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
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
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
The aorta spattered flapping against hope
Innocence the last gurgling sounds
Of a baby….
Fissures of unconsciousness
Drying as blood on a broken prayer….
Gaza….
The dead zone texts
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
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
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….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 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
