BIRD WOMAN

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Bird Woman sits
in the mouth of the cave.
It is all jagged stumps
before her.
Vultures are perched
on the tops of the scrags
fixing her
with their beady eyes.

There are no nightingales
in her world.
It is all stark and bare,
and no soft notes sing.
But when Sister Wolf howls
in the deep dark
of a lonely midnight,
her heart rises in response
to her music.

Her head falls back.
From her throat comes a raw
and piercing cry.
She is keening;
for what is she keening?

What to do
with this feeling
of wanting beyond
brute survival?

She feels the prescience
of Something More
winging on the air,
but does not yet
have a name
for this longing.

One from 2010 to share with earthweal's open link. Bird Woman is getting faintly hopeful that maybe the US election will deliver us to more peaceful airwaves come 2021. We live in hope. I get teary listening to Obama speak - such an elegant man. I miss his intelligent leadership. Glad to hear him in Miami this afternoon.

SPIRIT IN THE STONE

 

photo by Christine Lowther

Spirit in the stone,
you sing to me
of bygone centuries
and ancient mystery.
Once you sat with other Grandfathers in the fire
in times that were so close to life and death.
Water splashed on stone and in the vapors
Spirit-prayers rose upon the Old Ones' breath.
The sacred smoke carried the prayers higher -
words of trust in sustenance and seasons -
up to the Spirit-world on wings of fire,
full of a gratitude that did not ask for reasons.
You once ringed communal fires upon the common,
where families came to take hot coals away,
carried them home to light their own hearth-fires
for needed warmth to keep the dark at bay.
You have known the ocean's roar, ice floe, volcano.
You have been a temple in another land.
Water and fire and earth and ice have honed you
til now you come and fit into my hand.
You connect my heart with all that has a spirit:
all that lies upon the ground and all that flies,
the Standing People and the winged ones,
those breathing peace and those soaring the skies.
Your ancient presence speaks an untold story,
has witnessed centuries of joy and pain.
I place you back on earth in testimony
to all that passes, all that will remain.

I have loved rocks all my life, feeling their connection to thousands of years ago. In my poem, I refer to the big rocks used in First Nations sweat lodges, heated in the fire, then water poured on them to make steam. In history, too, there once was a communal fire, that villagers would carry hot coals from to light their own hearth fires. Sharing light and warmth. I love that. For a time, I found heart-shaped rocks everywhere. I think that was a time when I was most heart-centered. 

Here in Tofino, and all along the coastline, there are a lot of black rock cliffs and mounds. The amazing thing is how wildflowers, small bushes and even trees grow out of the rock. Tenacity. Hope.

for earthweal where we are exploring the Spirits of Place. 

Paradox

 

Walking the beloved landscape with joy,
eyes caressing the familiar rounded hilltops,
the wind-sculpted krummholz,
my roots stretch down, below the sand,
across to the network of connection
beneath the forest floor.
Tapping into the secret underworld,
my soul listens for the whisper
of the Standing Peoples’ song.

It's a paradox - such pristine beauty,
one would never know the many horrors
going on around the world; the nightmare
of destruction humans have made
of this abundant garden.

I do not need to know what comes next
for, for me, what comes next is,
if the fates are kind,
another day like this:
blue-sky and wave-song,
grinning happy dogs running
into the waves, nosing my pocket
for treats. Everything all around me
is changing, but Mother Earth is
still growing, and I am still alive.

Time to trust that we will begin to heal
the planet’s many wounds,
that we will learn to live
as part of the wild, rather than
as the dominant species.
Time to listen within
to the ancient voice that Knows.
On a day like this, walking the beach,
the wisest part of my body
is dancing. *

 

Closing line inspired by Rosemerry Wahtolla Trommer’s last line in her poem “Above the Paradox Valley”: “the wisest part of your body is dancing.” The REAL paradox is that after writing this, and finally feeling some hope and trust in good days coming again,  a tsunami alert was issued after a big earthquake in Alaska. We don't know yet whether a tsunami will be triggered. I have packed a small go bag just in case. With luck, no tsunami. Stay tuned.

Tippy-Toes

 

                            Little cat feet go

                       Tippy-tippy-tippy-toe

                            Here, kitty, kitty

For The Sunday Muse, because i am too tired to write a whole poem. Lol.

You, the Seeker, My Lamp, the Moon

 

Little hummer,
irridescent rainbow in constant flight,
you whirred into the room at dusk,
thinking my lamp was the moon.
I swiftly clicked off the light,
to guide you to the window
where you beat frantically for a moment,
till you crouched in its corner,
terrified of the giant
whose hands were slowly lowering
to cup you gently.

You stilled, as I carried
your feathered lightness outside
and, when I opened my palms to set you free,
lay for a moment on your back,
surrendered to your fate.
Suddenly recognizing you had survived,
could once more see the sky,
in that same instant,
you were halfway 'cross the meadow.

Just so, do our hearts encounter
their similar terrors,
bring them down to size,
recognize the open door of freedom,
and, each in turn, take flight.

One from 2015. Just because. And shared with the open link at earthweal.

On Psychopaths and Energetic Shifts

 

Wolf

photo by Deborah Steel

Ha-shilth-Sa newspaper

This road we are on
is at a crossroads:
it is time, my friends, to rip off
our polite masks of denial,
complacency, disguise
or inauthenticity,
time to step fully into our real selves.

Now is the time to open our hearts:
to each other, to Mother Earth,
and to all her non-human creatures.

Now is the time, if ever we will,
to learn how to live on this earth
with each other and All Our Relations.

I feel a karmic, energetic shift
happening across the land
as we, the vast majority, resist
and reject the hateful, divisive rhetoric
in which we have been stewing
for four years.

Everything is one, so when we put
good energy out there, it has an effect.
We are watching a sick regime toppling.
Its centre cannot hold,
for it is built on shifting sands
of lies, greed and self-serving loyalties
that will vanish in the bitter wind
of a new, true dawn.
Humankind is Moving On.

This morning Kim Jong Un showed himself
a better man than trump, shedding tears
as he apologized for faults in his leadership.
Beside a red communist leader,
the orange man looks like
the buffoon he is. The word Sorry 
will never cross his lips,
even for over 200,000 deaths
on his watch. Self-love means
never having to say he's sorry.

This road we are on
is the heart opening.
It is truth drowning out
all the toxic rhetoric.
It is a woman of strength and grace,
with no need of  a mask,
as authentic as they come,
in dignity, saying "I am Speaking."

This road we are on
is the dawn of a new day we have been 
awaiting for four long years,
when the pendulum will turn,
and reasoned words and inclusive speech
will return to the airwaves once again.

We live in hope. For earthweal, where Brendan has us contemplating Masks.

When Feeling Homeless, Read This Poem

 Matthew Brodeur image

Fellow Traveler,

do you feel like you've been 

searching for home

for a lifetime?

Are you out there in the dark

storm-tossed and weary,

buffeted by winds,

with still such a long way 

to go?

Come home.

I'll put a candle on the sill

to light your way. 

There's a fire in the hearth

and a soup-pot slow-simmering.

Comfort and kind words await.

You need only arrive.

Come home, weary traveler,

to the only home

there ever is ~

home to yourself

once again.

A homecoming poem this Thanksgiving weekend in Canada, shared with The Sunday Muse.