after the climb
I rest
inhaling indigo
of cloudless skies
exhaling all but my soul
the sun is an ocean
wrapping me lukewarm
politely peeling the pieces
fears flaking
sorrows shedding
I lay them out
stone cold on the mesa
to wilt and wither
A “quadrille” consists of 44 words, not including the title. It is a favourite form over at dVerse Poets Pub. This week we are including the word “peel”. I am pleased to be your host. Feel free to join in. Doors open at 3 p.m.
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.
My heart still beats
Though stitched and sewn with
Threads of hope, frayed
Robotically repaired
In rhythmic mode
Patched up places
Where entry wounds gaping
Took hold of every breath
My heart still beats
Tick tock, tock ticking
Pulse belongs to them
Lovingly tended
Far from mended
But they are the blood
The oxygen saving
My life, my soul, my love
~dedicated to my father and my brother~
Today at dVerse Poet’s Pub, Marina Sofia asked us to “consider what does it take to shatter your world and how do you make it whole again”.
This is where the sun shines
In lower ground
On weeds and weary souls
We’ve all but given up on
Beacons of hope
Brilliantly borrowed from
Selfish fools unable to
See the light
This is where the sun shines
On shattered hearts
Wide open to receive
The greatest gold of all
Stone heart, you never knew
Faultless you were in realization
Clarification, inspiration
It’s how you grew
Bleak start, without the love
Basics were all they thought you needed
Stimulation, validation
Only words heard of
Fall apart, is all you do
Methodical daze of disintegration
Inflammations, resignations
That’s what you knew
Beaten by your own recall
Pictures lie in presentation
Allegations, provocations
I believe it all
Repeat, rewind, reverse the reel
Trapped in a time of condemnation
Deprivation, hibernation
Unable to feel.
YOU ARE FORGIVEN
mishunderstood 