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Tag Archives: dVerse Poet’s Pub

Nookwezigan (Smudge)

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For many years, I worked on a First Nations reserve. It was part of my job to become familiar with some of the Ojibway language and culture and to promote it within a daycare setting. Native American customs and spirituality have always intrigued me and still do. The legends and rituals shared with me by my co workers opened my mind to other ways of thinking. I admire the simplicity of thought and their many symbolisms of nature.

While attending a Native Early Childhood conference, I chose a workshop involving an outdoor excursion. We slowly climbed a steep, grassy hill, leaving gifts of tobacco along the way for ” the little people”. At the top we rested on large rocks and meditated on a breathtaking view of the valley below.  When we returned to the community center we sat in a circle to be “smudged”. Nervously I anticipated my turn as a seashell with burning sage was passed around the group. I watched as each of my native colleagues stood one at a time, directing the pungent smoke towards their body with beckoning hands. Drawing it close and gently pushing it away. Cleansing themselves of negative energy. I was welcomed into the ceremony, treated no differently than the rest. As I embraced the smoke I believed what they believed. This was healing.

 

bashkodejiibik

i am not Anishinaabe but

mino giizhigad

 

Translation:

sage

i am not native but

it’s a nice day

 

Written for Paul’s poetic prompt, “Medicine” over at dVerse Poets Pub.

 

 

 

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Chapel of the Holy Cross

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undeniable

my body immersed in

energy unrecognizable

filling chasms of my soul

tides of tears to remind me

that I am here

did I miss the journey?

I am overcome

 

 

Written for dVerse Poetics. Amaya Engleking is our host and she has asked us to consider various questions about holy places. In Sedona, Arizona, I entered this well-visited Catholic chapel built on a mesa. I am not Catholic. I am not overly religious or convinced of spiritual vortexes, but what I experienced there was very spiritual….to me.

 

 

Let’s Get it Over…Easy

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Egg me on

Come on

Tap me twice and

I’ll break for you

Find the faults that you’ve

Held me to

Watch the way that

I spill for you

Poke my yolk

Make me run

Scramble my thoughts

It’s still

All over your face

 

 

A quadrille is 44 words, excluding the title. This week you must include the word “egg”. 

Kim is our host. It’s all happening over at dVerse Poets Pub!

Image credit: pixabay.com

Self Combustion

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I’ve dabbled in darkness

the match, centimeters

from singeing

my fingers, my soul

A symphony of sirens

felt like a lullaby

why?

you’d have to look deeper

I’d have to share more

than embers greyed, tired

I’d have to breathe life

into the fire

 

 

Written for d’verse Poets Pub. De is our host for this week’s Quadrille prompt. A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title. De has chosen the word ” fire” which must be incorporated into the poem.

Image credit: pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

Dearest Mistakes

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It’s hard to write as

I crawl between your fingers wagging

Aging my way to judgement day

Repentance reeking of self righteousness

Heavy scents of sincerity

You keep sending me notes and epiphanies

Squeezing through doors already sealed

Making your points ethereal

My nemesis, always the witty one

Wagering with my very soul

You are dust, still stirring

From my careless catastrophes

I do confess, I need you less

But please….stay close enough

To haunt me gently

 

 

Written for dVerse – “Meeting the Bar with a Letter”. Bjorn is our host.

Ashen

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I embrace the grey. Where pavement glistens in the rain. Where clouds paint every inch of sky in shades of loneliness. I am touched by the greys of nature, stones peppered in hues of silver, the undersides of lifeless leaves, glistening beach sand and broken twigs.  My eyes wander off clear cut paths to spot the fluff of squirrels’ tails or the fringe of a bird’s feather now fallen. An ancient tree speaks to me in somber tones, begging to share his story. Does he remember the forest floors of ancient times? Or is it all a foggy blur? I caress the rough, dappled bark of a walnut tree. It’s ok. I’d love you anyway. Grey takes me to a place where black and white, wrong and right can mix and mingle into maybes.

 

 

dull sky, sparrow spies

the grizzle drizzle of grey

open wings take flight

 

It’s Haibun Monday, open all week at dVerse Poets Pub. Bjorn has asked us to consider grey as a subject for our haibun, ” to bring grey into a personal (non-fictional) piece of prose. Add to that a haiku (with season and nature)”. Feel free to join in with us.

untitled

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the murmur of an ice cold heart

beats to the rhythm of decay

dehydrated dreams die

withered in February’s wind

tears will never nourish

 

 

 

For Frank Hubeny’s “Meeting the Bar” prompt. The theme is brevity, specifically to write a poem with no more than 5 lines.  There’s still time to join in over at dVerse Poets Pub.

Image credit: pixabay.com