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POETRY
I wrote a lot of poetry as a teenager but I rarely shared it with anyone. I didn't take it seriously, it was just what I did to release some of the darkness. I wasn't an artist, I wasn't a creative, I wasn't a poet. I was just a rez girl trying to make sense of this world. Trying to understand why being native made me a target for prejudice and labels. I was already so many things before I even opened my mouth. I kept it closed a lot.
I came back to poetry in recent years. I began rebuilding a relationship with this art form. It's where I can weave together my experiences, my culture and teachings, my spirituality, my curiosity, and my love of words. Reacquainting with poetry has meant reacquainting with my creative self. I think I left her behind for a while. I've missed her.
I hope you enjoy, feel inspired, connect with my words or with me...get something from the poems I share here.
WE ARE
The returned earth of untold ancestors
The blood and clay of our Mother
I am, you are, we are
The scattered stars that gaze upon us
The fair counsel of our Grandmother
I am, you are, we are
The rapid passage of guiding waters
The cleansing roar of our Grandfathers
I am, you are, we are
The soft moan of gentle breath
The fierce bellow of the biting gale
I am, you are, we are
The propitious light of days anew
The ceaseless fervor of brotherly love
I am, you are, we are
The enlightened myth and the trying truth
The disorderly entanglement of abundant story
I am, you are, we are
The carnal
The celestial
We are
EARTH BLOOD
Earnest in her call to connect
Excitement builds, she rushes in
Nestles close and pulls back gently
Sweeping caress, joyful retreat
Body full she spreads her love
Return, repeat, receive, reward
Ceaseless act, a demonstration
Of a love unconditional
Spirits bonded of nature’s will
All life shall be witness to her
Lead followed to peace abound
TO FIND ME
It’s taking too long for me to find me
Deep in the timber behind this old tree
The one that weeps, he guards my soul
Says, “the world has forgotten your sacred role”
Even here, I hear the babies’ soundless cries
In the night as they want for a new sunrise
Even here, I hear the chill of a mother’s wail
Turned to shell as she walks a nowhere trail
That tree holds secrets, too many to repeat
The limbs they fall heavy, hang to touch my feet
Even here, I hear choke of child’s buried heartbreak
Dirt shoveled on with not a mark or a stake
Even here, I hear the staunch of a defender’s brave lead
Martyred and jailed for tyrants’ profit and greed
Joints become feeble, I brace for the fall
He begs, no, despite the weight you stand tall
Even here, I hear the snuff of a sister’s last ember
Missing and murdered for her kin to remember
Even here, I hear the tears on the broken asphalt
Disappearing with her, only remnants of salt
Stand on those stories, on the truth in the soil
Be a voice, be a fist that brings the cycles to foil
Even here, I hear the end of my brother’s short story
Institutions played their part and they’re not even sorry
Even here, I hear currents of others who seek solace
No more, rise up, we are not what they call us
The fire is burning, fanned by sacred winds
I will no longer suffer for the affliction of THEIR sins
Even here, I hear the chords of old native tongue
Prose of times bygone still live here among
Even here, I hear the shimmer of waters blessed
Still flowing of love of ones journeyed west
Take care in your steps it is best to go slow
You cannot stay here where life does not grow
Even here, I hear the prayer of those once beheld
Sung like a lullaby softly rising from the well
Even here, I hear the chants of the watchful star
The ancestors reminding me who I am from afar
Seek the survivors, the spirit that breathes on
Beyond odds it still carries our people along
Even here, I hear the songs of generations ago
Precious vibrations from sole to soul flow
Even here, I hear hope wake us from the numb
Joyous bustles nodding to the beat of the drum
Make way to the clearing, they wait for me there
For me to find me, I finally know where
INSIDE VOICE
Spoke at
softly
br/ok/en words
Choke on
quietly
LURID cues
Strike off
promptly
s-u-m-m-o-n-e-d calm
Fall out
sh
ar
pl
y
Tragic wrong
RETURN
Standing stone, she coolly gestures
No fear, see, she welcomes the moss
Trust, for a final time, believe
The path it winds but does not roll
The way unbound, absent the fool
All but a stranger, out of sight
Stiffens, still the gaze is held soft
Truths unsaid, spill from guarded lips
Cheek pressed firm against the torso
I beg his remembrance, he must
The willow weeps, relief cleanses
Grateful for the silence that speaks
Song floods the air, willow sways
Ascend, cradle upon his bough
Pacified, cycles are made still
Gliding on ribbons of the gale
Ferried into the place between
The blood that heals, it brings the calm
It chokes and steals the tired breath
Unwanted whisper touches light
“In the soils and in the seeds
Give to it life, duty will free”
Grandmother please! Do you hear it?
The stars are chanting lullabies
The constellation calls my name
Light thrusts, compelled to view the east
“Return, the season is in change”
Serpent summoned to bring me home
SAGAS OF BLACK ASH CREEK
The blanket now bathes, glides across grey stone
Awakening more life than the present one alone
The rock holds old song, still eager to share
Ancient fire ash, the residue of aged prayer
Hazy vibration, ode of heartbeat or drum?
Listen intently, there is more yet to come
Copper toned footprints in pattern of dance
The clay carries her duty of fond remembrance
Of travelers and dwellers long into the past
Buried and treasured, the sacred shall last
Encoded in memory of the sediment and soil
Waters entrusted to care for hallowed spoil
The bluffs release vignettes of no reason or rhyme
Ancient legends eroded and distorted by time
Colliding and bumping, they come with such haste
Growing and flowing, enjoying the chase
She gathers them, cradles them, guides them along
Perhaps these old verses will return into song
Now at the mouth, she releases the choir
A coming together of truth, love, and desire
The creek slows her pace, rests in warmth of the sun
Until the next cycle of shedding’s begun
A TRIBUTE TO OUR STOLEN SPIRITS
In commemoration of the children who did not come home
I wrote this in the days that followed the news of the 215 unmarked graves uncovered at the Kamloops Residential School site. I didn't know what to do with the surge of emotion that I felt so I just started writing. My poem is installed at the Awen Gathering Circle at Collingwood's waterfront.