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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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

Aleppo

From the dead zone hymnal
Vanishing in the void 

Shadowless in our breathing

eyes closed as we listen to the

Disappearing
Vacant as rainless sky

Blood on the pale stones

Souls….

             torn

                                 Darkness..

3/15/16 

For Berta Caceres

A river has no name..the sound it knows of wind
And moonlight..
It’s singing self..
It’s long memory
Bereft of longing..
Full of human invasion
Human crossings
Animal crossings..

Rests in its essential movements..

Shaman know..

It is possible for a river
To sing inside a soul..

It is you..

For berta caceres

From the stronghold
5 March 2016IMG_0094