Sweat Lodge Song

Eyo haugo…
Ema koeed….
Shards of burnt spirit light all around….

Pieces of grey fur caught on the stacked wood

Old ones have passed here….

‘It is raining hard’
‘It is a strong wind’

Emaome ehmin
Sweat lodge song

For peter and Lynn.
October 30, 18

Beware

My grandmother whispered to me in a dream….
Beware the white cities…the ones filled with hatred and fear
The ones where the ones who can see are
Imprisoned by the blind….

The ones who live from the dead meat of others…
Devouring their eyes that are staring at them….

The ones who have arrived from the putrid underbelly
Of human waste….

Formed from the shit of their ancestral darkness…
Carrying the heads of their dead gods
As tokens of their devotion…

Eating the white plate of their deities
Forced upon her as a child..

She looked at me whispering

beware….

The white cities.

Tricase italy

For minimic,tsistsistas
Rena cook,cheyenne
August 7.18

In the Andes above Medellin

Why have I awakened here
With the watches of the dead scattered like eyes
On the floor….

Somethings that are left of me
Have found their way here

Where I am kneeling….
Praying for you….

Along this rain soaked columbian road

Where singing arrives out of the darkened trees
Small wrens

sitting among the tears
Of the missing….

Drying on the frosted leaves….

In the Andes above Medellin
8/3/18

Awakening

Awakening…..
From a twilight dream
of open eyes in a dark room

Watching….

Hope an emaciated silhouette standing in a burning forest….

Recurrent….

Our seized breath….

Guardians of an emptiness we cannot remember….
We cannot forget….

From the stronghold
Bologna Italy
10/10/18

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Beetle and Locust Singing on Facebook

on the occasion of Lance’s birthday.

Gerald Schwartz sang:

We are the brass locusts, as tides wane/ and the air is rich/ with what would rather be forgotten;/ and hard on the moving/ on these changing winds/ we are the eternal locusts sounding our sharp despair:/ This rasp of autumn, this rasp of heat,/ metal of prophecy but not of peace,/ awl in the ear to make us/ bondsmen here,/ brand in the flesh of mind;/ beneath the beat/ of sun, of light rain, of dazzling/ earth/ we lose the visioned,/ the encompassing eye;/ we are the brass locusts boring into the noon/ speaking for the alien/ and all to come:/ the fools lift their heads,/ remembering cold,/ regathering wisdom,/ as the sun grows old. …… The Very Best of this Earth-Arrival Anniversary to you! Cheers!

Lance Henson sang in reply:

I saw beetle…
carrying a piece of moonlight toward a secret place…
fish waiting there…
in the lighted water, out of our Great Mother’s womb,
weaved into this patterning of life,
where Sundance and peyote songs thread into war and sorrow…
laying these burdens at the door of peace…
hoping someone is home.
we are home.
thanks for the honoring.

silence is heavy

Silence is heavy
As it carries all its loved ones

Ones whose silence lives in the water
Ones whose voices begin and continue in a language
We have yet to learn

It sings in the between breath of the newborn

It weeps with the hearted ones whose prayer is the dawn

And the last breath of a child and the last breath of a
Mother and the last breath of a soldier
is followed by silence

We see our silence
Not as we knew it
And we wish to return to it

Though we are too changed….

From the dead zone texts
Poem number five

17 December 2016

 

 

 

the river sings

The river sings….as always
As all rivers….
The ones who nurture it…

It remembers you

In its flowing canticles of joy
It carries the grief of all who suffer for it

You who have bathed in it
Anointed now by its one prayer for you….

It flows for the ones who have no voice….

Their silence eternal…

Healing the broken shadows of man….

For the water protectors of standing rock

25 November 16

I burn silver sundance sage

I burn silver sundance sage….I burn red homeland cedar….
I send the ashes..

                              From a feathered tip

Toward the massacred

                                              Who are everywhere…..  

From the stronghold

June15 16

Memories meet one another on the way
Without knowing who they are

These are the times of passing….

Here are the lives that have returned
Who cannot remember their eyes
Blinking in the darkened forest….

Listening for their hands that are crawling toward
The light…
Where they left their promises…

In a broken sleep

Of moth flight…..

9 June 2016

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Memories meet one another