote: "If women remember that once upon a time we sang with the tongues of seals and flew with the wings of swans, that we forged our own paths through the dark forest while creating a community of its many inhabitants, then we will rise up rooted, like trees...then women might indeed save, not only ourselves, but the world."

I am disheartened at what the current regime in the USA is doing to womens' and immigrants' rights. Posting this poem because that is what is on my mind. 

Time for the walls of misguided and toxic patriarchy to crumble. For the sake of the children and all earthlings.

WE WILL BE THE CHANGE

source

A nation is not defeated until the hearts
of its women are on the ground.
A Cheyenne saying


Aho, Wise Grandmother says,
it is time for women to raise their voices:
in song, in council, in power, in truth,
to speak for social and environmental justice
for all the living.

"Huff, puff," says the big bad prez,
"we are going back 50 years to the Good Old Days
and women may not speak. We are not, in fact,
entirely convinced you are people."

Aho, you are foolish, Grandmother responds.
We have dealt with men like you before,
and better. We have grandchildren,
and we need to leave them a world that is alive.
You will find us a formidable force,
for we are half the earth; we hold up half the sky.
In strength, we bear your sons and daughters.
Our life's purpose is to keep them safe.
Our hearts are strong and full of truth.

You can lock us up. More of us will follow,
for we do not respect
the ways of greed and death.

Your addiction to oil is polluting sacred waters.
Your addiction to money is melting the polar icecaps.
Your willful ignorance is imperiling the planet.

Your inhumanity to our fellow humans is abhorrent.
We refuse. We resist. Our wolfish hearts rise up.
We march for our fellow beings, for the voiceless,
for the suffering.

We are of Life, of Breath, of Memory, of Tomorrow.
In sisterhood, in motherhood,
we sing the Earth Mother's song of truth and justice.
Our hearts are weary but our minds are wise.
We speak for the immigrants, for the refugees,
the innocent,  for the wild, the animals,
the creatures of air, land and sea:
we march for all of Earth's beings.
We are strong.
We will not be moved, silenced or overcome,
and our hearts are no where near to
being on the ground.

for my prompt at What's Going On - Women's Rights Then and Now

If I Were a Swan

 

If I  were a swan
I'd be gone,*
my son, in his suffering,
sang,
long ago.

In memory,
down on the river,
a white swan glides,
bent neck, folded wing,
her mirror image
floating under her
on a river full
of sky and puffy clouds.

Still here, still suffering,
is my son,
who has forgotten 
how to sing.

In memory,
that swan
is going
going
gone.

Mirror image
Chris Lowther photo

*Lyrics from the song by Pink Floyd

for Sumana's prompt at What's Going On - Mirror